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A Cruel Attack.

The case of Dr. Deligado is a particularly pathetic one. His home was in New York, where he was a practicing physician, but he went to Cuba to take possession of some property which he had inherited. His father told the story of their sufferings to a correspondent, and his account was supplemented by additional particulars from the doctor himself. The elder gentleman said:

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"Our plantation is called Dolores, the old name being Morales. was about half past one on the 4th day of March when a regiment of rebels, about four hundred or five hundred men, invaded the place. They told us they were Maceo's men, and soon after them came Maceo, with twenty-four women, sixteen whites and eight mulattoes. I understood that these women were the wives of the officers.

"Maceo shook hands politely and asked if I would allow them to take breakfast with us. Of course there was nothing to do but say yes, and the men spread themselves over about seventy acres of the plantation, the officers and ladies coming into the house. They had provisions with them, but desired to cook and serve them, which they did. They sat down at the table and were soon joking and laughing. Suddenly we heard rifle shots. Hernandez yelled to his wife to hand him his machete. Then all went out and found that the firing had come from what seemed to be an advance guard of the Spanish troops. There was some skirmishing at a distance, and the insurgents rode away. They did not wish to fight on the plantation, as they were on another mission.

"The Spaniards had fired the cane, thinking there were other insurgents hiding there. Spanish bullets rattled on the tiled roof of the house, and farm hands who were plowing back of the house got frightened and wished to come in.

"After a while I opened the window to see how matters stood and saw two cavalrymen and a captain, with two soldiers. My son and the farm hands went out toward the burning cane in an attempt to save some oxen that were near the cane. When the captain saw them he shouted: 'Who are those people?" I told him they were our workmen, and he then gave orders to clear the house. They rushed their horses right through the house, the captain leading them. I took out my American papers and showed them to him to prove that I was a peaceful citizen. "They are the worst documents you could have,' said the captain. They answered my son in the same way, and the captain re

peated the order to clear the house. Then they ordered us to march on as prisoners and told the women to stay back. My son asked them to let me stay back with the women, and they allowed me to do so. Of course the women were panic-stricken and screaming when they saw their husbands being taken away.

"We heard shots and then a second volley. One of the women cried out: "They have killed my husband! Her words were true. After about three hours I ventured out, and I saw coming towards the house the old farm hand, a man of about seventy. He seemed to be holding a red handkerchief over his arm, but when I got nearer I saw that it was covered with blood. He cried out when he saw me: They have killed them! 'My son! My son! I cried. He was the first one they killed,' he said.

"I took the man in the house and tried to bind up his arm, which had been shattered by a bullet. I endeavored to pacify the women, and told them they should go to the nearest neighbors for help. The two white farm hands, who had been hiding in the cane, then came over toward the house, while I was trying to quiet the women. They were afraid to move, panic-stricken, and would not go for help.

"Suddenly a young man dashed up to the house at full gallop. He drew his revolver and told the farm hands to get cots and pillows and medicine to bring to the missing men in case any of them should be still alive. He said he would shoot them if they disobeyed, and they did as he directed. They made up a litter, and we walked on till we found the place where the men lay in a pool of blood.

"I looked into my son's face and cried out: 'My son, my son! He opened his eyes and whispered: 'Father, they have killed us.'"

The old gentleman broke down in a passion of weeping at these recollections of the awful scene, and the son gave his account of the horrible butchery:

"They marched us along," said the Doctor, "and I spoke to the gen eral: 'General, I am an American citizen, and here are my papers from Mr. Williams.' They are the worst things you could have,' he said. 'I wish the Consul were here himself, so that I could treat him thus,' and he struck me three times in the face. Then he sounded the bugle calling the volunteers, and ordered us taken to the rear guard. Of course, we knew that this meant death. They tied us in a line with our hands pinioned. I knew the sergeant and said to him: 'Is it possible that you are going to kill me?' 'How can I help it?" he answered. Then the order

was given and the soldiers rushed upon us with machetes. Their knives cut our ropes as we tried to dodge the blows, and the soldiers fired two volleys at us. The first shot grazed my head, and I dropped to the ground as though dead. The old farm hand also threw himself to the earth. This act saved our lives.

"The other four men who tried to fight were killed. At the second discharge a bullet pierced my side. When we all lay as though dead they came up and turned us over and searched our pockets-mine first, of course, as I was better dressed than the other men. One of the soldiers noticed that my breast moved and shouted out: "This fellow is not dead yet. Give him another blow,' and he raised his machete and gave me a slash across the face and throat. Then I became unconscious."

Delgado's father took up the story as his son left off: "The brave young man who brought us to the place where my son was, now jumped from his horse and gave orders to the men to lift my son on the litter, as we found he was the only man still living. We put a pillow under his head, and the two farm hands lifted the litter and carried it into the cane field. Meanwhile the women relatives of the dead men came up and began to wail and cry. The young man, whom we afterwards found was an insurgent leader, told them they should be quiet, as their lamentations would bring the Spanish troops upon the scene again.

"Then the litter was carried into the cane field. This young man said: 'You must immediately write to the American consul. I will furnish you with a messenger, and you may rest safely in this cane field with your son. I will put a guard of 500 men around it so that they cannot burn it, as they do when they know people are hiding in the cane.'

"For five days I was in the cane field with my son. It rained upon us, and then I put the pillows over my son's chest, in order to protect him. I suffered greatly from rheumatism. Only the young man appeared and said that General Maceo had sent a guard to escort me back to my home. With my boy we were taken there and guard kept around our house. The messenger came back from the Consul, and I came on to Havana to see General Weyler, who had my son brought here to the city."

Stories of outrages on Americans that are unquestionably true might be furnished in numbers sufficient to more than fill this entire volume, but enough have been given to convince the most skeptical that the demand for intervention was justified on our own account, as well as for the sake of the people of Cuba.

MCKINLEY SUCCEEDS CLEVELAND.

The Cuban Question Not a New One-The Efforts of Former Administrations to Bring About a Settlement-President Cleveland's Message-Recommendations of President McKinley-The Spanish Minister's Insulting Letter-His Resignation Accepted-The Apology of the Spanish Government.

For more than ninety years the United States government has been confronted with a Cuban question. At times it has disappeared from our politics, but it has always reappeared. Once we thought it wise to prevent the island from winning its independence from Spain, and thereby, perhaps, we entered into moral bonds to make sure that Spain governed it decently. Whether we definitely contracted such an obligation or not, the Cuban question has never ceased to annoy us. The controversies about it make a long series of chapters in one continuous story of diplomatic trouble. Many of our ablest statesmen have had to deal with it as Secretaries of State and as Ministers to Spain, and not one of them has been able to settle it. One President after another has taken it up, and every one has transmitted it to his successor. It has at various times been a "plank" in the platforms of all our political parties as it was in both the party platforms of 1896-and it has been the subject of messages of nearly all our Presidents, as it was of President Cleveland's message in December, 1896, in which he distinctly expressed the opinion that the United States might feel forced to recognize "higher obligations" than neutrality to Spain. In spite of periods of apparent quiet, the old trouble has always reappeared in an acute form, and it has never been settled; nor has there recently been any strong reason for hope that it could be settled merely by diplomatic negotiation with Spain. Our diplomats have long had an experience with Spanish character and methods such as the public can better understand since war has been in progress. The pathetic inefficiency and the continual indirection of the Spanish character are now apparent to the world; they were long ago apparent to those who have had our diplo matic duties to do.

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COMMODORE DEWEY'S VICTORIOUS BATTLE WITH THE SPANISH FLEET OFF THE COAST OF MANILA

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