Govin was cut down, as Delgardo died in prison, as Melton is lying in
prison now, where he will continue to lie until we have a Secretary of
State who recognizes the rights of the correspondent as a
non-combatant, or at least as an American citizen.

The fate of these three American correspondents has not deterred others
from crossing the lines, and they are in the field now, lying in swamps
by day and creeping between the forts by night, standing under fire by
the side of Gomez as they stood beside Maceo, going without food,
without shelter, without the right to answer the attacks of the Spanish
troops, climbing the mountains and crawling across the trochas,
creeping to some friendly hut for a cup of coffee and to place their
despatches in safe hands, and then going back again to run the gauntlet
of Spanish spies and of flying columns and of the unspeakable
guerrillas.

When you sit comfortably at your breakfast in New York, with a
policeman at the corner, and read the despatches which these gentlemen
write of Cuban victories and their interviews with self-important Cuban
chiefs, you should remember what it cost them to supply you with that
addition to your morning's budget of news. Whether the result is worth
the risk, or whether it is not paying too great a price, the greatest
price of all, for too little, is not the question. The reckless bravery
and the unselfishness of the correspondents in the field in Cuba to-day
are beyond parallel.

It is as dangerous to seek for Gomez as Stanley found it to seek for
Livingston, and as few men return from the insurgent camps as from the
Arctic regions.