It must be understood that there is no caste feeling between the negro and the pure-blooded Cuban. They march, eat and sleep side by side. Moreover, the negroes make excellent soldiers, with finer physique than the Cubans themselves, and equal powers of endurance.
The Cuban is small in stature compared to the American soldier, but he is well set up, wiry, and apparently has unlimited staying powers. He frequently lives on one meal a day, and that a poor one, but he shows no signs whatever of being ill-fed; in fact, he seems to thrive on it, and he has an uncomfortable habit of marching six hours in the morning on an empty stomach, which would be fatal to the ordinary Anglo-Saxon.
About the first of July, Maceo, still in the province of Santiago, concentrated the forces in the Holguin district and moved against Bayamo, capturing one provision train after another that were en route to that place. Campos took fifteen hundred men, with General Santocildes second in command, and went to the relief of Bayamo. About the middle of July he was attacked several miles from Bayamo by Maceo with twenty-seven hundred rebels. He and his entire staff narrowly escaped capture, and only the bravery of General Santocildes averted this catastrophe. The brave general lost his life and the Spaniards were forced to fly, after having fought for five hours, surrounded on all sides by the rebels. They finally made their escape to Bayamo, the rear guard covering their retreat with great difficulty.
Flor Crombet had fallen in battle several weeks before this fight and Marti had been killed in an insignificant fight at Dos Rios. Gomez had passed into Camaguay to add fire to the insurrection and Maceo had been left in command in the province of Santiago. To him was Campos indebted for his defeat. He escaped capture as if by intuition. A new snare had been spread for him by Maceo after the death of Santocildes, and he was already within its meshes, when, intuitively divining the situation, he came to an about face and fled to Bayamo by an unused road, covered by impassable thickets in the rear of Maceo's victorious troops.
The Spaniards were rapidly re-enforced after the escape to Bayamo, and Maceo, with Quintin Bandero, began to fall back to his impregnable mountain retreat at Jarahuica. This was in the heart of Santiago de Cuba, over a hundred miles east of Bayamo and twenty-five miles northeast of the port of Santiago. His war-worn army needed rest, recruits, and supplies. Once in his mountain fastness, he was perfectly secure, as no Spanish army would trust itself in the rocky range. News of his movements had reached Santiago and a strenuous effort was being made to head him off at San Luis, a railroad town fifteen miles north-west of that city. Nothing, however, escaped the observation of the Cuban general. With wonderful prescience he anticipated the movements of the Spaniards. His troopers were armed with machetes and the infantry with rifles and ammunition captured at Paralejo. Bandera commanded this band of blacks. The march had been terrific, and horses and men were nearly fagged. With sparse supplies the pace had been kept up for hours. The sun had gone down and the moon was flooding the fronds of the palms with pale, silvery light. Maceo held a short conference with Quintin Bandera, and not long afterward the blacks wheeled in column and disappeared.
Meantime the Cuban cavalry continued its course. By midnight it had reached Cemetery Hill, overlooking the town of San Luis. The moon was half way down the sky. Maceo sat upon his horse surveying the scene below him long and silently. The little town was aglow with electric lights and the whistle of locomotives resounded in the valley. Over three thousand Spanish troops were quartered in the town and their movements were plainly discernible. Trains were arriving hourly from Santiago, bearing strong re-enforcements. Through a field-glass Maceo watched the stirring scene. He turned the glass beyond the town and gazed through it patiently, betraying a trace of anxiety. Finally he alighted and conferred with Colonel Miro, his chief of staff. A moment afterward came the order to dismount. Three hundred troopers obeyed and were about to tether their horses when they were called to attention. A second order reached their ears. They were told to stand motionless, with both feet on the ground, and to await further orders with their right hands' on their saddles. In the moonlight beneath the scattered palms they stood as silent as if petrified.
A STORY OF MACEO.
Among them there was a newspaper correspondent who had known Maceo many years, and who had parted with him at Port Limon, in Central America, a few months before. He had joined the column just after the battle of Paralejo. In obedience to orders he stood with his arm over the back of his horse, blinking at the enlivening scene below him. Exhausted by the day's march, his eyes closed and he found it impossible to keep awake. A moment later he fastened the bridle to his foot, wrapped himself in his rubber coat, placed a satchel under his head, and fell asleep in the wet grass. The adjutant soon awoke him, telling him that he had better get up, as they were going to have a fight. He thanked the adjutant, who told him there were over three thousand Spanish soldiers in San Luis and that it was surrounded with fourteen blockhouses. The correspondent soon curled himself on the grass a second time and was in a sound slumber, when he was again aroused by the adjutant, who told him he was in positive danger if he persisted in disobeying the order of General Maceo. A third time his heavy eyelids closed and he was in a dead sleep, when startled by a peremptory shake. Jesus Mascons, Maceo's secretary, stood over him. "Get up this instant," said he. "The general wants to see you immediately."
In a few seconds the correspondent was on his feet. The whistles were still blowing and the electric lights still glowing in the valley, and the moon was on the horizon. He went forward in some trepidation, fancying that the general was going to upbraid him for disobeying his orders. He was surprised to find him very pleasant. Maceo always spoke in a low tone, as he had been shot twice through the lungs.
"Are you not hungry?" he asked.