“Bring the man, Jose Manual, here,” he said to a sergeant,

Five minutes later an old man, all bones and skin, stood before us.  The miserable man trembled as with the palsy.

“Si, senor, I did it.  I ran over the hill.  I informed.  I alone am to blame.”

Evidently the wretch knew of what he was accused.  It was also apparent that he was not the only guilty one.

“Who wrote this for you?” the commandante asked.

“I did, senor; I wrote it.”

“The man lies,” murmured one of the officers.

“Bring hither the son of Jose Manual,” was the next order.

With that, another skeleton, a young one, stepped forward.

“I am here, senor, and I wrote the note.  That is all.  We two, senor.  I wrote and my father ran.  He was stronger, that day, than even my younger bones.”

The commandante compressed his lips.  He turned to the sergeant and said:  “At sunset have these two men shot.”

The two men merely spat upon the ground.  For them death evidently had no terrors.  As they were led away they made the sign of the cross again and again upon their naked breasts.  A hundred starving wretches followed them in silence.

When we were again alone on the balcony—­a broad, square balcony it was—­the commandante noticed my look of inquiry.

“The story can be briefly told,” he said.  “You are simply the witness of a tragedy that had its beginning on this very balcony one month ago.  I sent word by the priest to a lady in Havana—­an English lady—­that we had 4,000 starving people in this town.  Could she help us?  Always generous, beneficent, self-sacrificing, the lady responded in person.  She came by the coast steamer, landed at broad noon, traversed the two miles over which you came a few hours ago from the coast, bringing with her seven ox-cart loads of provisions, clothing and medicine.  With her came her daughter, a young girl just over from England.  Their charity was distributed from this very balcony to the starving people.  The distribution occupied two entire days.  Out of 4,000 people, 2,000 were given food and clothing and medicine.  She promised the other half equal relief as soon as she could go to Havana and return again with the stores.  On the night before she was to leave us the ladies and gentlemen of the leading families here, together with the officers of my staff, proposed to give the good Samaritans a banquet.  The proposal was accepted.  All gathered for the banquet on this balcony.  I draped the front of the house in the Spanish colors, and hung out all the available lamps.  That illumination was our ruin.  Thirty-four sat down to dine.  Only thirty lived through the first course.  Of a sudden a hailstorm of bullets was poured into our midst.  A bottle of wine in front of me flew into bits.  Not a whole plate or a whole glass was left.  We sprang up and fled into the house.  Not all of us, though.  No.  Three men—­ three of my best officers—­had fallen from their chairs, dead.  The other—­oh, God!”