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Horrors of Moro Castle: Michelson

The Monday morning after the massacre near Punta Brava, which is fourteen miles southwest of Havana, Michelson with his interpreter, Lorenzo Betoncourt, started out to investigate. At Marianao, the end of the run by cars, Michelson took the reasonable precaution to ask the commandant, who happened to be a personal acquaintance, for authorization to go to the scene of the "combat." He was unexpectedly refused, and therefore did not go forward, but gathered the essential facts from fugitives.

That night we parted at midnight, going to our respective rooms in the same hotel, and it was a surprise in the morning to find he had been captured by the military police. The next news was of the arrest of Betoncourt and the transfer of the prisoners in separate boats to Moro Castle, where they were placed in separate cells. They were thus hustled into solitary confinement, rated as prisoners "in comuno cado." It was difficult to learn upon what charge the arrest had been made, but late in the afternoon the wild romance was officially given out that Michelson's crimes were communicating with the enemy and assaulting the guards. We have explained what the first part of the charge amounted to; the second, that of doing violence to sacred officers, was pure fiction.

The American correspondents found it difficult at first to see in the arrest of Michelson the seriousness of the incident, for it is the privilege of freedom to smile at despotism, and the proceedings they generally knew were on a charge based on a case of mistaken identity; but the Cuban friends of Betoncourt, who is a citizen of the United States, were deeply alarmed and distressed, and the lines of old sorrows were on their faces. That one dear to them is in Moro Castle is of awful significance to Cubans. It is almost impossible to see a distinguished official in Havana before his II O'clock breakfast, and this day the governor-general drove out to call, and it was 5 o'clock before Consul-General Williams got an audience. General Weyler's smile of welcome was cut sharply as the grave tones of the American consul fell on his ear. Mr. Williams put the matter forcibly, sure that it was a simple and clear case. The captain-general's reply was that he would be very glad if the matter turned out as represented, and he would order the case investigated immediately.

It is an interesting illustration of the use of language that when the report was made to Michelson, in his cell, that his case should not be delayed, it was put that there was to be a "summary proceeding," and the idea of that sort of "proceeding" in Moro Castle is closely associated in the American mind with shooting on the spot. In a second call by the consul-general on the captain-general, he said there would be no time lost in reaching a decision, and after a few hours watching and waiting, in walked the "captive set free" and, with other correspondents, we had a celebration. It was my intention to leave for New York on Thursday, and as Michelson was to wait in Havana, I wished to give him a "send off" at the palace, and turn over as much good will as might be transferred. Also it was proper he should see the captain-general and thank him for his "summary proceedings." Our first call was upon the accomplished marquis, the secretary of the government. The marquis was sorry I was going, and generous in compliments. Did the marquis think the captain-general could be seen then? As I wanted to pay respects and take leave--why, the captain-general might be seen, and the marquis saw him for us and in a minute returned, saying his excellency would see us at once. There was noticed something odd on the face of the marquis as he came back to take us to the general--something of amusement--almost apprehensiveness-and as we reached the floor of the picture gallery and paused standing, in a flash the general came through a little door, making, what the actors call, a very effective entry ! There was no acting about this--it meant business--a real life scene. The interpreter said, as the general shook hands briefly with me, and looked around with a spark in his eye, that I had called to pay my respects and take leave. That the general had something on his mind was plain in his fixed jaw and fiery eye, but he bowed in recognition of the call (my P.P.C. as it were) and Michelson's thanks were to be the very next thing, for evidently there was to be no time lost, and there was a chill in the air. The general knew Michelson was in the group, singled him out and "spoke right out in meeting," saying he had ordered his release and that of his interpreter, though he knew their guilt! The testimony was positive and conclusive, and the release was granted solely on the grounds of personal regard for his friends and friendship and favor for the American people; and all should understand this was a signal instance not of justice but of clemency. This speech hardly needed interpretation. It was peremptory, harsh, menacing, absolute--such a speech as Junius Brutus Booth, the elder, might, in the height of his power, have delivered. I shook my head as the language was rendered, attempting to convey a strong negative and saying, "Your excellency believes false testimony. It is an illusion." How fully this was interpreted I do not know, for the interpreter was interrupted sharply by the impetuous general, and Michelson was assured that the falsity of his representation was known, aye! proven, and yet he was allowed to go free! It must be understood that he was guilty and discharged through favor and mercy! Michelson spoke to the purpose, saying, he would like to meet the men who accused him. The captain-general seemed surprised, and Michelson was assured that he would have a chance to confront those who testified. In a moment the captain-general's departure at the side scene was as effective as his entry. The explanatory truth is, two young men who did not suppose there would be any objection to going on from Marianao to the scene of the tragedy, and did not imagine that the territory traversed daily by a licensed coach, which they took in good faith to go and come--and did go and come in it--was believed by the commandant to be the men who applied for a permit and were refused. It was his testimony the captain-general held with heat to be indisputable; and his anger burned fiercely to think Michelson dared defy the military order--which he had not done--and neither did the two correspondents, who did not know the marquis and asked him no questions.

Michelson's account of his arrest is that there was a thumping on his door at 1:30 A.M., and eight persons, in uniform, entered, and there were soldier police on the sidewalk and in the hall. His room was searched, and his photographic apparatus was a great curiosity, and seemed to be regarded as an implacable enemy; and their lack of knowledge was in evidence by the fact the officers held the undeveloped film to the light in an endeavor to see what pictures Michelson had taken. This, of course, destroyed the negatives. Michelson was seated at his own table to make a statement of what he had been doing on Feb. 24th, and his statements, perfectly true, were heard with jocular incredulity.

The search over, he was taken to the police office, where he caused one man to laugh when the guard was relieved, by suggesting that he also wanted relief. Another of the guards refused to laugh, "scratched his chin with a bayonet, but accepted a cigarette."

Just at dawn an officer came, and the words, "A el Moro," were heard, This order to take him to the castle sounded serious. With soldiers behind, before, and on each side of him, he was marched through the streets to the water, as if he had been a dangerous chief. He was taken to the other shore, and marched up to the ugly entrance of the hoary, grimy castle, and stood in the gloomy, arched doorway until they were ready to take him to the cell, an arch of huge masonry, a ceiling of beams, damp with moisture that had risen from prisoners for many years, the whitewashed walls scrawled upon and smeared. A window high up in the arch, barred so that a squirrel could not slip through the irons, or an elephant break the bars, and that was all. No cot: not even a blanket or a chair.

But he had company enough of a certain sort, for his entrance scattered a crowd of cockroaches, and as they ran into the rotten cracks, he heard the shuffling and the squealing of rats. Too tired to think, too wretched to dream, he threw his overcoat down on the cleanest spot he could find, and fell asleep for an hour or two. When he woke he was hungry and very thirsty, but no amount of kicking on the cell door, and by no noise could he attract the attention of the soldiers, so he tramped around the cell until he was weary and worried, and, as he says: "I realized that if I began to be nervous in that place so soon that the horrors could not be far off. I finally went over and corrected the askewness of the eyes of the face of a man which some poor devil had drawn, but that was when I had reached the point when any employment, no matter how trivial, was a luxury. It was cross-eyed and annoyed me."

The window, ten feet above the ground, interested him, and the marks were there of the feet of the many prisoners who had clambered up there, and by crouching at the bars, got the total of their daily pleasure in the sight of the world without.

He, too, climbed up. The view was fine, but a guard ran up from outside, and poked at him with his bayonet. As an amusement, during all that day, he watched the chances to clamber up again, and get down before the man with the bayonet could reach him. He tried the blandishments of small silver, cigars and cigarettes, but was not permitted to look out of the window, and he tried to buy a lead pencil, but was told that prisoners "in comuno cado" were not permitted to write, and he asked for a book, or something to read, but was told that prisoners were not permitted to read.

He counted the number of boards in the floor, there were twenty-six; and the number of beams in the ceiling, there were fourteen; and the number of bars in the window. The changing of the guard was a sensational incident, and about noon (he had had nothing to eat or drink since the evening before) they brought him a tin basin full of soldiers' soup and beans, and a coal-oil can full of water. The soup was strong and scummy, and the can had been so recently emptied of its original contents that there was a film of oil over the top of it. He said: "Before dark I was glad of the excitement of sitting very still, and waiting breathlessly to see if an old rat, whose head I had caught sight of peeking through a crack, would come out. I spent the hours before I could go to sleep, in a vain endeavor to head that rat off from the hole, and when at last I closed my eyes there on the floor, with my overcoat for bed and covering, it was after the longest day I had ever spent. "Of course, I could not sleep the night through. The half-hourly cry of `sentinel alerta,' was interesting at first, but I got to hate the cry before morning, and morning was a long time coming. "In one sound sleep I was startled into wakefulness by what I thought was a hand upon my face. It was not a hand, it was my old friend, the big gray rat, curious about my hair."

The silver scattered had some effect, for at day-light a cup of coffee came-a rare favor. This second day it was the same thing over again. He inspected the cell, counted the boards, wished that the guards would change oftener, took long walks around his cell-in one stretch 140 rounds-and tied wonderful knots with a piece of twine that came around his breakfast; and scratching his name and the date with a rusty nail was another pleasurable employment. The two days were eternity, and yet he was well treated, compared with his interpreter, who passed his first night in a fouler cell than Michelson's, and had been bound. If there was humor in this transaction, Michelson did not at once appreciate it. If it was a joke, it was grim.