Under Blanco's Eye: Hal Maynard Among the Cuban Insurgents
9781465674128
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
“Stop!” A boy of some eighteen or nineteen years rushed frantically out upon a wharf bordering the harbor of Havana. “Hold on!” Elbowing his way through the dark-skinned crowd, he reached the string-piece, now waving his arms wildly. At the top of his voice came the fervent appeal: “Don’t leave me behind!” Unheedful of the Spanish crowd about him, the boy gazed anxiously at the fast receding stern of the United States steamer Fern. That crowd was bent on mischief. It had jeered itself nearly hoarse when the little steamer left her berth. Now it saw in this shouting, gesticulating youth a closer victim of their sport. “Swim!” jeered one low-browed, dirty Spaniard. To this came an echoing shout of: “Make him swim!” “Yes! Throw the Yankee dog into the harbor. He will find company in the sailors of the Maine!” A yell went up—a yell that was partly derisive and partly defiant. It had one effect that the victim was quick to notice—it utterly drowned out his appealing shouts to those on the deck of the Fern, causing him to gasp: “Am I the only American left behind in Havana?” It looked like it. Further from the pier, nearer every moment to the entrance of Havana harbor went the Fern, the last of the United States steamers to leave Cuba’s capital city on that memorable afternoon of the ninth of April, 1898. Aboard the Fern was that sturdy American hero, General Fitzhugh Lee. Up to the last moment he had served the interests of the United States and her citizens as consul general at Havana. Now, when the state of affairs there had become intolerable, General Lee had sailed on the Fern. After indomitable efforts extending over several days, he had succeeded in shipping, as he believed, the last American in that danger-infested city. Then, and not until then, had General Lee stepped aboard the Fern. His coming had been the signal for the start. A moment later the little steamer’s prow was cutting the muddy, blood-stained waters of Havana harbor. Close to the wreck of the United States’ once proud battleship Maine passed the Fern. Standing on deck, General Lee and his immediate party had bared their heads in silent respect and grief for the two hundred and sixty-six sailors whom Spanish treachery had destroyed. General Lee believed that he had succeeded in bringing the last American away. He certainly had, so far as he knew. He had done his duty like an American. Yet, all unknown to him, one American remained behind—Hal Maynard, the boy who now stood watching the receding Fern with a look of mingled anxiety and wistfulness. Suddenly Hal uncovered. His glance had rested on the Stars and Stripes at the steamer’s stern. It was a courageous thing to do—to salute the hated Yankee flag in this stronghold of that flag’s bitterest enemies. But Hal did it, without bluster or hesitation. There was a choking sensation in the boy’s throat; tears glistened in his eyes. “My country’s flag,” he murmured brokenly. “May God always bless your folds, and protect them! May those Stars and Stripes soon come back here, and float a supreme warning that treachery and tyranny can never flourish in the New World!” It may be that some of the Spaniards grouped about him heard him. If so, they did not understand, or it would have been worse for this American boy.
