to the trenches of the enemy, and by whom these men were commanded, I
am sure the place would reconstruct itself and would breathe with
interest, not only for the returning volunteer, but for any casual
tourist. As it is, the history of the fight and the reputation of
the men who fought is now at the mercy of the caretaker of the park
and the Cuban "guides" from the hotel. The caretaker speaks only
Spanish, and, considering the amount of misinformation the guides
disseminate, it is a pity when they are talking to Americans, they
are not forced to use the same language. When last I visited it,
Carlos Portuondo was the official guardian of San Juan Hill. He is
an aged Cuban, and he fought through the Ten Years' War, but during
the last insurrection and the Spanish-American War he not only was
not near San Juan, but was not even on the Island of Cuba. He is a
charming old person, and so is his aged wife. Their chief concern in
life, when I saw them, was to sell me a pair of breeches made of
palm-fibre which Carlos had worn throughout the entire ten years of
battle. The vicissitudes of those trousers he recited to me in great
detail, and he very properly regarded them as of historic value. But
of what happened at San Juan he knew nothing, and when I asked him
why he held his present post and occupied the Block-House, he said,
"To keep the cows out of the park." When I asked him where the
Americans had camped, he pointed carefully from the back door of the
Block-House to the foot of his kitchen-garden. I assured him that
under no stress of terror could the entire American army have been
driven into his back yard, and pointed out where it had stretched
along the ridge of hills for five miles. He politely but
unmistakably showed that he thought I was a liar. From the Venus
Hotel there were two guides, old Casanova and Jean Casanova, his
languid and good-natured son, a youth of sixteen years. Old
Casanova, like most Cubans, is not inclined to give much credit for