"The story can be briefly told," he said. "You are simply the witness of a tragedy that had its beginning on this very balcony one month ago. I sent word by the priest to a lady in Havana--an English lady--that we had 4,000 starving people in this town. Could she help us? Always generous, beneficent, self-sacrificing, the lady responded in person. She came by the coast steamer, landed at broad noon, traversed the two miles over which you came a few hours ago from the coast, bringing with her seven ox-cart loads of provisions, clothing and medicine. With her came her daughter, a young girl just over from England. Their charity was distributed from this very balcony to the starving people. The distribution occupied two entire days. Out of 4,000 people, 2,000 were given food and clothing and medicine. She promised the other half equal relief as soon as she could go to Havana and return again with the stores. On the night before she was to leave us the ladies and gentlemen of the leading families here, together with the officers of my staff, proposed to give the good Samaritans a banquet. The proposal was accepted. All gathered for the banquet on this balcony. I draped the front of the house in the Spanish colors, and hung out all the available lamps. That illumination was our ruin. Thirty-four sat down to dine. Only thirty lived through the first course. Of a sudden a hailstorm of bullets was poured into our midst. A bottle of wine in front of me flew into bits. Not a whole plate or a whole glass was left. We sprang up and fled into the house. Not all of us, though. No. Three men-- three of my best officers--had fallen from their chairs, dead. The other--oh, God!" ENGLISH SAMARITAN MURDERED. The commandante could not continue. He made a gesture indicating that I was to step into the house. In his room he opened a huge wardrobe and took out a jacket, a tiny coat, such as might be worn by a soldier boy. The sleeves were loaded with the gold lace and golden stars of a colonel in the Spanish army. On the left side of this jacket or coat was a ragged hole. "The bullet entered here," the commandante said, sorrowfully. "It pierced her heart. The poor mother carried her dead back to Havana. That is all." I understood. A fatal volley had been poured into that dinner party by insurgents on the hilltops. The house was in the center of the town, and the lamps illuminating the Spanish colors had rendered the balcony the best of targets. These Spanish officers and an innocent young English girl, a Samaritan, were murdered.