THE ATTACK ON THE OLD CONVENT.
“My father a prisoner!” I gasped out, when I could speak.
“Yes, Mark.”
“And how was he captured? and why?”
“It is rather a long story. But tell me, where is Alano?” And now it was Señor Guerez' turn to become anxious.
In a few words I explained matters, to which the planter listened with close attention. His brow darkened when I mentioned the Spaniards up at the coffee plantation.
“I know them,” he said. “We are expecting an attack from them every day.”
“An attack at this place?”
“Yes.” He turned to his companions, and introduced me to Father Anuncio and to Lieutenant Porlando, both of whom shook hands warmly when they were informed who I was. “You see, many of the planters have brought their families here,” Señor Guerez went on, "and the Spanish think to subdue us if they can make our wives and daughters prisoners. Butthat shall never be while we have strength to fight."
“Tell me of my father,” I said impatiently.
“Come inside, my boy,” said Alano’s father; and giving Bumbo a bit of silver I sent him off, and followed the others into the courtyard, in the rear of which was the convent building proper, although wings extended out upon both sides.
In a shady corner I was introduced to La Señora Guerez and to Alano’s two sisters, Inez and Paula, two girls of ten and twelve, now quite as dark as their father and mother, and very beautiful, with their black wavy hair and sparkling eyes full of good humor and merriment. Mother and daughters could speak a little English, and for Alano’s sake they fairly made me feel like one of the family.
I was impatient to hear about my father; and as soon as the señor had told the others of what I had said concerning Alano, Señor Guerez told me his story.
“As soon as we felt that the war was going to be severe and probably of long duration,” said he, "your father and I telegraphed to Dr. Walford to keep you at Broxville Academy until you heard from us by letter. Two days later came a return message stating that you had already gone to New York and taken steamerfor Cuba. The worthy doctor could not tell by what route you had gone.
"This being the case, your father and I concluded to let you come on, and I dispatched Pedro, one of my faithful servants, to meet you at Santiago de Cuba and conduct you in safety to the plantation, where your father was still down with his broken leg, which was, however, mending rapidly.
"Several days went by, and matters became very troublesome about my plantation. Some of the men had joined the Cuban forces under Brigadier General José Maceo, a brother to the late Antonio Maceo, and my neighbors begged me to join also and become captain of a company of white Cubans—they not caring to serve under Maceo or Garcia and also not caring to go as far west as where the forces under General Gomez were located.
"While I was deliberating, a body of Spanish guerrillas came along and burned down two of my largest storehouses and threatened my wife with violence. This angered me, and I got my gun and shot two of the rascals—one in the leg and the other in the shoulder. A battle royal ensued between my workmen and the guerrillas, and the guerrillas received the worst of the encounter and were forced to retreat, with three men wounded and one man dead.
"This settled the matter, and I joined the Cuban forces under Garcia without delay. Your father also took part in the battle and saved my wife from great indignities. When I called my white men together, and my white neighbors, they speedily formed a company of volunteers, and I was chosen the captain, with Lieutenant Porlando for my first officer and your father for second lieutenant. We were all supplied with good horses and first-class weapons, and the very next day after effecting our organization defeated a body of the Spanish troops and drove them ten miles up the road and away from the mountains which General Garcia is using as a stronghold.
“As it was perilous in the extreme to leave the women-folks home alone while the men were away, it was decided by me and my neighbors to bring them all here and leave them with Father Anuncio and a strong guard. It was believed that no one would dare molest any woman while sheltered by this old convent. There are within the walls over a dozen ladies and nearly thirty children, besides a company of picked men and six men who were wounded at one time or another.”
“But my father?” I put in, as the señor paused.
"I am coming to that, Mark. It was twodays ago that our company was in the vicinity of Guantanamo. I had received valuable information concerning the contemplated movements of the Spanish troops, and this information I wished to place in the hands of General Garcia and his staff. Your father offered to find a certain captain, while another of the company rode off to find the general.
“Your father was accompanied by a private named Hawley, an American who settled near me several years ago. The pair were gone about six hours when Hawley came riding back to our camp, severely wounded in the thigh. He said they had met a company of Spanish soldiers, who had discovered them ere they were aware. Your father had been taken a prisoner, while Hawley had had a hard time of it to escape.”
“And have you heard of him since then?” I asked anxiously.
"I heard from him yesterday. Some of our soldiers, while tramping through the woods, came across a Spaniard who was severely wounded. They treated him as well as he could possibly expect, dressed his wounds, and gave him a supply of water and bread and meat; and in return he told them about their prisoner, your father. He said your father was to be sent onto the authorities at Santiago as an American spy."
“A spy!”
“Yes, my boy, a spy. It is, of course, a foolish charge, but I am afraid it may cause your father a good deal of trouble.”
“Why, they place spies in dungeons and often shoot them, Señor Guerez!”
“Let us hope for the best, Mark,” he returned soothingly.
“Would they dare shoot an American citizen?”
“Unfortunately your father was caught wearing a Cuban uniform and with our flag pinned to his hat—as I have it.”
I bowed my head, and something like tears started to my eyes. This news was awful. Supposing my father was shot as a spy? I would be left alone in the world. Overcome by my emotions, I felt compelled to turn away, when Señor Guerez placed a kindly hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t be too downcast, my boy. It may not go so badly with your parent, and I will do all I can for both of you. As soon as I can arrange certain matters with the men who are in charge here, I will follow up those who have your father in charge and see if he cannot be rescued.”
“Oh, will you do that?” I cried, catching his hand. “You are more than kind, Señor Guerez!”
We were about to continue the conversation, when the lieutenant to whom I had been introduced came rushing up all out of breath. He had been walking down by the river, field-glass in hand, and had made an important discovery, which he imparted to the others in Spanish.
It was to the effect that a large body of Spanish soldiers were riding through the woods, back of the river, and it looked as if they were bound for the old convent. They were heavily armed, and on the back of a mule could be seen a small cannon.
“As I expected,” muttered Señor Guerez. “I’ll take a look at them.”
He ran up to the roof of the convent, glass in hand, and, nobody stopping me, I followed him. A long, searching look and he dashed down the glass, hurried below, and issued a dozen rapid orders.
Men flew in all directions, some to get their guns and pistols, and others to shut the gates leading to the courtyard and to place square bits of blocks into the deep windows.
I tried to get an explanation from somebody, but all were too busy. Señor Guerez was the only one who gave me a hint of what was wrong.
“'Tis a body of Spanish soldiers led by a priest who is a rival to Father Anuncio. He wishes to get the good father to give up this old convent, which means that we must vacate too. It is a ruse of the enemy.”
No more was said. Quarter of an hour later a white flag was waved and a man came up to the old convent gates. A short talk ensued between him, Señor Guerez, Father Anuncio, and several others, and then the man withdrew.
Hardly had he gone than all of us heard the cracks of a dozen or more guns, and as many bullets flattened themselves on the convent walls.
“They have opened the fight,” remarked Señor Guerez grimly, while several of the women and children shrieked. “Now we will show them what we can do.”
He selected the best of his soldiers, and placed them at convenient loopholes in the upper part of the old building. Weapons were ready for use, and at a word of command the fire of the Spaniards was returned.
A yell of surprise and rage went up, and there immediately followed another volley of musketry from without. This was returned, and this sort of thing lasted for quarter of an hour, when the enemy retired behind the bluff I have previously mentioned.
But they did not remain quiet long. Presently, looking through his field-glass, Señor Guerez announced that they had succeeded in mounting the cannon they had brought along. The weapon was duly loaded and sighted, and we awaited with thrilling interest the effect of this rather formidable weapon.
THE ROUTING OF THE ENEMY.
Boom!
The Spanish gunners had fired the cannon perched on the bluff, its muzzle pointed directly for the doors of the old convent.
Hardly had we heard the report than there was a crash and the splinters flew in every direction. The shot had struck the frame of the doors and shattered it badly.
A cry of rage went up from the Cubans, and, rushing to the loopholes left in the blocked-up windows, they sought to pick off the gunners with their carbines. But the Spaniards prudently kept out of sight, so this movement was useless.
“Two more shots like that, and the doors will come down,” muttered Señor Guerez, with a grave shake of his head. “I wish we had a cannon to fire in return.”
A consultation was held, and all of the women and children were told to retire to an inner room of the convent, where the damage done by the cannon might not reach them.
This had scarcely been accomplished when the Spaniards fired a second shot. But their aim was poor, and the ball only plowed up the ground fifty feet outside of the courtyard.
Señor, or rather Captain, Guerez, as I should now call him, collected his men together, and a short but exciting debate took place, only a few words of which were plain to me. Alano’s father favored leaving the convent by a rear passage-way leading to a woods and surprising the enemy by coming up in their rear.
Just as a third shot from the cannon struck the roof of the convent and tore off a corner of the stonework, it was agreed upon to carry out this project. Four men were left to exhibit themselves occasionally, so that the Spaniards might think the soldiers still there, and Alano’s father asked me to remain with them.
“I do not advise you to take part in the fighting,” he said. “But if you find it necessary to defend yourself, you’ll find guns in plenty in the dining-hall closet, with cartridges in one of the drawers.”
In less than ten minutes the company of soldiers, fifty-six strong, were on their way, leaving the convent as silently as shadows. The moment the last of them had taken to the passage-way, the entrance was closed and bolted, and I found myself left behind with the women andchildren and the four guards, none of whom could speak a word of English.
After firing the third shot the Spaniards paused, probably to hold a council of war. To divert suspicion from the movements of Captain Guerez and his men, the four guards and myself passed out in plain sight of them several times. Of course we did not remain long, nor did we show ourselves in the same place twice. Our appearance called forth half a dozen shots from as many muskets, but we were too far off for these to have any effect. One bullet did hit near where a guard had shown himself, but its force was spent and it did no damage.
Nearly half an hour had passed, when suddenly we heard a yell and a wild shouting, and all of the Spaniards dashed into view, running hither and thither as though panic-stricken. Captain Guerez had surprised them completely, and they thought it was a re-enforcement for the old convent and not the soldiers from that place themselves. A hundred shots rang out, and, using a field-glass, I saw that the Spaniards were completely demoralized. They formed into a hollow square once, but this was speedily broken up, and then off they rode and ran, helter-skelter, down the bluff and across the river, some fording and some swimming, for their very lives.
The engagement had lasted less than quarter of an hour when some of the Cubans came riding toward the convent gates, bringing with them several wounded men—some of their own party—and three of the Spaniards who had been captured.
Captain Guerez had, in the meantime, followed the Spanish leader across the stream. The pursuit was kept up for nearly half an hour, at the end of which time the Spaniards were driven so far off it was likely they would not dare to return for a long while, if at all.
When Alano’s father came back it was found he had received a sword thrust through the fleshy part of the leg. The wound was not a dangerous one, but it was painful, and his wife and daughters did all they could to ease his sufferings.
“I am sorry for your sake, Mark, that I am wounded,” he remarked, as he rested upon a cot. “I will have to keep quiet for a few days, and thus our quest after your father will have to be delayed.”
“You wouldn’t dare to leave here just yet anyway, would you?” I asked, much disappointed, yet feeling that it was no more than I could expect.
"Hardly, my boy. I do not expect those Spaniards to return; we have given them farmore than they expected. They would not attack us without re-enforcements, and there are no other Spanish troops within a good many miles."
Now that the old convent had been once attacked, it was decided to keep a strict watch, day and night, upon the roof and through the grounds. A detail of men was formed, instructions to keep a constant lookout given, and then Captain Guerez passed over his command temporarily to Lieutenant Porlando.
The remainder of the day passed quietly enough, I occupying the time in repairing my clothing, which needed many a stitch. In this work the elder of Alano’s sisters helped me, Señora Guerez keeping by her husband’s side and having the younger sister to assist her.
I found Inez Guerez a most companionable girl. Her stock of English was as limited as was my knowledge of Spanish, yet we managed to make each other understand, laughing roundly over the mistakes we made. When I mentioned Alano and told what great friends we were, tears stood in her dark eyes, and she said she trusted he would soon reach the old convent in safety. My father and she had also become great friends, and she said she hoped he would escape from his Spanish captors ere they had achance to thrust him into a dungeon at Santiago.
Having had no sleep the night before, I retired early, and was soon in the land of dreams, despite the many misgivings I had concerning my father’s welfare. Fervently I prayed that he might escape from the Spaniards who held him, and that we might speedily be reunited.
When I awoke in the morning the sky was darkly overcast and it was raining furiously. The downpour caused the river to rise, and the lower end of the old convent was partly under water.
A fair breakfast was had, consisting of coffee, bread, and some fried plantains, which to me tasted particularly fine, and then I went to Captain Guerez, to find him much improved and in good spirits.
“We would not go off anyway in such a storm as this,” he said, as he sipped a bowl of coffee. “It will be fresh and cool after it is over, and by that time I think I will be able to ride once more, and I think my cousin will come to remain with my wife and girls.”
The downpour up to noon was terrific, then the sun came out strongly, and the hills and valleys were covered with a heavy mist as the water evaporated. By sundown it became cooler, and the roof of the old convent proved a most delightful lounging place.
We were all out there, watching the shadows as the sun set behind the hills in the west, when one of the guards announced that two men were approaching from a trail leading through the woods to the northwest. A field-glass was at once procured, and Lieutenant Porlando took a long look at them.
“A black and a boy,” he announced in Spanish, and I leaped forward and begged for the use of the glass for a minute. My request was readily granted, and I waited for the two newcomers to reappear among the trees.
“They are Alano and Jorge!” I exclaimed a minute later.
“Alano!” cried my chum’s sisters. “Are you certain?”
“Yes, it is Alano, and he carries his arm in a sling.”
And down we rushed in a body and asked to be let out of the courtyard. Inez was the first to emerge into the open, and off she rushed at full speed, to find herself a minute later in Alano’s arms, with Paula close behind.
ON THE TRAIL OF MY FATHER.
“Mark!” ejaculated my Cuban chum, when, on releasing himself from his sisters' embraces, he espied me. “So you have reached here before me. I am very glad to see it.”
“You are wounded?” I queried, as we shook hands. Had it not been for the girls and Jorge we would have fairly hugged each other. “How did that happen?”
“It’s quite a story. Are my father and mother safe?”
“Yes, although your father, too, is wounded.”
“Those soldiers at the coffee plantation, then, did not manage to catch you?”
“No.”
“They caught me and Jorge, and we were their prisoners for five or six hours. We would not have gotten away, only Jorge bribed one of the servants at the plantation, another negro. He cut the cords with which we were bound, and we got out of the cellar into which we were put at night.”
“And that wound?”
“I got that when they came after us, ten minutes later. They couldn’t see us and fired blindly, and I got a bullet across the forearm. But it’s a mere scratch,” Alano added, as he saw Inez and Paula look serious.
He wanted to know all about my adventures, but there was no time to tell of them just then, for the convent gates were soon reached and here Alano’s mother met him and, after a warm embrace, led him to his father’s side. It was a happy family gathering, and I thought it best to withdraw for the time being. I walked again to the roof; and an hour later Alano joined me there.
His story was soon told. After escaping from the coffee plantation he and Jorge had become lost like myself in the forest. They, however, had not made their way to the mountain side, but had entered a valley between that mountain and the next, and, coming to a branch of the river, had floated down it until overtaken by the storm at night.
The storm had driven them to shelter under some shelving rocks, and here a temporary camp was made and Jorge went out on a search for food. Little could be found, but in the morning the guide had brought down several birds with a stick and these they had cooked and eaten with keen relish. The way was then resumed, when, at noon, they had found themselves on the wrong road and many miles out of their way.
“THE SPANIARDS WERE COMPLETELY DEMORALIZED.”
“THE SPANIARDS WERE COMPLETELY DEMORALIZED.”
Jorge was much chagrined at his mistake and wanted Alano to kick him for his thoughtlessness. The stream was left, and they took a cut through the woods, which at last brought them to the old convent, as described.
When Alano had finished, I told him my story in all of its details, especially my adventures in the mountain stream and on the underground river. He listened in silent amazement.
“It was a wonderful escape!” he cried, when I was through. “A wonderful escape! I would like some day to explore that cave.”
“It was nothing but a big hole in the ground, and I never want to see it again,” I answered, with a shudder. “But now you are here, what do you expect to do?”
“If my father will permit me, I’ll join you and him in the search for your father,” he answered. “But it may be that he will wish me to remain here with my mother and my sisters.”
“Yes, somebody ought to remain with them, Alano.”
“My father is expecting Señor Noenti, a relative of mine. If he comes he will look after my mother and sisters. He is a very brave and powerful man.”
Alano and I slept together that night, just as we had often done at Broxville Academy. It was a good deal to me to have my chum by me again. We had missed each other more than mere words can tell.
We had just finished breakfast the next day, and Captain Guerez was trying to walk around a bit on his wounded leg, when several newcomers were announced. Among them was Señor Noenti, who was warmly received by the Guerez family.
During the morning it was arranged that he should remain at the old convent during Captain Guerez' absence, and by hard pleading Alano obtained permission to join us in our hunt for my father. Jorge and three other trusty men were to go along also. Alano’s father pronounced himself quite able to ride, and each of us was fitted out with a good horse, a brace of pistols, and a quantity of ammunition sufficient to last for several engagements. We also carried with us two days' rations. When they were gone we would have to depend upon what we found for our meals. But armed as we were, and in a country where everything grew in profusion, it was not likely that such a small body would lack for something to eat. Starvation was common in the regular Cuban army, but only when thetroops remained in one mountainous region for a long while and ate up everything in sight.
Captain Guerez had a well-formed idea concerning the highways and trails the party having my father a prisoner would take; and, after an affectionate farewell to his wife and daughters, he led our little party up past the bluff the Spaniards had occupied and along a path skirting the mountain which had caused me so much trouble. Our horses were fresh, and we made good time until sunset, when we reached a small village called Molino. Here there were a number of blacks and the poorer class of whites. All, however, made us welcome, and here it was decided to remain for the night.
The principal man living in the place was a Spaniard named Curilos, a fellow who years before had been a sailor. He was a comical fellow in the extreme and a good singer, accompanying himself in singing on a home-made guitar, a rough-looking instrument, but one very sweet in tone. How a sailor had ever settled there was a mystery to me, but there he was and apparently more than content.
Curilos' home was of long tree branches, fastened together with tough vines, which grow everywhere in profusion. The branches were twined and intertwined and lashed to four corner-posts. The roof of this abode was coveredwith dried palm leaves, and was quite water-proof. In one corner was a rude fireplace of stone, and the smoke curled up through a hole in a corner of the building.
I slept in this structure on a hammock stretched from one corner-post to another. It was as good a bed as one would desire had it not been for one thing, as disgusting to me as it was annoying: the house was overrun with vermin—a not uncommon thing, even in the dwellings of the middle classes.
It was hardly sunrise when Alano’s father called us for breakfast, after which we leaped into the saddle once more and rode off at a stiff gait. The ride of the afternoon had left me a little sore, I not as yet being used to such traveling, but I made up my mind not to complain, as it would do no good and only worry Captain Guerez and my chum. Riding never bothered Alano, as he had been used to the high, stiff Spanish saddle from early boyhood.
As we proceeded on our way we of course kept a strict lookout for enemies, and on more than one occasion Alano’s father called a halt, while he rode ahead to make certain that the road was clear.
“If we’re not careful the Spaniards may surprise us and make us all prisoners,” he said grimly. "Although I hardly think any troopsare near us at present," he added a minute later.
Having stopped for dinner in the middle of a dense woods, we rode out in the afternoon on a broad plateau overlooking numerous valleys. Far to the southward could be seen the buildings in Guantanamo. By the aid of the field-glass Captain Guerez pointed out a portion of his immense plantation.
As this was the first sight I had had of Alano’s home, I gazed at it with interest. While I was looking, I saw a small column of smoke curling upward from a broad stretch of canefields. I watched it for several seconds, and then called Alano’s attention to it.
“There should be no smoke there,” he said gravely, and called his father, who had turned away for the moment to give Jorge some directions.
“What is it—smoke?” cried Captain Guerez, snatching the glass. “Let me see if you are not mistaken.” He gave a searching look and then a groan. “You are right, boys, the Spaniards have kept their word. They threatened to burn down my fields if I did not declare in their favor, and now they are doing it. In a few hours the whole of my property will be nothing more than a blackened waste!”
IN THE BELT OF THE FIREBRANDS.
“Do you mean to say, father, that they will dare to burn down all of our sugar-cane fields?” demanded Alano.
“Dare, Alano? They will dare do anything, now they have heard that I have thrown in my fortunes with the insurgents,” replied Captain Guerez bitterly.
“What of your house and barns?” I put in soberly.
“Most likely they will be ransacked first and then the torch will be applied,” answered Alano’s father with increased bitterness. “Ah, well, such are the fortunes of war.Cuba libre!” he muttered firmly.
Alano’s parent was first tempted to ride in the direction of his plantation in the hope of saving something, but speedily gave up the idea. There was no direct course hither, and the roundabout trail which must be pursued would not bring him to Guantanamo until the next morning.
"And by that time the Spaniards will havedone their dastardly work and gone on," he remarked.
Several times as we rode along the plateau, Captain Guerez stopped to take a look through the field-glass, but he said nothing more excepting in an undertone to his son.
By sundown the plateau came to an end, and we plunged into a valley which was for the most part divided into immense sugar plantations, some of them half a mile or more in length.
“This is something like that at home,” remarked Alano to me, as we moved on side by side. “That is, like it was,” he hastened to add.
“The fields will grow again, won’t they?” I asked.
“Oh, yes; but my father’s loss will be very great.”
“I suppose so. Did he have much sugar on hand?”
“The storehouses were full. You see, shipments have been at a standstill for a year or more.”
“It will take a long while, after the war is over, to get back to prosperity, I am afraid, Alano?”
"It will take years, and perhaps prosperity will never come. General Garcia is determined to fight to the bitter end, and so is General Gomez,and so long as both remain among the mountains and forests it will be impossible for the Spaniards to make them surrender. I heard father say we could lead the Spanish troops a dance from one spot to another for years, and in the meantime Spain will get no revenue from Cuba, while the expense of keeping the war up will foot up to millions of piasters—something that even Spain cannot stand."
“I wish it was all over, and that we were all safe,” I returned shortly. “I’ve seen all the war I want.”
“And yet you haven’t seen any regular battle,” laughed my Cuban chum. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t make much of a fighter, Mark, if Uncle Sam got into a muss.”
“Oh, that would be different!” I burst out. “I would fight for our country every time.”
Alano laughed more loudly than ever. “That’s just it—you would fight for the United States just as we are now willing to fight for our beloved Cuba.”
I had to smile, for I saw that he was right. Cuba was as much to him as our United States was to me, and let me add that I am a Yankee lad to the backbone, and always hope to be.
Having passed the end of a large plantation, we came to several storehouses, which werewide-open and empty, and here we pitched our camp for the night.
“How close are we to the spot where my father was taken?” I asked of Alano’s father after supper.
“We have passed that locality,” was the answer, which surprised me not a little. “By to-morrow noon I hope to reach a village called Rodania, where I will be able probably to learn something definite concerning his whereabouts.”
This was certainly encouraging, and I went to bed with a lighter heart than I had had since leaving the old convent. Hope in a youthful breast is strong, and I could not but believe that so far all had gone well with my parent.
Fortunately, the storehouse in which I slept with Alano and Captain Guerez was a clean affair, so we were not troubled as we had been at Molino with vermin. We turned in at nine o’clock, and ten minutes sufficed to render me forgetful of all of my surroundings.
I awoke with a cough. I could not breathe very well, and sat up in the darkness to learn what was the matter. The wind had banged shut the storehouse door, and it was strangely hot within.
“I’ll open the door and let in some fresh air,”I said to myself, and arose from the bunch of straw upon which I had made my bed.
As I moved across the storehouse floor I heard several of the horses which were tethered outside let out snorts of alarm. Feeling something was surely wrong, I called to Alano and his father.
“What’s the trouble?” cried Captain Guerez and Alano in a breath.
“I don’t know, but the horses are alarmed,” I answered.
By this time all were aroused by a shout from Jorge, who had been left on guard. As we stepped into the open air, he came running up from a path leading into the immense sugar-cane field back of the storehouse.
“Fuego! fuego![Fire! fire!]” he shouted at the top of his powerful lungs.
“Where?” demanded Alano’s father quickly.
“In the fields! A band of Spanish guerrillas just came up and set fire all around.”
“That cannot be, Jorge. This is the plantation of Señor Corozan, a stanch supporter of Spain. They would not burn his fields.”
“Then they are rebels like ourselves.”
This last remark proved true, although we did not learn the fact until some time later. It seemed Señor Corozan had left the plantation immediately after refusing the demands of aCuban officer for food for his soldiers, and in consequence the rebel had dispatched a detachment to burn up everything in sight. It was a wanton destruction of property, but it could not very well be avoided, through the peculiar conditions under which the war was being carried on.
Just now, however, there was no time left to think of these matters. A stiff breeze was blowing, and looking over the sugar-cane fields we could see the fire leaping from place to place. Then, turning about, we made another discovery. The very storehouse in which we had been sleeping was on fire. The smoke from the smoldering straw was what had caused me to cough and wake up.
“To horse, everyone!” shouted Captain Guerez. “We had best get out of here, for there is no telling how far this fire extends, or how the wind may shift around!”
Everyone understood what he meant—that we were in danger of being caught in the midst of the conflagration; and everyone lost not an iota of time in loosening his animal and saddling him. In less than three minutes we were off, and riding down a narrow trail between the fields with all the speed at our animals' command.
As we passed along, the sky above us grewbrighter, and we could hear the crackling of the cane in the distance. Then I felt a live ember drop upon my neck, which raised a small blister before I could brush it off.
“Jupiter! but this is getting hot!” I gasped, as I urged my horse on beside that of Alano. “I wonder if there is any danger of that fire catching us?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” he panted. “The only thing we can do is to ride for the hills, where the fire won’t have such a chance.”
On and on we went, now in a bunch and then again scattered into two or three groups. To gain the hills we had to cross a bit of a valley, and here our poor horses sunk into the mud half up to their knees.
Captain Guerez had been riding in the rear, but now he went ahead, to shout a word of guidance to the men in advance. Alano dashed on with his father, expecting me to follow. But my horse had become temporarily stuck, and ere he could extricate himself I had to dismount.
Once free again, I was on the point of leaping into the saddle as before, when a turn of the wind brought a shower of burning embers in a whirl over our very heads. I ducked and shook them off, letting go of my steed for that purpose.
It was a foolish movement, for the embersalso struck the animal, who instantly gave a snort and a bound and ran off. I made a clutch at his tail as he passed, but missed it, and a second later I found myself utterly alone, with the fire of the sugar-cane fields hemming me in on all sides!
ESCAPING THE FLAMES.
My situation was truly an appalling one. Here I was, with the fierce fire from the sugar-cane fields swirling about me, my horse and companions gone, left utterly alone, with the horrifying thought that each moment must be my last.
As the horse disappeared in a cloud of eddying smoke, I attempted to rush after him, only to slip in the mire and roll over and over. When I scrambled up I was covered with mud from head to foot, and the live embers from the burning fields were coming down more thickly than ever.
But life is sweet to all of us, and even in that supreme moment of peril I made a desperate effort to save myself. Seeing a pool of water and mud just ahead of me, I leaped for it and threw myself down.
It was a bath far from sweet, yet at that time a most agreeable one. I allowed what there was of the water to cover my head and shoulders and saw to it that all of my clothing wasthoroughly saturated. Then I arose again, and, pulling my coat collar up over my ears, leaped on in the direction taken by my companions.
The air was like that of a furnace, and soon the smoke became so thick I could scarcely see the trail. The wind was blowing the fire directly toward me, and to have stood that onslaught for long would have been utterly impossible.
But just as I felt that I must sink, and while I murmured a wild prayer for deliverance, the wind shifted and a cooling current of air reached me. This was wonderfully reviving, and, breathing deeply, I gathered courage and continued on my way.
Almost quarter of a mile was covered, and I had gained the base of the hills, when the wind shifted again, and once more the fire rushed onward and it became so hot I could not breathe except with difficulty.
“Mark! Mark! where are you?”
It was a most welcome cry, coming from Captain Guerez. In an instant more Alano’s father dashed up through the smoke.
“Captain Guerez!” I gasped, and ran up to his side. “Save me!”
“Where is your horse?” he asked, as he caught me up and assisted me to mount behind him.
“He ran away.”
No more was said. Turning his animal about, Captain Guerez dug his spurs deep into the horse’s flesh, and away we went up the hillside at a rate of speed which soon left the roaring and crackling sugar-cane fields far behind.
In fifteen minutes we had joined the others of the party, on a plateau covered with stunted grass and well out of reach of the fire. Here it was found that my runaway horse had quietly joined his fellows. I was tempted to give him a whipping for leaving me in the lurch, but desisted upon second thought, as it would have done no good and I knew the animal had only done what I was trying to do—save my life.
“That was a narrow escape for you, Mark!” cried Alano, as he came up with an anxious look on his face. “You ought to be more careful about your horse in the future.”
“You can be sure I will be, Alano,” I answered; and then turned to Captain Guerez and thanked him for what he had done for me.
It was hardly dawn; yet, as all had had a fair night’s rest, it was determined to proceed on our way and take a somewhat longer rest during the hot noon hour.
“This fire will necessitate a change in our course,” said Captain Guerez to me.
“Will that delay us much?”
“Not over a few hours. We will reach Rodania by nightfall.”
The captain was right, for it was not yet six o’clock when, from the side of one mountain, we saw the buildings of Rodania perched upon the side of another. We traveled across the tiny valley separating the two, and just outside of the town Captain Guerez called a halt.
“I think I had better send Jorge ahead and see if the coast is clear,” he said. “The coming of the negro into town will not be noticed, and he can speedily learn if there are any Spaniards about.”
This was agreed upon, and, after receiving his instructions, the colored guide hurried away, to be gone less than half an hour.
“Spanish soldiers dare yesterday,” he announced. “All gone now—on the road to Cubineta.”
“Did they have any prisoners?” questioned Captain Guerez.
“Yes, dree—two Cubans and anAmericano.”
“My father!” I cried. “Oh, Captain Guerez, cannot we overtake them before they manage to get him to some fort or prison?”
“We’ll try our best, Mark,” replied Alano’s father.
“Why can’t we travel after them at once?”put in Alano, fairly taking the words out of my mouth.
“We will,” replied his father. “The long noontime rest has left our horses still fresh. Forward, all of you! We will take a short cut, and not visit Rodania at all.”
During the halt I had taken the opportunity to brush off my clothing, which was now thoroughly dry. I had taken a bath at noon, so now felt once more like myself, although several blisters on my neck and hands, received from the fire, hurt not a little. I told Jorge of the bums, and he ran into the woods for several species of moss, which he crushed between two rocks, putting the crushed pulp on the blisters.
“Take burn out soon,” he announced; and he was right. In less than half an hour after the application was made the smarting entirely ceased.
We were now in the depths of a valley back of Rodania, and here the trail (they are called roads in Cuba, but they are only trails, and sometimes hardly that) was so choked up with vines and so soft that our progress was greatly impeded, and about eight o’clock we came to a halt in the darkness.
“The mud beyond is all of two feet deep, and we can’t get through it,” declared one of themen, who had been sent in advance. “We’ll have to go back.”
This was discouraging news, and I looked in perplexity at Alano’s father, whose brow contracted.
“I’ll take a look myself,” he said, and, dismounting so that his horse might not get stuck, advanced on foot.
In my impatience I went with him. The way was very dark, and I suggested that a torch be lighted.
“An excellent plan,” said Alano’s father, and immediately cut a cedar branch. By its blaze we were enabled to see quite well, and succeeded in finding another path around the muddy spot.
To save our horses we walked them for half a mile. It was tough traveling, and the clouds of mosquitoes made the journey almost unendurable. I was glad when, at early dawn, we emerged from the valley on a bit of a rise, where the ground was firm and the growth somewhat limited.
A broad highway now lay before us, the main road from Rodania to Cubineta. It was one of the best highways I had seen since leaving Santiago de Cuba, and this was explained by Captain Guerez, who said the road had been put into condition just previous to the breaking out of the war.
As usual, one of the party was in advance, and this was a lucky thing, for about ten o’clock the soldier came tearing toward us on his horse and motioning us to take to the woods.
Captain Guerez was on the lookout, and turned to us quickly.
“Dismount!” he cried in Spanish, and we leaped to the ground, and led our animals into a thicket growing to the left of the highway. The vidette followed us, stating that a large body of Spanish cavalry was approaching.
We forced our horses into the thicket for fully a hundred feet and tied them fast. Then, with cautious steps, we returned to the vicinity of the road and concealed ourselves behind convenient trees and bushes.
By this time a thunder of hoofs could be heard, and soon the cavalry appeared, at least two hundred strong. They were the finest body of men I had seen in the island, and looked as if they had just come over from Spain, their uniforms and weapons were so clean and new. They were riding at a brisk pace, and hardly had we caught a good look at them than they were gone, leaving a cloud of dust behind them.
Captain Guerez was the first to speak, when they were well out of hearing.
“It’s a good thing we did not run into them,” he remarked grimly. "Our little detachmentwould have stood small chances with such a body of well-armed men."
“They form a great contrast to the rebels,” I could not help but murmur.
“They do indeed, Mark. But why not? The rebels, especially in this district, were never soldiers. When the war broke out they were without uniforms or weapons; and what was and is worse, many of them knew nothing about the use of a firearm. You will find the men in the western provinces, where the whites predominate, both better trained and clothed—although, let me add, their hearts are no more sturdy or loyal than you will find here in the East.”
Thus talking, we went on and on, until Alano, who had gone ahead this time, came back with the information that Cubineta was in sight.
“And the village seems to be under guard of the Spanish soldiery,” he added, words which caused me, at least, considerable dismay.
A DISHEARTENING DISCOVERY.
“Under Spanish guard!” I cried, and looked questioningly at Alano’s father.
“That’s too bad,” he said gravely. “However, there is no help for this unexpected turn of affairs, and we must make the best of it. Alano, my son, you are sure you are not mistaken?”
“There are a number of Spanish soldiers on the highway, and with the field-glass I saw that more soldiers were scattered round about.”
“Then your report must be true. I’ll ride ahead and take a view of the situation.”
I begged to go along, and Captain Guerez agreed. Alano came too, while the others withdrew to a thicket, to avoid being surprised by any of the Spaniards who might be out foraging.
A turn in the highway brought us in full view of Cubineta. Of course we were not foolish enough to expose ourselves. Screened behind bushes and vines, we took a survey through the glass of the place, its people, and the soldiers.
Cubineta was not a large village, but it was a pretty place and evidently thriving—or had been thriving before the war put a blight upon all Cuban industries. There was one long street of stores and dwellings, a church, acasaor town-house, and at the farthest end what looked to be a hastily constructed fort, built of heavy logs and sods.
“The Spaniards are evidently going to use the place as a center or depot for supplies,” was Captain Guerez' comment. “Under the present circumstances I hardly know what is best to do.”
“Perhaps they have my father a prisoner in that fortress,” I suggested.
“It is not unlikely, Mark—if the men who held him have not yet gone further than Cubineta.”
“Can’t we steal into town under cover of night?” I continued.
“We might do that—if it would do any good.”
“I want to join my father at any hazard.”
“That might be very foolish, Mark. How can you assist him if you are yourself made a prisoner?”
“Would they hold a boy like myself?”
“You are not so young as you would like to make them imagine,” laughed Alano’s fathershortly. “Besides, if left free, they would be afraid you would carry messages for your father. I think the best thing we can do just now is to let Jorge go into town, pretending he is half starved and willing to do anything for anybody who will give him food. By taking this course, no one will pay much attention to him, as there are many such worthless blacks floating about, and he can quietly find his way around the fort and learn what prisoners, if any, are being kept there.”
This was sensible advice, and, impatient as I was to catch sight of my parent, I agreed to wait. We rode back to where the others had made their camp, and Jorge was called up and duly instructed. The black grinned with pleasure, for he considered it a great honor to do spy work for such an influential planter as Captain Guerez. Possibly he had visions of a good situation on the plantation after the war was over; but, if so, he kept his thoughts on that point to himself.
Jorge gone, the time hung heavily on the hands of all; but I believe I was the most impatient of the crowd, and with good reason. Alano noticed how uneasily I moved about, and soon joined me.
“You must take things easy, Mark,” he said. "Stewing won’t do any good, and it will onlymake you sick, combined with this hot weather, which, I know, is about all you can stand."
“If only I felt certain that my father was safe, Alano! Remember, he is all I have in the world. My mother has been dead for years, and I never had a brother or a sister.”
“I think it will all come out right in the end,” he answered, doing his best to cheer me up. “They won’t dare to—to——” He did not finish.
“To shoot him? That’s just what I fear they will do, Alano. From what I heard at Santiago de Cuba, the Spaniards are down on most Americans, for they know we sympathize with you and think Cuba ought to be free, or, at least ought to have a large hand in governing itself.”
When nightfall came most of the others lay down to sleep. But this was out of the question for me, tired though I was physically, and so I was left on guard, with instructions to call one of the men at midnight.
Slowly the hours went by, with nothing to break the stillness of the night but the hum of countless insects and the frequent note of a night bird. We had not dared to build a campfire, and in consequence there was no getting where the smoke drifted and out of the way of the mosquitoes.
At midnight I took a walk around to see if allwas safe. The man I was to call slept so soundly I had not the heart to wake him up, so I continued on guard until one, when a noise down by the road attracted my attention.
Pistol in hand I stalked forward, when I heard a low voice and recognized Jorge. The negro had been walking fast, and he was almost out of breath.
“Well?” I inquired anxiously. “Is my father there?”
“I think he is, señor,” replied the guide. “I go to prison-fort—da have six Cubans dare an' oneAmericano.”
“My father!”
“I talk to some men, an' da tell me prisoners come in last night—some from Rodania, udders from udder places.Americanoin a prison by himself, near the river. I swim up close to dat prison—maybe we make hole in wall an' git him out.”
“Could we do that, Jorge, without being discovered?”
“Tink so, señor—work at night—now, maybe. Swim under river an' come up by fort, den dig with machetes—make hole under fort.”
“If only we could do that!” I cried; and then, struck with a sudden idea, I caught Jorge by the arm. “Jorge, if I go, will you come and show me the way and help me?”
“Yes, señor.”
“Then let us go at once, without arousing the others. More than two might spoil the plan. Go back to the road and wait for me.”
The guide did as directed, and I turned back into camp. Here I awoke the man previously mentioned, and told him I was going off to meet Jorge. He but partly understood, but arose to do guard duty, and I hurried off.
I felt that I was not doing just right in not notifying Captain Guerez and Alano, but I was impatient to meet my father and was afraid if I told them what Jorge had said they would want to delay matters. As events turned out it would probably have been much better had I been guided by their advice.
A short but brisk walk brought the guide and myself in sight of the town. On the outskirts the campfires of the Spanish soldiers burned brightly. These we carefully avoided, and made a détour, coming up presently to the bank of the stream upon which the fort was located.
The river was broad and shallow, and as it ran but sluggishly we might have forded across, but this would have placed us in plain view of the sentries, who marched up and down along the river bank and in front of the prison-house.
Disdaining to undress, we dropped down into the stream and swam over, with only our facesout of water, and without a sound, to a spot behind the building opposite. We came up in a tiny hollow, screened by several small bushes, and crawled on our stomachs to the rear of the wing in which the guide said the American prisoner was incarcerated.
I had a long and broad dagger which I had picked up the day previous, and Jorge had his machete, and with these we began to dig a tunnel leading under the wooden wall of the fort. Fortunately, the ground was not hard, and soon we broke through the very flooring of the prison. I was in the lead, and in great eagerness I poked up my head and gazed around me.
“Hullo, who’s there?” cried a startled voice, in English, and my heart sank completely, for the prisoner was not my father at all.
GILBERT BURNHAM.
“Are you alone?” I asked, when I had recovered sufficiently to speak.
“An American!” came the low cry. “Yes, I am alone. Who are you, and what do you want?”
“I came to save you—that is, I thought my father was a prisoner here,” I stammered. “Are you tied up?”
“Worse, chained. But I think the chain can easily be broken. If you’ll help me get away from here, I’ll consider myself in your debt for life.”
“I’ll do what I can for you. But keep quiet, for there are a number of guards about,” I whispered.
With an effort I squeezed through the hole that had been made, and felt my way to the prisoner’s side, for the interior of the cell was dark. He had a chain around one wrist, and the chain was fastened by a large staple driven into a log of the wall of the fort.
Jorge had come up behind me, and, learningof the staple, began to cut at the woodwork surrounding it with his machete. The lower end of the blade was fairly keen, and he made such rapid progress that in less than five minutes a sharp jerk cleared the staple from the log, and the prisoner was free.
“Good for you,” he whispered to the colored guide. “Now which is the way out of this hole?”
“Follow me, and keep very quiet,” I whispered, and motioned to Jorge to lead the way.
Soon the guide had disappeared into the opening we had made. Going from the prison was worse than getting in, and the man we were trying to rescue declared the passage-way too small for him.
We commenced to enlarge it, I with my dagger and he with his hands. We had just made it of sufficient size when we heard a cry from outside. Jorge had emerged into the open, only to be discovered by a sentry who chanced to be looking his way. There was a shot, and half a dozen soldiers came running up, at which the guide took to the river with a loud splash.
“I’m afraid we are lost!” I cried, and stopped, half in and half out of the hole. Then the prison door was banged open, and the rays of a lantern flared into the cell.
The American I had discovered promptlyshowed fight by leaping on the intruder. But this was madness, as the soldier was backed up by four others, all armed with pistols and guns. In the meantime another light flashed from outside the hole, and I felt myself caught, very much like a rat in a trap.
“De donde viene V.?[Where do you come from?]” demanded a cold, stern voice, and I felt myself grabbed by the hair. Realizing that resistance was useless, I gave myself up, and immediately found myself surrounded by a dozen Spanish soldiers. In the meantime Jorge had made good his escape.
The soldiers marched me around to the entrance of the fort, where an officer began to question me in Spanish. He could speak no English, and as soon as he found my command of Spanish was very limited he sent off for an interpreter. Then I was taken inside the fort and consigned to one of the prison cells.
My feelings can be better imagined than described. Bitterly I regretted having started on my midnight quest without notifying Captain Guerez. My hasty action had brought me to grief and placed me in a position from which escape seemed impossible. What my captors would do with me remained to be seen. That they would treat me in anything like a friendly fashion was out of the question to expect. Itwas likely that they would hold me as a prisoner of war.
Presently the door of the cell was opened, and somebody else was thrown in bodily and with such force that he fell headlong. The door was banged shut and bolted, and the crowd which had been outside went away.
The new arrival lay like a log where he had been thrown, and for a few minutes I fancied he must be dead from the way he had been treated.
I bent over him, and in the dim light of the early dawn made out that it was the American I had sought to rescue. I placed my hand over his heart and discovered that he still breathed, although but faintly.
There was nothing at hand with which I could do anything for him. My own pockets had been turned inside out by my captors, and even my handkerchief, with which I might have bound up an ugly wound on his brow, was gone. I opened his coat and vest and his shirt around the neck, and gave him as much air as I could.
“Oh!” he groaned, as he finally came to his senses. “Oh! Don’t kick me any more! I give in!”
“You’re all right—they have put you in a cell with me,” I hastened to reassure him, and then he sat up.
“Who—what——” he paused. “In a cell, eh? And they caught you, too?”
“Yes.”
“That’s too bad.” He drew a deep breath. “Did you fight with them?”
“No. I saw it would be no use.”
“I was a fool to do it. I’m too hot-blooded for this sort of work. I ought to have stayed in Boston reporting local affairs.”
“Are you a reporter?”
“Hush! Yes; but I don’t want it to become known if I can help it. They think I am nothing more than an inquisitive American.”
“Then why did they lock you up?”
“That was more of my hot-headedness. I was sketching a picture of the town and this fort or prison, when a Spanish officer came up and tried to snatch the drawing from my hand. Instead of demanding an explanation I promptly knocked him down. Then a couple of guards ran for me, and I dusted. But it was no use. They sent a company of soldiers after me, and here I am.”
“And here we are both likely to remain for some time to come,” I added bitterly.
“Looks that way, that’s a fact. By the way, you said something about your father, didn’t you?”
"Yes. My father is a prisoner of the Spaniards,and I felt almost certain he was in this fort."
“What’s your father’s name?”
“Richard Carter. My name is Mark.”
“And my name is Gilbert Burnham. I’ve heard of your father, come to think of it. He joined the Cuban army along with a plantation owner named Guerez and another American named Hawley.”
“You are right. Did you hear anything at all of him here in Cubineta or the vicinity?”
“No. But then, you see, that is not strange, as I talk very little Spanish. I certainly haven’t seen any Americans here but you and myself.”
Gilbert Burnham asked me to tell him my story; and, feeling that I could lose nothing by so doing, I favored him with a recital of my efforts to get to my father. He was quite interested.
“By Jove, young man, if I get clear from here I’ll do what I can to help you,” he said.
Then he told me his own history—how he had grown tired of newspaper reporting in Boston and begged the head editor of the paper he represented to send him on an “assignment” to Cuba. He had been in the island four months, and had had a varied list of adventures, although none of a particularly thrilling or perilous nature.
“But now it looks as though I was in for it,” he concluded moodily. “That officer I knocked down will make matters as hard as he can for me.”
“And I’m afraid trying to break away from prison won’t help matters,” I said.
“You are right there. But, heigho! we must make the best of it.”
Yet making the best of it was small satisfaction to me. Tired out in body and mind, I sank down in a corner of the gloomy and damp cell and gave myself up to my bitter reflections.