“‘For how long?’

“‘For twenty-four hours—at most for forty-eight.’

“‘And meantime,’ said he, ‘you propose to keep the peace by committing an act of war?’

“‘It won’t be war, sir,’ I said. ‘These people can’t stand up for a minute before machine guns. It isn’t in them. In the first place, they haven’t more than six or eight rounds of ammunition apiece, and you know you can’t make war with six rounds of ammunition. But I don’t care though they had a million rounds—they simply cannot stand up. There’s no reason why they should. There’s no patriotism, no principle among them. They’re merely out for a little loot. If you tie our hands, and give the country over to this gang, Cuba will stink to heaven before many months are over.’

“But it was no use. Palma had to go, and now we don’t know what lies before us.

“It isn’t that the Cubans aren’t fit for political life. Many of them are, perfectly. But with the ignorant negro and low white vote, there is no saying what may happen.

“I wish to heaven President Roosevelt had just added a few words of postscript to his message to the Cubans. If he had only said, ‘Though we intend that Cuba shall have honest self-government, we don’t propose to put up with revolutions,’ all would have been well.”

II
A GAME FOR GODS

A cloudlessly hot Sunday afternoon in Havana—I am lounging in the Parque Central, when I observe a poster announcing that a game of “Jai Alai” is at that moment in progress. The very intelligent “Standard Guide to Havana,” sold by Mr. Foster (the Cook of Cuba), notes this “famous gambling game” as one of the sights of the city; so I charter a cab, and jog through the baking streets to the “Frontón” in which it is played. You first enter a long and evil-smelling hall, with various refreshment bars, like the lower regions of a hippodrome; and then you pass into the “Frontón” itself. Imagine an amphitheatre sliced in two at its longitudinal axis; one half retained, with its shape unaltered, to serve as the auditorium; the other half converted into a titanic racquet court, 175 ft. long, 36 ft. deep, and (I imagine) something like 40 ft. high. The long wall, of course, fronts the audience, the two short walls close in the ends. The floor of the immense court is made of smooth and almost shining concrete; the walls are of stone, painted chocolate colour, and the long wall is marked off by perpendicular lines into seventeen compartments. The purpose of this I did not understand, for play takes place, not against this back wall, but up and down the whole length of the great court. Imagine, now, the great auditorium, tier on tier, filled with a vast crowd of excited, shouting, cheering men (there were only about a dozen women present), while bookmakers in red Basque caps move up and down in front of the first tier of seats, and permeate the higher tiers as well, yelling the odds in their raucous voices. As a vehicle for betting “Jai Alai” is generally recognized as “a curse to the community,” and the American Governor has been much blamed for tolerating it. But in itself,—as an exercise of skill, endurance, strength, agility, and grace—I do not hesitate to call it out and away the finest game I ever saw.

Readers who have been to Spain may recognize this as the Basque game of pelota. |“Partido” and “Quiniela.”| I had heard its name; but certainly its extraordinary merits had never reached my cars. Probably it is too difficult for the ordinary amateur; the professionals whom I saw are engaged at large salaries, and showed marvellous skill. But as a mere spectacle I should think it would prove attractive anywhere.[[73]] The game is perfectly simple to understand, and there is never a dull moment in it, except the few moments of rest which the players allow themselves. Here is my guide-book’s account of it:—