Radio broadcast .. (1922-30)

918 Radio Broadcast train he came over to me and said, in perfect English, "Hello, John. Are you going to Santiago?" Every stranger in Cuba in those days was called, "John." When I replied in the affirmative, the dashing young officer told me that he, also, was going there. From that moment the aspect of the trip was changed. I had found a companion, and a delightful one he proved to be! About three o'clock the train stopped at what appeared to be a railway terminal. 1 stepped out to the platform for a little exercise while engines were being changed. After about ten minutes everything was in readiness, yet the train did not move. Fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes passed, and still we stood there. I noticed a little crowd by the baggage car so I strolled up to investigate the trouble. Imagine my surprise to find the entire crew circled around a large coil of wire which had been taken from my seat while 1 was away. All were talking excitedly and casting suspicious glances at me. I couldn't understand the situation. I hurried back to the "sleeper" to seek the assistance of my English-speaking Cuban friend. He came forward with me and asked what the trouble was. They explained that it was against the rules of the company to carry such kind of "baggage" in the sleeping car unless the express charges on it were paid. I had visions of a hold-up which would either mean most of my money for carrying charges or the confiscation of my tools and material. So I asked my interpreter to inquire the amount of the charges. The excited gestures and the combined talking of the crew increased my fears and 1 expected the worst. Imagine my surprise, however, when I was told I would have to pay the railroad company thirteen cents in American money to release the wire so that the train could proceed with my baggage in the sleeper. Upon payment of this sum I had to wait for several receipts and then the train again started on its journey. We arrived at Santiago about nine o'clock that evening after a twenty six hour drag. It was dark and the town was lighted with old fashioned kerosene street lamps. Through the officer I engaged several Cuban boys to assist me to the dock with my luggage as there were no conveyances about. From here I boarded a small steamer enroute to Boqueron, located on the interior shores of the Bay of Guantanamo. The boat steamed out of the bay and past old Morro Castle over the spot where, a few years before, Hobson had sunk the Merrimac. We skirted the southern shore of the island and could see, as we passed by, the dim outlines of some of the hulls of the Spanish fleet which Admiral Sampson beached during the Spanish war. THE SCENE OF ACTION EARLY the next morning we arrived at the little group of huts which was called Boqueron. This hamlet port was the nearest point to the site of the contemplated government wireless station, which in Spanish was called telegrafo sin hilo. It will be remembered that it was only a few years previous to this time that the Spanish-American war occurred which resulted in the freedom of the Cuban people. The United States Government had only very recently completed the arrangements of the formal turning over of the island to its natives, and it was the jollification at Havana which I saw only a few days before which had been held in honor of the event. I n this transaction it was agreed that the United States should retain a small spot in Cuba as a naval base and coaling station. The site selected was the Bay of Guantanamo and its surrounding land consisting approximately of thirtysix square miles. About half of this was land and half water. The entrance from the sea was through a narrow inlet with high hills on either side extending along the coast. It was an ideal land-locked harbor, and big enough to accommodate all the navies of the world at once. The sight of the harbor was inspiring, and the sight of Boqueron was depressing in proportion. The principal building was at the dock. A few native huts, a store and a saloon, housed the entire population of, perhaps, twenty-five people. The loungers around the dock were a tough looking lot, mostly negroes or half-breed Spaniards, just the kind you see in blood and thunder plays. I learned later that a few of them were fugitives from justice, and two were wanted in the United States for murder. As I needed assistance to get overland to my destination I engaged a Jamaican negro, George Morehead, who spoke English, to go as my guide. We strapped the luggage across the backs of two horses and started afoot on the hike through the jungle to the government "lines" beyond which was the continuance of the jungle to the point where the wireless station was to be built. Government surveyors were the only white men who had pre