It is surprising how little nourishment will sustain life. Rosa
and her two friends had long felt the pinch of hunger, but now
they plumbed new depths of privation, for there were days when
Asensio and his fellow-conscripts received nothing at all. After a
time Evangelina began making baskets and weaving palm-leaf hats,
which she sold at six cents each. She taught Rosa the craft, and
they worked from dawn until dark, striving with nimble, tireless
fingers to supplement Asensio's rations and postpone starvation.
But it was a hopeless task. Other nimble fingers worked as
tirelessly as theirs, and the demand for hats was limited.
Their hut overlooked the road to San Severino, that via dolorosa
on which condemned prisoners were marched out to execution, and in
time the women learned to recognize the peculiar blaring notes of
a certain cornet, which signified that another "Cuban cock was
about to crow." When in the damp of dewy mornings they heard that
bugle they ceased their weaving long enough to cross themselves
and whisper a prayer for the souls of those who were on their way
to die. But this was the only respite they allowed themselves.
Rosa meditated much upon the contrast between her present and her
former condition. Matanzas was the city of her birth, and time was
when she had trod its streets in arrogance and pride, when she had
possessed friends by the score among its residents.
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