(4 of 4)
This was foxy Machado's greatest victory, and he brought back his prisoners in triumph. The Fernandez Quevedo came into Havana harbor early in the morning. Photographers and newsreel men were there on orders to take the prisoners pictures, broadcast them to the villages where the insurrectos still held out. There was no hint of the shark slide for the captured leaders. On the contrary a great show of courtesy was made—the duration of which would doubtless match the duration of the revolt. Havana regarded Machado's triumph sourly. There were no cheers, there were no crowds. General Menocal stepped ashore first, gaunt, his beard (which makes him look so much like Brig.-Gen. Cornelius Vanderbilt) untrimmed. his clothes torn and soiled. Yet he held his shoulders square, marched with head high past the clicking cameras. Fat old Carlos Mendieta. one eye swollen shut, slumped behind him, a dirty yellow slicker drooping from his shoulders, a shapeless felt hat squashed on his head. Just as he approached the waiting automobile he looked up with bleary eyes and delivered himself of one complete, soul-satisfying expletive. "Carrrajo!" swore Colonel Mendieta and drove off to jail.