by Nancy Stout
This battle was a blow to Batista. But he stuck to his story that Fidel Castro was dead. So, showing the world that Fidel was alive became the 26th of July Movement’s next goal, and soon an obsession. The M26 leadership seized on the idea that Fidel must become visible, alive and well, to the international press. Faustino Pérez had been sent to Havana to handle just this sort of thing. He sought contact with Ruby Hart Phillips, a stringer for the New York Times, offering an exclusive on Fidel’s story. In the days following the landing, Phillips and her editor had fallen for the army’s disinformation campaign, and the Times had printed Fidel’s obituary on its front page. Fidel was alive, and the Times should acknowledge the fact.
MEANWHILE, EUTIMIO HAD STARTED to travel full-time with the guerrillas, as their mountain guide. But on January 28, he separated from them. He apologized to Fidel, leaving him and his fighters on their own only because his mother was ill, and pledging to return no later than the end of the week.
January 30 dawned cold—despite the latitude, temperatures drop surprisingly low in the upper elevations of the Sierra Maestra—so the guerrillas rose early and were already on the march at 7:00. A plane flew over; they recognized it as an army reconnaissance aircraft. Shortly after, more planes flew in, and they crouched in the foliage. The incoming squadron dropped bombs at precisely the spot where they’d been camped not an hour before. Shocked, they quickly made plans to reunite the following day, and scattered into the forest.
On February 1, Batista ordered three columns into the region: one to block off the western part of the mountain range, settling in near San Lorenzo; the second poured into El Mulato, the area where the guerrillas were hiding; the third landed on the coast at El Macho, to cover the south side of the mountain range. The guerrillas were unaware of any of this, possibly because they’d become so reliant on intelligence delivered by Eutimio.
Guillermo García soon knew about the army’s presence. He informed the guerrillas, who then operated very cautiously. On the afternoon of the 4th, they were taken in by one of the more prosperous landowners, Florentino Enamorado, whose house at El Aji was large enough to bunk most of the guerrillas indoors. That evening, Enamorado’s wife and daughters served up all the food the men could eat.
The next morning, the guerrillas split into two groups, for greater flexibility in the event they had to move rapidly. Crescencio took eight men, including his son Ignacio, and traveled away from the area, while twenty stayed with Fidel.
IN HAVANA, FAUSTINO’S PRESS EFFORT was moving forward. Joined by Rene Rodríguez, sent by Frank from Santiago, Faustino met with Ruby Hart Phillips on February 2. The location for their meeting was chosen to impress. Felipe Pazos was the country’s leading economist and first president of the National Bank of Cuba, and a meeting in his office had been easy to arrange because his son, Javier, was a leader in Havana’s 26th of July Movement. Following the conversation, Phillips cabled Emanuel R. Freedman, the Times international editor, who replied two days later that he would dispatch veteran reporter Herbert Matthews to Cuba. This was a coup, as Matthews had made his reputation covering the Spanish Civil War twenty years earlier, filing his reports from the guerrilla front as the Republicans fought Franco’s Nationalist forces.
At the end of the week, on February 5, the guerrillas’ best friend in the mountains, the ultra-sympathetic Eutimio Guerra, rejoined them, announcing he’d come straight back from seeing his mother. He was seemingly unaware of the army’s presence, but his companions noticed that he was acting a little edgy, and carrying a pistol.
THAT SAME DAY, Celia met with a friend—a man who worked in Pilón and had driven all the way to Manzanillo to bring her information. The week before he was fairly certain he had seen the man he’d been told served the guerrillas as a guide, Eutimio Guerra, board an army plane in Pilón.
WEDNESDAY, THE 6TH, WAS PARTICULARLY COLD, especially for the twenty men with Fidel, hiding out of doors not far from Florentino’s house, immobile and out of sight during the daylight hours. At nightfall, Eutimio asked to sleep next to Fidel because he was so chilled. Fidel agreed. The cold again drove them from camp early the next morning. At 8:00, planes flew over and bombed Florentino Enamorado’s house, the residents presumably inside. For 20 or 30 minutes, the guerrillas watched in horror. Eutimio, apparently making a grim joke, said, “I didn’t tell them to attack here.” Soon after the bombing ceased, he excused himself and left the group again.
The previous week, when he’d allegedly visited his sick mother, he’d gone straight to the army, been put in a jeep and driven to Pilón (where Celia’s friend saw him get into a small plane). From the air, he had pointed out where the guerrillas were camped. Now he headed for El Macho to give the army Fidel’s new position. The morning of February 8, the army column at El Macho moved to less than 5 kilometers from the guerrilla camp. Che, writing in his diary early that morning, notes that he’s happy to see the night patrol return carrying five chickens, so he must have been unaware of the army’s presence. He was still writing at 11:00 when planes flew in, surprisingly close, he notes. Little worth recording in the diary seems to have happened for the rest of the day. Che simply observes that it rained all afternoon (and so the army postponed operations, pending better weather). Sometime during the afternoon, Che records, Eutimio returned and spent the night with the guerrillas.
CELIA, OPERATING FROM ONE of the houses Hector had moved her into in Manzanillo, was extremely busy. Frank, following the Times’s confirmation (on February 4) that Matthews was coming, had put her in charge of getting the journalist into the mountains and out again. When Matthews and his wife, Nancie, arrived in Havana on the 9th, aboard a National Airlines flight, Faustino Pérez immediately contacted Celia. She was in the middle of preparing for the journalist’s highly important visit when word came that the guerrillas had been caught in an ambush. And not just any ambush: she was told that Fidel was dead. A 26th of July Movement ally inside the army, a lieutenant, was the source of her intelligence. She sent an inquiry to the informant and waited for his reply. By the end of the day, he confirmed that an ambush had taken place and all the guerrillas in the skirmish had been eliminated, including Fidel Castro. Celia’s reaction was not hysteria or resignation, but skepticism. She initiated her own investigation, even though she found the lieutenant’s report hard to contradict. Apparent facts went against her gut instinct. The army had released news of the ambush, but hadn’t mentioned Fidel. She saw the twisted logic to this: since the government still officially maintained that he had died during the landing, two months earlier, they could hardly announce that they had killed him again. But she doubted both claims. Her thinking: if they’d killed or captured Fidel, such highly sensational news would find its way to light.
IN THE MOUNTAINS, on the morning of February 9, a farmer named Adrian Pérez Vargas was walking along the road near Fidel’s camp, carrying two sacks of sweet potatoes. The guerrilla sentry, a new recruit, stopped him and—to be on the safe side—took him prisoner. He relieved Pérez of his machete and led him straight to Fidel. Fidel questioned the farmer, who insisted that a huge number of army troops were right down in the valley below, and had been there since the previous day. Fidel naturally wanted proof of this. “Can you take me to a place where I can see them?”
They set off, and in the course of their walk, the farmer mentioned having seen Eutimio Guerra that morning—down in the valley with the troops. Fidel and Pérez covered four or five kilometers to a point from which the rebel leader, astonished, observed the enemy through the scope of his rifle.
As he returned to camp, Fidel silently reviewed Eutimio’s history: his trip to see his mother and other absences from camp; how easily he passed through enemy lines; how casually he’d been able to purchase things difficult to come by; the sick joke he’d made when Florentino’s house went up in flames. As soon as he reached his men, Fidel ordered everyone who could leave to do so immediately. Only some six kilometers away he’d seen approximately 140 m
en camped around houses in the valley, supported by modern equipment, and armed with automatic and semi-automatic rifles. After issuing this order and giving the motivation for its urgency, he announced that Eutimio was a traitor. The guerrillas reacted with surprise and disbelief.
Fidel anxiously waited for two of his men out on reconnaissance to return. It was after 2:00 p.m. when they showed up, insisting while Fidel briefed them that they’d seen nothing out of the ordinary. During this exchange, the guerrilla on lookout, Ciro Redondo, called, “Quiet!” A moment later, Manuel Fajardo gasped, “It’s Eutimio.” A gun went off and a young farmer, a recent recruit standing just steps from Fidel, fell to the ground, a bullet in his head. Everybody ran.
Six men stuck with Fidel: Raúl, Fajardo, Redondo, Efigénio Amerijerias, Juan Francisco Echevarria, and José “Gallego” Moran. They followed a stream, hoping to get to the Macio River and cross it. The earlier group, Juan Almeida, Che, Camilo Cienfuegos, Guillermo García, Universo Sánchez, and Beto Pesant, had taken that route. They stayed on the run six days. On Sunday, February 10, Almeida’s group crossed the Macio River and continued on through the night, finally stopping to hide at daylight. Che, in his diary, mentions that Fidel had ordered everyone to reunite in La Habanita (not far from Pico Turquino).
CELIA, MORE AND MORE convinced her gut feeling was right, telephoned Guerra Matos on the 11th. He still remembers feeling the force of her will as she told him, in a low voice (he says he had to concentrate to hear her), that it had been three days since the ambush and if the army really had Fidel, or his corpse, they wouldn’t have been able to resist putting the picture on television. “Don’t believe them. This is propaganda they are handing out,” she said, ordering Felipe to drive to Mongo Pérez’s farm, Cinco Palmas, to get firsthand information. Felipe told me he “absorbed her conviction,” got into his car and drove to Mongo’s prepared to wait until he had information to bring home to her.
FIDEL AND HIS GROUP got to the river on Monday, February 11, undetected. That night, Fidel knocked on the door of a house in a place called Tatequieto and the owner showed the rebels a good place to camp, hidden by trees, in a pasture on his land. The next day he suggested they stay on the property of some friends, offering to show them the way. There, his friends, two brothers, spent the day rustling up potatoes, beef, pork, and coffee to cook for the hungry men. The Almeida/Che/Pesant group got word that Fidel was nearby, and the Tatequieto farmer gave them directions. In less than an hour, the groups reunited. All these local farmers seemed to know about the guerrillas. They knew as well about Eutimio Guerra, and so the guerrillas learned—through this particular grapevine—that the stakes were high: in exchange for Fidel’s life, the army had promised the traitor $10,000 and a farm.
ON WEDNESDAY THE 13TH, Fidel selected a soldier to carry a message to Celia in Manzanillo. He instructed the young man to tell her their present location, where they were going, and where he wanted her to bring Matthews; he had chosen a new location, a farm. Just as the young guerrilla, Juan Francisco Echevarria, left on his heady mission, another of Fidel’s guerrillas, José Moran, simply walked off without authorization. This bit of outrageous behavior was noted by both Che and Raúl, who silently put their feelings down in their respective diaries. The independent entries come to the same conclusion: Moran was a deserter. On the 13th, young Echevarria showed up at Cinco Palmas and told Mongo about the ambush, mentioning that he had a message from Fidel for Celia Sánchez. Felipe Guerra Matos, who was present, relates how he grabbed the young man, put him in his car and took off for Manzanillo. In that letter, Fidel explained exactly where he wanted to rendezvous with Matthews and assured Celia he’d make it there on the 17th. Historians rarely mention that Fidel, in doing this, really upped the ante; he asked Celia to arrange for all the directors of the 26th of July Movement to be there, too. She must have been taken aback, as assembling the full leadership in one place ran enormous risk. Moving a famous journalist into the area suddenly became just another one of her worries. She whipped into action, asking Rafael Sierra, director of the Manzanillo branch since Beto Pesant’s departure, to call a meeting for the next day. Frank sent Nicaragua (Carlos Iglesias, the young Santiago banker) to represent him. Celia, Enrique Escalona (the young Manzanillo banker), Nicaragua, and Sierra (who worked in his parents’ dry goods store) decided that Matthews had been waiting in Havana long enough—since February 9—with no idea what was going on, so they’d get him to Fidel as soon as possible. D-Day was to be the 17th, the day Fidel promised to be at the new destination. Celia announced that Matthews should arrive just after midnight on the 16th, so he could interview Fidel as early as possible the following the day. Nicaragua got on a plane for Havana (to help Faustino coordinate Matthew’s movements), and Escalona drove to Santiago to fill Frank in on the details. After Frank heard the plans, he talked to Celia by phone (she was staying at the house of Dr. Rene Vallejo) and assured her that Rene Rodríguez was on his way to help her. Frank had sent Rene off so hurriedly that he didn’t have film in his camera. Frank confirmed that he’d bring film himself (sending Arturo Duque de Estrada—probably as he spoke—to a camera store for several rolls).
IN HAVANA, AS SOON AS DIRECTORS Armando Hart and Haydée Santamaria found out that Fidel wanted all directors to assemble, they simply went to the airport and took the first plane to Santiago. On February 15, Vilma Espin drove the big three—Frank, Haydée, and Armando—over the mountain highway from Santiago to Manzanillo. Stopped at all checkpoints, they were completely conspicuous in the Red Threat, but to the soldiers they appeared to be two happy couples in a new red Dodge. The Red Threat rolled into Manzanillo in the afternoon, entering Celia’s jurisdiction. Felipe was on the job, acting on her behalf, and when he learned of their arrival, he picked up Frank. Next he got Celia from her hiding place (she’d moved to another house, a Moorish-style palace a stone’s throw from the police station) and transported them to Fidel’s new location.
Los Chorros, the farm where the rendezvous was to take place, is located in the western foothills of the tallest mountains in the Sierra, and was owned by Epifánio Diaz. It turned out to be a very good place for rebel activities, and served the 26th of July Movement well for the rest of the war. The farmhouse had lots of windows, giving views in all directions; surrounding the house were coffee groves and pastures dotted with small stands of trees, good to camp in; best of all, Los Chorros was accessible by several roads, a main highway and back routes via farm roads coming from different directions.
Celia got into the car carrying packages that contained, among other things, slices of ham, cigars, candy, and as a present for Fidel, a Schaeffer pen Elsa Castro had probably swiped from her father’s stationery store. Felipe had already loaded crates of bottled drinks into the trunk, along with a big box containing a wedding cake. This trip, carrying the bosses, Celia, and Frank, would be the first of many he’d have to make now that everyone was attending the interview. With the Rural Guard on the lookout, being stopped was inevitable, and his cover had to be credible. He and Celia had decided to say that one of Felipe’s sisters was getting married on his father’s farm (and point to the wedding cake as evidence). When Celia and Frank got out at Los Chorros, Felipe turned around immediately and headed back to Manzanillo.
ON THE SAME AFTERNOON, around 5:30, Javier Pazos telephoned the Sevilla Biltmore Hotel to tell Herbert Matthews to be ready to leave that night. Nancie Matthews, who has written an account of this trip, says she had just started to wash her hair when the call came, but stopped, opting to wear a hat, so they could go out to dinner immediately. The couple strolled up the Paseo del Prado, Havana’s version of Barcelona’s Las Ramblas, crossed Parque Central, and entered the restaurant El Floridita, where they ordered daiquiris and lobster. After dinner they returned to their hotel to wait for the call. At 10:00 Javier phoned from the lobby. Checking out immediately, Matthews informed the desk clerk that he was going on a fishing trip, calling attention to his rugged-looking clothes.
He and Nancie got into a new Plymouth. Javier Pasos introduced Faustino and the car’s driver and owner, Lilliam Mesa, as Luis and Marta. (Matthews wrote that he didn’t know their full names and didn’t want to.) The group took off into the night.
THAT NIGHT, FIDEL’S GUERRILLAS rested and ate well. They waited until it was dark enough to travel their last twenty kilometers safely, on foot. Meanwhile, the Plymouth en route from Havana skimmed the Central Highway, Lilliam and Faustino singing international songs to entertain Nancie and Herbert Matthews, stopping fairly often for “thimblefuls of Cuban coffee.” About halfway, at around 4:00 a.m. on Saturday, February 16, Nancie felt cold enough to mention it to the others. Approaching the city of Camagüey, about an hour later, they stopped for breakfast. Lilliam had had trouble finding a place that was open, and had driven past the same policeman three times. Nancie Matthews recalled thinking, she’s a charming girl, but a dangerous wife for a revolutionary. Finally Lilliam stopped and asked the policeman for directions to a good hotel. They ate fresh rolls, drank café au lait, warmed up a little, and were back on the road again by 6:00 a.m.
IN THE MOUNTAINS, just as it got light, Fidel ordered his men, sleeping in an open pasture on Epifánio’s property, to get up and move out of sight. They pitched camp inside a stand of trees while Fidel, fully awake, and his bodyguard, Ciro Frias, headed downhill toward the house.
13. FEBRUARY 16 AND 17, 1956
