The death-wagons, heavy with their daily
freight, rumbled ceaselessly through the streets, adding to the
giant piles of unburied corpses outside the city.
Typhoid, smallpox, yellow fever, raged unchecked. The hospitals
were crowded, and even in them the commonest necessities were
lacking. It is believed that men have returned from the grave, but
no one, either Spaniard or Cuban, had ever been known to return
from one of these pest-houses, and, in consequence, those who were
stricken preferred to remain and to die among their dear ones.
Yes, Matanzas was pacified. Weyler's boast was true. Nowhere in
the entire province was a field in cultivation; nowhere, outside
the garrisoned towns, was a house left standing. Nor was the city
of Matanzas the only concentration camp; there were others dotted
through Santa Clara, Habana, and Pinar del Rio. In them half a
million people cried for food. Truly no rebellious land was ever
more completely pacified than this, no people's spirits ever more
completely crushed. Voices no longer preached resistance; they
prayed to "Our Lady of Pity" for a merciful conclusion of this
misery. Hands were upraised, but only to implore. In leaky huts
from Jucaro to Cape San Antonio the dead lay huddled thickly.
Into Matanzas, city of beggary and death, came Rosa Varona and her
two negro companions, looking for relief.
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