AT present, Cuba is not precisely the spot which one would choose for holiday-making, though there are many places less interesting. The interest, however, is of a sort that to most people, repels rather than attracts, and thus the travel from Havana to New York is about one-tenth in amount of that in the opposite direction. Knowing this, I was not surprised to find that the passenger list of the Ward liner contained the names of eight persons, with an accommodation for ninety. Nevertheless, the small size of the company conduced to greater sociability, and the sixty hours run is certainly one of the most delightful short voyages from any American port. Seas and skies grow alike bluer from day to day, the course seldom runs more than a hundred miles from land, and the indigo Gulf Stream swarms with all manner of interesting animal life, from the flying-fish, porpoises and sharks to the sea-serpent, 250 feet long, which the captain affirmed having seen one morning before any of the passengers were up.

      The Cuban coast is precipitous, rising rapidly from the water's edge, with here and there a handful of fishermen's huts clustered at the foot of the hills. Now and again the screen of hills is broken by a narrow valley — a barranca — which affords a glimpse into the inner land, and shows a long panorama of green and brown — green clumps of palms, brown hillsides and green fields of corn and cane, with an occasional group of brown roofs, marking the site of a hacienda. At a distance, the country wears a decidedly peaceful look, unless you happen to discern a column of smoke rising far inland from the burning plantations, but as the shore comes nearer there are war signs enough. Every stone building of sufficient strength has been fortified, and floats the Spanish banner of "blood and gold." Now and then a glistening cluster of white tents marks an encampment of troops; a gun-boat shoots past, or a white cruiser steams by more majestically, and presently a great, red-brown pile of masonry, topped by a light-tower, on a bluff headland, grows clear and declares itself the famous Morro Castle.

THE MORRO CASTLE, HAVANA.

      This is one of the strongest fortresses of America, constructed at incredible cost, and every redoubt and parapet is historic with its tale of fight, or romantic with stories of murder, execution or daring midnight escape. For this is also the great Cuban political prison, and is at present filled with rebels, bandits, war artists, newspaper correspondents and such suspicious characters. One of these last recently approached a turnkey with a bribe of eighty-five dollars, and succeeded in inducing him to connive at his escape. At dead of night the prisoner scaled the parapet near the lighthouse, and scrambling down the rocks, launched forth in a convenient rowboat. He was picked up in a couple of days by an American fishing-smack, half dead with thirst, but filled with rejoicing at his escape from the "devildoms of Spain."

      The black flag is no uncommon sight on the Morro, but many executions are never reported. The sound of a volley of riflery in the gray dawn is a familiar one to the inhabitants of Havana, across the bay.

      The Cabanas Fortress continues the works of the Morro for about a mile towards the city, and on the opposite side of the narrow harbor-mouth are other strong fortifications, including the Punta Battery, which make the water approach to the city almost unassailable.

COLUMBUS MEMORIAL COLLEGE.

      Havana comes in sight as this strait is cleared — a glittering, white crescent on the shores of the bay, stretching back to the brown bills beyond. The blue Gulf water of the harbor (sadly filthy on inspection) is covered with every kind of shipping. Great, black steamers, sailing vessels of every size, purpose and nationality, glaring, white war-ships, ponderous ferries, and the flocks of "house" and shore boats that come flying down upon the incoming steamer makes the scene a singularly animated one.

THE RESIDENCE OF GENERAL WEYLER.

      At about this point the police and custom officers come on board, and it was here that I received my first unpleasant hint that the country was not at peace within itself. These officials had somehow become impressed with the idea that I was a newspaper war correspondent, (perhaps the note-book protruding from my pocket was the cause) and after some questioning they refused to allow me to land. Here was a difficulty, and an outrage to boot! When their decision was communicated to me I dissented vigorously in my best Spanish, informing them that I was a British subject, a friend of the Consul, and other ingenious fabrications. In fact, my tone would have led to the supposition that I had an entire British navy concealed somewhere about my person. Whether they were impressed I do not know, but at last I was informed that I might go ashore, though I would be placed under special police espionage, as a suspicious character.

THE INGLATERRA HOTEL AND CENTRAL PARK.

      During this little encounter, the steamer had reached her anchorage and was instantly surrounded by scores of boatmen anxious to take the passengers ashore. For some reason, Havana had not arrived at the stage of civilization represented by docks, and it is necessary to charter one of these skimming sailboats. I had almost said " skinning," for they do not forget the scriptural injunction to "take in" the unwary traveler. If you make a previous engagement, which they strongly detest, you can get ashore for three pesetas — sixty cents. Otherwise they will accept a dollar, and then demand twice as much more.

THE CEMETERY, HAVANA.

      You land on the steps of a roofed, wooden pier, green and slippery with harbor filth. Walk to the shore end of this pier, and you are upon the Plaza del Vapor, one of the most characteristic Squares of Havana.

      To a Canadian eye, the scene has a singularly foreign aspect. This is not remarkable, for Havana is practically a European city. Most of the streets were Planned by the earliest Spanish settlers in the sixteenth century, and some of the buildings are said to date from the same period. Heavily built of stone, they appear capable of lasting for centuries.

      This Plaza del Vapor, or steamer landing, is an extensive triangle, the long side being fringed with wharves, which are crowded with boats and small schooners. The other sides are formed by the hotels Mascotte and Imperial, and streets run from each of the corners. The pavement is of stone and as bad as possible. Cabs stand about in rows, or drive over the flags with an ear-splitting racket; little dun oxen, yoked in file, draw great loads of golden maize; half-naked negro dock laborers, Military officers, sailors, travelers and brown-faced Cubans jostle one another, and over all rises the multifarious clatter of the Spanish tongue.

      One cannot fail to be struck by the fine physique of these Cubans. There are none of the signs of degeneracy with which we imagine the Spanish races to be afflicted, and which are so noticeable in a Broadway or Yonge Street gathering. The men are invariably tall, erect and well-proportioned. Even the universal cigarette seems unavailing against their constitutions. Many of the women combine the Spanish and American styles of beauty, and the result is nothing less than charming; while the children are in every respect delightful, in their Spanish grace and beauty of delicate skin, dark curls and immense eyes of liquid brown.

      The best place from which to see Havana life is the outside of a hotel café. Every hotel is surrounded by a pillared porch, or veranda, containing dozens of little marble tables, where the Cubans much resort to drink black coffee, smoke cigarettes, or eat ice-cream. Outside, on the street, the traffic of Havana crashes and jingles by. Inside, young and old, rich and poor, cluster about the little tables, and fill the air with smoke and voluble Spanish conversation. The sellers of lottery tickets promenade about, but, with true Castilian politeness, importuning no one to buy; the newsvenders — mostly men — emit shrill yells of "La Mari-i-na!" In fact, except for the absence of women, it is more like a scene on the boulevards of Paris than anything in North America.

      Most impressive in appearance are the grim fortresses at the harbor mouth, dominating alike the city and the bay, and it is these structures alone that prevent the rebels from gaining possession of the island by a coup-de-main. Matanzas is more or less fortified; Santiago de Cuba is fortified; Havana is most strongly fortified of all, and with the scanty means at their disposal the insurgents are unable to attempt operations on even the weakest of their bastions. No doubt the town could be taken, but, supposing it to be completely occupied by the Cubans, it could not be held for an hour. The forts and the warships in the harbor could pound it to a mere heap of rubbish, while the rebels would be quite unable to return the fire. In this connection it is interesting to consider a report current a few weeks ago, to the effect that a "filibustering" vessel, laden with heavy guns and entrenching tools, was about to sail from New York to capture Matanzas, erect immense earthworks, and thus establish a firm and apparent foothold for the rebels, and thereby force Uncle Sam into a recognition of belligerency.

      It is probable that this was no more than a newspaper story. Supposing the town to be captured, it takes time to construct ramparts and embrazures and to place heavy guns in position, and such operations would be practically impossible under the disadvantages to be encountered. For a fleet of Spanish warships would be immediately despatched to the spot, and, lying off two or three miles, could so seriously embarass the workers that it is to be feared that their endeavors would end in disaster.

      At present, Havana is practically in a state of military occupation. There is a fluctuating, but always large number of troops quartered in and about the city, as well as some forty thousand volunteers, most of whom walk the streets in full uniform. Thus, in most Havana Streets, the peculiar gray-blue army cloth lends its own distinctive tinge of color to the scene. The cafés and hotels are often filled with officers of martial seeming, uniformed like the men but armed with sword and revolver. Report is unkind enough to say that these men infinitely prefer the hotels and amusements of Havana to the trocha, or the other fortifications without the city. At intervals, too, a column of troops is marched through the streets. They are armed with the Mauser rifle, sword-bayonet, and often the machete in addition, but their appearance is not formidable, compared with that of English or even American regulars. They are mostly under-sized and extremely youthful. Their pay is very much in arrears, Which causes a corresponding shabbiness of uniform and foot-wear. Some, in fact, having worn out their shoes, are Compelled to wear extemporized canvas buskins. They appear badly "set up," and march in a fashion that would fill the heart of a British sergeant with disgust.

      The men-of-war's men are no inconspicuous objects, and are decidedly the finest fighting men, in appearance at least, among the Spanish forces. There are usually three or four of these warships, second-class cruisers for the most Part, lying in the harbor, to the great disgust of the Spanish inhabitants, who are unable to comprehend so inactive a policy. "Why are these ships not used to patrol the coast, when cargoes of arms are being run in for the rebels every week, almost every day?" they say, or rather think, for it is unsafe to say such things aloud in Havana. As a matter of fact, there are said to be 150 vessels engaged in this police work continually but their captures are very insignificant. The notorious Competitor — which still lies here in the navy-yard, small and insignificant looking — was their greatest haul, and she had landed her contraband cargo and did not contain, as one of her crew graphically put it, "so much as a pound of nothin'."

      It is said that there are a number of wealthy Americans speculating in Cuban bonds, and thus indirectly in the success of the revolution, and that these are at the bottom of many of the filibustering expeditions sent out. At any rate, it is certain that the rebel forces obtain three-fourths of their arms and ammunition in this way; as for the rest, they capture them from the Spanish troops. And it is chiefly owing to the difficulty of transporting heavy guns or field-pieces in the light schooners used for blockade-running, that they are not better supplied with these weapons. Often, too, the ground is unfit for their use. Machine guns, however, Maxims and Gatlings, are more easily handled, and with these the rebels are becoming fairly well supplied. Their rifles are, for the most part, of the same make as those of the Government, and they are likewise armed with sword-bayonet and revolver. But the machete may be said to be their national weapon. It is in this that they place most confidence, and it is this that strikes most terror to the hearts of their Spanish foes. The natives carry it in time of peace to clear their way through. the jungles, and thus in their practised hands it becomes a terrific weapon. Its long, broad, razor-edged blade is quite capable of cutting a man's body in halves, if scientifically wielded.

EXECUTION OF INSURGENTS BY GARROTE IN MORRO CASTLE.

      The policy of the insurgent leaders is well understood. It is simply to starve Spain into making terms — the terms being nothing less than Cuban independence. At the beginning of the war, Home Rule was the object of the revolutionists, but now, they will be satisfied with nothing less than complete liberty. The American annexation sentiment is inconsiderable. The general feeling is that, having fought for freedom, they wish to enjoy it to the full for a few years. After that it will be time to talk of annexation.

      A Spanish gentleman remarked to me: "This is not a real revolution. It is anarchy, not independence, that is being aimed at." In proof of this, he adduced the vast destruction of property by the rebels, the thousands of acres of cane-land burnt, the edict against the working of sugar mills, the stoppage of every kind of agriculture. But in reality this is all a piece of the rebel policy. They intend to make Cuba worthless to Spain, and afterwards revive its prosperity when its independence is secured. The treasury of Spain is now woefully depleted. She has been borrowing money, chiefly on the security of Cuba, to carry on the war. The greater portion of her revenues has always been derived from Cuba herself.

      But now Cuban trade is almost paralyzed, and money is very scarce. Most of the wealthy planters are leaving the island, in search of homes elsewhere. The people of the interior are unable to find a living for themselves, much less pay taxes, and are often dependent upon the insurgent troops, who feed them and treat them as well as is possible. The Government is now almost unable to collect revenue from the farming class — always the most important one. In a few months more, with the destruction of another crop, revenues will entirely cease; the country will be bankrupt. Spain will be unable to carry on the war, which will be dropped through sheer impotence. It is a very pretty study in political economy, but it is dreadful to think of the sufferings that must take place before the end comes. It is the horrors of a siege, applied to the whole island.

      The success of this plan depends on the ability of the rebels to hold the Spaniards at bay for an indefinite time. So far, they have been most successful in this, defeating the small bodies of troops and eluding the larger ones. The climate is a most potent ally, for small-pox, and yellow fever carries off the Spanish forces by hundreds, while the Cubans are acclimatized to such influences. From their knowledge of the country, too, they have a great advantage over their enemies, who are compelled to march through a rough and hostile land on the authority of maps alone. Ambushes and bush fights, therefore, form the order of the day.

      I had not been in Havana long when there came rumors of battle. Some said that the Spaniards had annihilated a force of rebels beyond the trocha; others declared that the Cubans had defeated the Spaniards, and that a hundred wounded men had been brought into the hospitals. La Marina came out with its usual flaring report of a Government victory. A Cuban, who professed having been at the fight, gave me lurid details of heroism and slaughter, ending in a complete victory for Cuba Libre, and I resolved that I, too, would go out and see these stirring events, and, if necessary, take part in them. I did not want to kill anybody, but if a detachment of Spanish soldiers stood in my way they would have to be responsible for the consequences. Alas! I was in blissful ignorance of the obstacles I would have to encounter.

      I made enquiry of a couple of Cuban gentlemen, with whom I had struck up an acquaintance, and they, after taking me up a side street and looking about cautiously for spies, informed me that such an attempt would be no less than suicide. In fact, it appeared that suicide would be a comparatively pleasant operation compared with falling into the hands of the Spanish guerillas who patrol the neighboring country. No one, I learned, was allowed to travel beyond the city without special permission from the military authorities.

      "Well, could not the guards be bribed? For most of them have received no pay for months."

      "Yes, that might be done," the Cuban admitted. "But still the risk would be tremendous. Besides, the expense would not be small. Why," he continued, warming to his subject, "these Spaniards are not conducting the war according to any principles of humanity, or of common sense. Murder of every sort of non-combatant is the rule. If you carry arms, even so much as a revolver, there is no escape for you; every man taken with arms is shot. You may think yourself lucky if they don't shoot you first and search you for suspicious articles afterwards. So, if you do attempt anything of the kind, leave your weapons at home. Don't take anything but your passport and a pocket-handkerchief. Then, if you are careful, the chances mayn't be more than ten to one against you."

      This was encouraging. Allowing for exaggeration, there could be no doubt that it was no easy matter to penetrate the disturbed districts. I began to fear that MASSEY'S MAGAZINE would hear but little from me regarding the state of the interior. However, I resolved that, in a few days, I would push forward experimentally and see what could be done.

A BULL FIGHT IN CUBA.

      These few days were spent pleasantly enough among the narrow, ill-smelling streets of the city, and the stock "sights," which are never the real sights of a place. General Weyler's residence, recently badly damaged with dynamite at the handsof enthusiastic Cubans, the Cathedral and the Columbus Chapel, the Cervantes Theatre, the Hotel Ingleterra, where Americans usually stay, and the huge bull-ring, where fights are held on occasional Sundays — these were some of the points of interest which helped to pass the time till I should be ready to attempt to run the Spanish blockade.

Frank L. Pollock      

THE lot of the correspondent in Cuba just now is not a particularly happy one. Newspaper publicity is the last thing desired by the Spanish generals in conduct of the war. Those favored ones who are allowed to accompany the troops are compelled to submit their reports to strict censorship, and the free-lance "war men" are in continual danger of arrest, imprisonment or deportation. It is only a few weeks since the three largest papers in New York had their correspondents returned to them. In fact, if the journalistic representative happens to be caught in an unfrequented place he is in no little danger of his life.

TROPICAL SCENERY ON THE SAN JUAN.

      It was with this encouragement that I prepared for my own expedition into the lands where such events were going on. Yet, in truth, I had no preparations to make. I decided to take no weapons, beyond a pen-knife; all my baggage I left at the hotel. In fact, I took nothing whatever but a notebook, stub pencil, passport and a few dollars in gold. A certificate of being a correspondent of MASSEY'S MAGAZINE I had hidden in the lining of my coat.

      Owing to the peculiar disposition of Havana, it does not take long to get into the outskirts of the city. There the streets are somewhat wider and the houses are of less substantial make, for this part of the town is of much more recent construction. Broad, cool-looking verandas front the houses, which are of all sorts of odd colors — red, white, green or yellow. Here and there were vacant lots filled with broad-leaved tropical trees and shrubs, and an air of rurality began to pervade the scene.

CRUSHING MILL ON A SUGAR PLANTATION.

      I knew that I was now drawing near the point where my passage might be disputed. Therefore, I was not surprised, after walking for a few minutes more, to be challenged by a blue-coated soldier who stepped out of an open doorway to intercept me. There were several others within the building, as a glance showed me, and most of these appeared to be asleep, sprawled on benches or on the floor.

      "Where are you going?" enquired my soldier.

      "Only out here a little way," I told him, with splendid mendacity. "My uncle lives a few miles up this road, and I want to go to see him."

      "Where is your passport?"

      I produced it.

      "Have you permission to travel in the country?"

      No, but —"

      "Then you can't pass."

      Here was an obstacle. I stared hard at the young soldier, who seemed politely regretful, but firm. I glanced into the guardhouse; none of his comrades seemed to be looking. I knew that most of the Spanish troops had been wretchedly paid since the war began, and I jingled money in my trouser's pocket, and winked. A wink is universally intelligible. The man looked interested, and, I thought, a trifle less inflexible. I produced a gold twenty-five peseta piece, and slipped it into his hand. He accepted it with alacrity, but still looked doubtful. I held another before his eyes, and pointed up the road. He nodded, and in another minute the money was in his pocket, and I was several yards further upon my way. I hope this too obliging soldier did not suffer for his remissness.

A CUBAN PLOUGHMAN.

      I was not long in leaving the boundaries of the city behind me, and chuckled to find myself actually, as it seemed, upon the seat of war. The road led uphill for a considerable distance, and was even worse than a back county Ontario highway. Sugar-cane and corn appeared to be cultivated freely, and the latter crop was just being harvested by negro laborers who loaded it upon square, two-wheeled carts, drawn by the same tiny, brown oxen seen in the city. These little animals are often unyoked when their services are not required for an hour or so, and they immediately lie down to sleep in the sun, curled up and cuddled together like a litter of puppies, forming a most ludicrous sight.

PANORAMA OF THE YUXURI VALLEY, CUBA.

      It was not a very long walk to the summit of the hill range about the city. From this point of elevation, there was a wide view in every direction. Behind lay the city of Havana, gleaming white in the sunshine, with the blue sea beyond; before, the road ran down into the succeeding valley, a vast green basin, broken by clumps of cocoa palms and other tall tropical trees, and varied by green squares of cane-fields and a few low, rambling houses, half concealed by the spreading vegetation. Away to the south-east a pillar of smoke was rising, where incendiaries may have been at work. There were no soldiers of any description in sight.

      I congratulated myself upon this latter fact as I walked briskly down the valley road. The bushy palms beside the way afforded an agreeable shade, and it is a peculiarity of the Cuban atmosphere that, however warm it may be in the sun, in the shade it is invariably cool. After traveling for a few miles, I began to discover that the distant appearances of prosperity were deceitful. In fact, the country seemed almost deserted. Once a tall, half-naked negro sprang up from a clump of bushes near the road. He was armed with a machete, and I began to feel a little nervous, but, after staring for a few moments, he turned and ran like a deer, till he disappeared in a patch of thick brush. Visitors here were evidently neither frequent nor welcome. Other signs of destruction were not wanting. Now it was a few square yards of gray ashes where a house had once stood, now it was the blackened acres of a burned cane-field. Now and then a dead horse lay beside the way, torn by dogs and breeding pestilential vapors, and once I chanced upon a scanty mound of earth where beasts had been digging. A few fragments of bones protruded from the hole.

A PINE APPLE PLANTATION.

      I had stopped and was examining this gruesome spectacle, when I detected a faint, dull sound coming up from the valley. It was suspiciously like the tread of marching troops, and I thought it best to conceal myself in a convenient thicket, till the origin of the sound should become apparent. My precautions were justified. In a few minutes, along came the soldiers, some two hundred of them, marching with the peculiar stride of the Spanish infantryman. Doubtless they were on their way to some of the outer lines of fortification.

      They had passed in a couple of minutes, and, after allowing them plenty of time to get out of sight, I resumed the road. I now began to feel tremendously hungry, and looked around for some garden or orchard where I might forage. Fortune was again favorable, for I presently chanced upon a small patch of bristling pine-apple plants. Most of the fruit had been plucked green for export, but there were still several dozens of the "apples" which had ripened upon the plants, and had consequently been left. Upon three or four of these, and a few inches of Spanish bread, purchased at a bakery, I made a most satisfying meal. And oh! the mellow, luscious slices of those fragrant "pines!" It was worth making a voyage to Cuba, and running the Spanish lines to boot, to taste them. They were as much like the woody, cellar-ripened fruit we see in the North as a juicy Astrakan is like the evaporated apples which are exported from Canada.

      I think that I walked about ten miles that afternoon, and the farther I went the more desolate and war-stricken did the country appear. The luxuriant tropical growths lent a false semblance of prosperity and culture, but most of the crops were destroyed, the houses and out-buildings were burned and not a human figure was to be seen in the fields. This region has not been actually fought over since last winter, but it is incessantly scoured by bands of Spanish guerillas, and these usually show little mercy to the inhabitants they happen to catch. Now and again, too, the insurgents make a daring raid through this debatable ground, and, before the building of the trocha, are said to have actually stopped and plundered the grocers' carts in the suburbs of Havana.

      Evening presently drew on apace, and I at last halted, hungry and tired enough. No more pine-apple groves presented themselves, and I supped on a few bananas plucked from a roadside tree, and the rest of my bread. In time of peace, Cuba must be a paradise for tramps. Delicious dinners and suppers hang invitingly from the trees, almost all the year round, with no more trouble in preparing than that occasioned by putting forth the hand and gathering. Clothes are a superfluity, and so are lodgings, unless it chances to rain, and then the umbrella-leaved palm offers its shelter. Certainly, when the war is over, I shall revisit the island, and live the life of the Lotus-Eaters, "eating the sweet fruit of the lotus, and taking no thought of any return."

      On the present occasion, I took up my quarters for the night in the first deserted cabin I could find, for custom prejudices us in favor of sleeping under cover. The building consisted of two rooms, and was quite empty, with the exception of a couple of rough, wooden benches. Everything else had been removed. There were a number of window-holes, through which the mosquitoes entered with great alacrity, and I spent the time in fighting them till I fell asleep.

      The sun was shining in when I awoke, and the morning air smelt cool and fresh. It was a moment before I realized my situation, and then, as memory came back, I sprang up and took a cautious peep from the window. No one was in sight. It was six o'clock — evidently breakfast time. My store of bread was exhausted, so I was compelled to breakfast upon bananas alone, which are nutritious but not stimulating. Then I set off for further exploration.

      The cabin in which I had spent the night stood perhaps a hundred yards from the road. The intervening space was thickly overgrown with all sorts of fleshy, broad-leaved plants, three and four feet high, of which I did not know the names, and a kind of rough hedge bordered the road for a little distance. Tufts of larger trees grew here and there, obstructing the view, and I walked carelessly out, without taking the precaution to reconnoitre the highway. I leaped, the hedge, and then — stopped in consternation. A good-sized troop of Spanish cavalry were coming up the road at a trot. There seemed at least a hundred of them, and they were not a hundred and fifty yards distant.

      The discovery was mutual. An officer riding ahead of his troop waved and shouted at me. Perhaps he suspected me of being a Cuban spy; more likely he wished to learn if I had authority to travel in the interior. No doubt I should have surrendered myself at once, but the sudden appearance of the soldiers left me only the impulse to get out of the way, and I turned and ran. I vaulted over the hedge, and endeavored to wriggle away close to the ground, in as reptilian a fashion as possible.

      Of course it was a great mistake. As I vanished, I heard the officer command his men to "fire." The troopers evidently carried carbines, for a straggling volley rattled out, and the bullets "zipped" along the shrubbery, but none came dangerously near. It was my first experience of being "under fire," but I did not have time to examine my sensations, for the horses thundered up to the hedge and stopped.

      Presently I heard from my covert a great crashing and trampling of bushes. The men were beating up the jungle. A whole troop of King Alphonso's cavalry interrupted to pursue an unoffending and humble Canadian! No doubt it was a sort of honor, yet one which I could cheerfully have dispensed with. So I crept on and on, and presently came to the end of the shrubbery. It did not cover more than eight or ten acres, and the troops were bearing down in a long line from the other end. Before me lay an open field, where they would have a fair shot at me if I attempted to run.

      I could hear the men coming closer and closer, and I suddenly stood up, and holding my hands above my head, western fashion, called out "Don't shoot! I surrender."

      The troopers were not a little surprised at my unexpected apparition, and I half expected a bullet to whiz past my ear, but they seized on me with little courtesy and hustled me before their officer. He looked at me severely, as if about to order out a firing party at once.

      "Who are you?" he asked sharply.

      I informed him of my name and nationality.

      "What are you doing here?"

      "I am traveling through the country."

      "Have you permission? What is your business?"

      I hesitated what to say, and finally, thinking truth to be the best policy, replied: "I am a correspondent."

      "A correspondent! Of what?"

      "Of MASSEY'S MAGAZINE."

      "Where are your papers?" he next demanded.

      I gave him my passport and certificate.

      "Why did you try to escape when you saw us?"

      "Because I was afraid that you would send me back to Havana," I answered with great candor.

      This seemed to amuse him, and he said: "Well, you shall not be disappointed." That ended our conversation; a trooper brought up a spare horse, and I was ordered to mount. I obeyed; the bridle was held by a soldier, and we rode briskly back up the road which I had traversed so laboriously.

      My remaining adventures, though sufficiently unpleasant, were of no great interest. We rode to the great "Morro " itself, where I was interrogated for upwards of half an hour, my answers being recorded in a big book, was searched from head to foot without anything treasonable being found, and was finally locked up in a fairly decent cell. I demanded to see the British Consul, and was told that I would be allowed to do so, but the time seemed long in coming; in fact, it has not yet arrived. After being confined here for four days, I was taken down town to a military office, where I was again examined and cross-questioned, and then returned to the "Castle." I had begun to despair of ever being released, and was beginning to calculate what indemnity could be collected from Spain upon my death, when I was again brought before the warder of the Castle.

      After asking me many of the former questions over again, and comparing my answers with those previously recorded, he informed me that I would be set at liberty, but that I must leave the Island within ten days. Otherwise I would be re-arrested.

      So I got free, and when a New York steamer left at the end of seven days, I went with it. As I said, the Cuba war correspondent is evidently more favored as an expert than as an importation. Yet I do not believe that the Spanish conduct is quite so bad as it is painted.

Frank L. Pollock