He had demanded of Cueto lodging for
himself and his troop, announcing that a part of his command was
somewhere behind and would rejoin him later in the night.
Cueto had welcomed his visitor in all humility; he put up the
soldiers in the bate of the sugar-mill, and then installed Cobo in
his best room, after which he ransacked the house for food and
drink and tobacco.
Later he and the colonel sat long over their supper, for the
latter's exultant humor continued. Cobo, it transpired, was
delighted with the new captain-general, a man of blood and iron, a
man after his own heart. This Weyler, he predicted, would put an
end to the insurrection; there would be no more of Campos's weak,
merciful methods, which were, in reality, nothing less than
encouragement to revolt. Cueto, of course, agreed.
"We're sweeping the country as with a broom, and already Matanzas
is bulging with refugees," the officer told him. "They call
themselves pacificos, but they carry information and aid our
enemies. We'll have no more of that."
"Will it not be a great expense to feed so many people?" Cueto
ventured.
"Let them feed themselves. Is it our fault that they make such
measures necessary? By no means. Once we have them safe, we shall
exterminate all whom we encounter in the country." The speaker
drank deeply of Cueto's good wine and smacked his lips.
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