“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 repeated 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: