A CUBAN THATCH HUT.
A BATTERY OF CUBAN ARTILLERY.
Neither for love nor money could transportation be gotten. I did, however, near the last, obtain the use of a leaky lighter for two hours to get off some mules, but I might specify that it was on neither of the above considerations.
Some reporter is responsible for the statement that a large ship seen floating near the dock that morning had been seized. While it might not be possible to verify this statement by actual facts, it was not so very far out of the way in theory.
These were the last days of General Shafter in Santiago, who was, as he had at all times been, the kind and courteous officer and gentleman.
General Wood, alert, wise and untiring, with an eye single to the general good of all, toiled day and night.
The government warehouses were so filled with supplies that there seemed no room for more. The harbor filling with merchant ships for the trade, would soon come to regard with a jealous eye any body of persons who dispensed anything without price to even the poorest and most destitute.
But all this did not stay the marching stride of the native fever, so persistent in its grasp as scarcely to merit the appellation of intermittent. Day by day I watched my little band ever growing less; out of twenty which the good “State of Texas” brought, seven were on their feet; twelve had sickened, been nursed and gotten off home, and one had gone to heaven. Of our own band of the national Red Cross workers, none had actually gone down; of those who had joined us as assistants, few remained.