Fighting in Cuban Waters: or, Under Schley on the Brooklyn

"Me watch, warn you if any Spaniards come," said Carlos, on returning to Walter's side. "You bettair rest, or get fever werry bad."

"Do you suppose there is any hope of my getting back to my ship?"

"De ship dat blow up?"

"No, a big warship out there," and Walter waved his hand in the direction of the coast.

At this, the tall negro shrugged his shoulders. "Carlos can take you to de shore – but no got boat. Maybe you swim, not so?"

"Well, hardly," answered Walter. "I may be a pretty good swimmer, but four or five miles is too much for any man."

The negro retired, and Walter lay back watching the woman, who had brought out several bags filled with herbs. Selecting some of the herbs, the woman steeped them in water, and poured the tea into an earthen bowl, sweetening the concoction with sugarcane ends. Bringing the bowl to Walter, she motioned for him to drink.

The youth had expected an unsavory mess, but he found the tea very pleasant to the taste, and ten minutes after he had taken half the contents of the bowl he was in a sound slumber, from which he did not awaken until nearly nightfall. In the meantime Josefina removed the life preserver and made him otherwise as comfortable as possible, proud to think she was serving un Americano who was battling against the enemies of her beloved Cuba.

"You had bettair come into de house now – night air werry bad for you," announced Carlos, as Walter sat up in the hammock and stared around him. "How feel now? weak?"

"I – I dreamed I was back on the Brooklyn and sailing for home," was the hesitating reply. "My head feels better, but I'm afraid my legs have gone back on me," Walter went on, as on trying to stand he found he must support himself against the tree. "This is the queerest spell of sickness I ever had."

"Never mind – if only so be dat de fever is broken," said Carlos, seriously. "Come." And he about carried Walter into the hut. Usually negro huts in Cuba are dirty and full of vermin, but this was an exception. In her younger days, Josefina had worked for a titled lady of Santiago, and there had learned cleanliness quite unusual to those of her standing. In a corner of the hut was a pile of fresh sugarcane husks covered with a brown spread, and to this she motioned Walter, and here he rested until the following morning.

CHAPTER XIX

CARLOS, THE REBEL SPY

"Well, I'm not out of my troubles yet, but I suppose I'm better off than those fellows who were captured and taken off to some Spanish dungeon."

It was Walter who mused thus, as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. The herb tea Josefina had made for him had "touched the spot" and he felt quite like himself again. The native Cubans have to fight fevers constantly, and, consequently, know a great deal about proper remedies.

"Will you eat?" questioned Carlos, who sat by, smoking a cigarette, while Josefina busied herself in preparing a morning meal of rice-cakes and strong coffee.

"I haven't much appetite, but I suppose I ought to eat if I want to get back my strength. But see here," Walter went on. "I can't pay you a cent for what you are doing for me, for I have no money with me."

"Dat's all right; Josefina and me no want pay – we glad to do for you," answered Carlos; and Josefina smiled so broadly that her eyes were fairly closed.

The rice-cakes were well done, and Walter ate several of them, and also sipped at the heavy black coffee, sweetened with sugarcane drippings. The meal over, Carlos leaped up and lit a fresh cigarette.

"You stay here and I go to shore – see if you can get to ship," he said. "If Spaniards come, Josefina show you where to hide, so no can find you."

"I'll have to stay, for I can't walk the distance to the shore – yet. By the way, where am I?"

"Dis place back of Estrella, 'bout halfway to Aguadores, on the Guama River. Can see warships from mouth of Guama."

"Yes, I've heard of the Guama. Some of the fellows on board ship said we might capture that point, or Guantanamo Bay, so as to have a place to coal when the ocean was rough. You are going to the shore?"

"If Spanish pickets let me," grinned Carlos. "Werry strong Spanish guard around here now. Werry much afraid American soldiers come."

"Perhaps they will come, if Sampson needs help," replied Walter, but without knowing that the army of invasion at Tampa was already preparing to leave for Cuba, and his own brother Ben with it.

After Carlos was gone, Walter tried to carry on a conversation with Josefina, but as the wench's English vocabulary was as limited as was the boy's knowledge of Spanish, the talk soon lagged. "Cuba libre! 'Member de Maine!" she said over and over again, and smiled that awful smile that almost caused Walter to burst into a fit of laughter. During the morning she made him some more tea and insisted upon his drinking it, greatly to the benefit of his health and strength, as he soon realized.

It was growing late in the afternoon, and Walter was wondering when Carlos would get back, when the sound of a rifle-shot from a distance startled him. Before he could get to the doorway of the hut, Josefina was outside and speeding up the trail in the direction her brother had taken.

"Get back!" It was the voice of Carlos, and he was running beside his sister, who kept up with him, despite her weight. "The Spaniards are coming."

"Soldiers?" gasped Walter.

"Yes; ten or fifteen. They caught me going through de pickets, but I knocked one so, and anodder so, and got away. Come wid me, before da catch you!" And he took hold of Walter's arm and turned him to the back of the hut.

Wondering what would happen next, but remembering what had been said about a hiding-place, the youth followed Carlos to the rear wall of the structure. Here, directly against the logs, grew a tall ebony tree.

"Dat tree hollow," explained the Cuban. "Climb to limb and drop inside. Josefina haul us out when Spanish go 'way." And he gave Walter a lift up.

The lower branches were but twelve feet from the ground, and were easily gained. Carlos came up also. "Let me drop first," he said. "Den you come on top of me. Be quick, or too late!" And down he went into darkness, and Walter came after.

The hollow portion of the tree was not over twenty inches in diameter, and it was a lucky thing for both inside that neither was stout nor broad of shoulder. As it was, they stood breast to breast with difficulty, and yet not daring to make a sound.

A shout came from the trail, sounding in strange contrast to the song Josefina had begun to sing – an old-fashioned Cuban ditty about a sailor and his lass. Soon the soldiers drew closer, and several came around to the side of the hut.

"Ho! within there!" came in Spanish. "Where is that wretch we are after?"

"Wretch!" answered Josefina, in pretended surprise. "Whom do you mean, kind sirs?"

"You know well enough – the tall fellow who knocked over our guards and ran in this direction."

"I have seen nobody; I have been busy washing," answered Josefina, pointing to a few articles of wearing apparel which lay soaking in a water-butt.

"You cannot humbug us!" cried the leader of the Spanish detachment, in a fury. "Tell me where they are, or I'll run you through!" And he ran at Josefina with pointed sword. It is doubtful if he intended to carry out his threat, but the wench thought him in earnest, and the yell she gave would have done credit to a cannibal of the South Sea Islands.

The cry of terror from his sister was more than Carlos Dunetta could stand, and in a twinkle he placed his hands on Walter's shoulders, shoved himself upward, and showed himself at the top of the opening.

"Let my sister alone, you dogs!" he burst out. "Let her alone!" And leaping to the ground, he made after the Spaniard with a drawn machete, a long knife used in the sugarcane fields and employed by the insurgents as a favorite weapon.

There was a cry of alarm, and then came two shots in quick succession, followed by a fall close to the foot of the tree.

"You have killed my brother!" shrieked Josefina. "Oh, Carlos, Carlos, what shall I do now?"

"Back with you, you good-for-nothing woman!" came from the leader of the Spanish detachment. "I thought we were on the right trail. We ought to shoot you for lying to us."

At that moment came a deep groan of pain, showing that Carlos was not yet dead. He had been shot in the arm and through the back, but the wounds were not dangerous, although painful.

Without paying attention to what more the Spaniards had to say, Josefina busied herself over the body of her brother, laying him out on the grass and binding up his wounds with such rags as were handy. While she was doing this the Spaniards began an excited conversation among themselves, of which, of course, Walter understood not a word.

"Your brother had a very convenient hiding-place in the tree," suggested the leader of the detachment, a greasy, lean-faced corporal, who rejoiced in the name of Pedro Ruz. "Had he not shown himself, it is doubtful if we should have located him."

"You are bad men to shoot him – I want nothing to do with you," was Josefina's only response. "Go – and leave my brother to me."

"Leave him here!" burst out Pedro Ruz. "No, no, he goes with us as a prisoner. If I am not mistaken, he is the spy Captain Coleo has been after these many days."

"You cannot take him away – a journey will kill him."

"He must go – whether it kills him or not. He can ride on the back of the horse one of my men is bringing up. Captain Coleo will want to interview him before nightfall. And let me tell you, if it is discovered that he has been carrying information to the rebels or those Yankee pigs out in the waters beyond the bay, why, so much the worse for him, that's all." And Corporal Ruz shrugged his shoulders suggestively.

In a moment more the horse was brought forward, a beast as lean as its owner, since fodder in that territory was becoming a scarce article. Since Carlos could not move himself, he was lifted up to the saddle in anything but a gentle fashion. Josefina began to expostulate, but the only attention paid to her was by one of the men, who snatched at her arm and hurled her backward.

"You must learn to mind your betters," said the soldier. "Our worthy corporal knows his business."

"I will search the man, to see if he carries any despatches," put in Corporal Ruz. "Ha, you rascal, let me get at that breast pocket of yours. And, Camara, climb up into the tree and look into that hole. There may be something worth finding there."

CHAPTER XX

IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY

As Walter did not understand what was said, he was not aware of his peril until the Spanish soldier began to climb the tree. Then he realized the truth, and his heart sank within him.

"It's all up with me now," he half groaned. "I wonder what they will do with me after they find me."

Reaching the top of the opening, the soldier paused and shouted something to his companions regarding the darkness of the hole below.

"Light a match and drop it down," ordered Corporal Ruz. "This rascal carries nothing," he went on, disappointedly, having found Carlos's pockets empty of anything of value. The negro did carry a message, but it was on a small patch of thin paper, which had been rolled up tightly and concealed in his thick woolly hair.

The match was lit and dropped, and all ablaze it landed upon Walter's head. He caught it in silence and put it out, but the movement was noticed from above.

"There is some one else in the tree – a white man," cried the soldier. "Come out of that!" he continued.

Walter guessed what the command meant, and as further concealment would have been useless he attempted to crawl from the hole. But this was not so easy, and in the end the soldier had to lend a hand, and then both leaped to the ground together.

"Un Americano!" ejaculated Corporal Ruz. "De donde viene V.?" he added, asking Walter where he came from.

At this the boy shook his head. "I don't understand you," he said.

"No habla V. castellano?" continued the corporal, asking if he did not speak Spanish.

Again Walter shook his head.

"Yankee pig!" murmured the corporal, using a term quite common in Cuba during the war. "Why does he not learn our beautiful language? Does he expect we will learn his dirty English?"

He turned to the soldier who had discovered Walter, and between them they searched the lad's clothing thoroughly, and even took off his shoes and stockings.

"Nothing," growled the under-officer. "It is strange."

Carlos had been almost unconscious, but was now recovering. "We are in serious trouble, I am afraid," said Walter, addressing him; but Carlos pretended not to understand, not wishing the Spaniards to know that he spoke English, for then they would have been more certain than ever that he was a spy.

In a few minutes the entire party had left the hut and was making its way along the trail, Carlos on horseback and the others walking, Walter between the corporal and a Spanish private, and Josefina bringing up in the rear as if unwilling to leave her brother.

The soldiers were eight in number, and each was armed with a Mauser rifle of recent pattern. They were a hungry-looking set and their uniforms were sadly in need of repair. Six were of middle age, but the other two were no older than Walter, for conscription into the Spanish army begins at as early an age as it does in the navy – some of the soldiers and sailors being scarcely fifteen to sixteen years old!

The course of the party was upward, over rocks and trailing vines, and through a woods where hardly a breath of air was stirring. The heat soon made Walter's head ache again, and he was glad enough when a small Spanish camp was gained and he was allowed to sit down in the shade of a plantain and rest.

The encampment was in the open, the only shelter being that provided for the officer in charge, Captain Coleo – a bit of dilapidated canvas stretched between four trees fifteen or twenty feet apart. Under this shelter were located a couple of hammocks, a small folding table for writing, and a camp chair.

Walter found Captain Coleo a thorough gentleman despite his surroundings. He was well educated and spoke English fluently, with a soft accent which under other circumstances would have been quite pleasing.

"So you are an American youth?" he said, after he had listened to his corporal's report and examined Carlos. "And where did you come from, and what are you doing here?"

Feeling there would be no use in concealing the truth, Walter told his story. At the mentioning of the Merrimac the Spanish captain's brow grew dark.

"It was a brave deed, but it will do your countrymen small good," he said. "The boat is not directly across the channel, so the harbor pilots have discovered. All of your comrades are now prisoners in Morro Castle, and I presume that is where I shall have to send you."

"As a prisoner of war?"

"As a prisoner of war. And you can be thankful that in trying to escape you were not shot down," continued Captain Coleo.

Walter was very thirsty, and said so. "You look as if you were getting ready to have the fever," was the captain's comment, and he had a soldier bring Walter a tin cup full of guarapo, water sweetened with sugarcane ends, and said to be healthier than the plain article. Good water in Cuba is scarce, and although Walter did not know it, it was only the captain's natural good-heartedness that obtained for him what he wanted.

It had threatened rain for some hours, and as nightfall came on, the first drops of a violent tropical storm descended. Soon from a distance came the rumble of thunder, and spasmodic flashes of lightning lit up the woods. The soldiers huddled under the shelter of a clump of low trees, while Captain Coleo sought the protection of the canvas, accompanied by Walter, Carlos, and a guard. Walter's hands had been bound behind him, and he was allowed to sit on a small block of wood beside one of the hammocks in which the wounded negro reclined.

"We will not move to Santiago to-night," said the Spanish captain. "I think the storm will clear away by morning."

He was busy making out a report, and sat at his little table for the purpose, a spluttering Mambi taper fastened to a stick driven into the soil being his only light. The taper went out half a dozen times, but there was nothing to do but to light it again, and this Captain Coleo did without the least show of impatience. To him war was a business, and he was satisfied to take matters just as they came.

The guard trudged around and around the patch covered by the canvas, his rifle on his shoulder and the never-failing Spanish cigarette in his mouth. Occasionally he glanced toward Walter and the negro, but his interest in the prisoners soon gave way to his own discomforts, and he gave them no more attention.

Presently Walter felt a hand steal over his shoulder. "What you think – we run for it, maybe?" whispered Carlos.

"I'd like to run, but we may get shot," whispered Walter in return.

At this Carlos shrugged his shoulders. With two Mauser bullets in him the tall negro rebel was still "game." It was such men as he who had kept this unequal warfare in Cuba going for three long years despite Spain's utmost endeavors to end the conflict.

"Raise up a bit and I untie rope," he said, as the guard made another round and walked from them. "Maybe we can go when big thunder and lightning come – not so?"

"All right – I'll go you," cried Walter, lowly, and in a bit of Western slang. "A fellow can't die but once, and I have no desire to be taken to the dungeon of Morro Castle, or to any other Spanish lockup."

He raised up, and in a trice Carlos had the cords about his wrists unloosened. Captain Coleo still sat writing. But now the taper went out again and he paused to relight it.

At that instant came a blinding flash of lightning and a loud peal of thunder which startled the few horses the camp possessed and caused them to prance about madly. "Now!" cried Carlos, and with one quick leap he cleared six feet of ground between the hammock and the nearest patch of woods. Walter also leaped, and away they went side by side through the wind, rain, and darkness.

Crack! crack! It was the reports of two Mausers, and the ping of a bullet from the Spanish captain's pistol followed. Walter felt a strange whistling by his ear, and putting up his hand found it covered with blood. The bullet from the pistol had scratched the side of his head. Had his aim been an inch closer, gentlemanly Captain Coleo would have killed the youth on the spot.

"You are hit?" queried Carlos, breathing heavily, for loss of blood had made him weak.

"I – I reckon it's not much!" panted Walter. "But hurry up – they are coming after us!"

The boy was right; both the captain and the guard were following the pair with all possible speed, while three others brought up in the rear, the other soldiers remaining behind to manage the horses, three of which had broken their tethers and were bounding down the trail at a breakneck speed.

Could he manage to escape? Such was the one question which Walter asked himself as he stumbled on in the darkness. A very few minutes would suffice to answer the all-important query.

CHAPTER XXI

THE FLIGHT TO THE SEACOAST

Carlos knew the wood well, and now he took hold of Walter's hand. "Put udder arm up, or get hurt maybe," he said. "Nasty trees around here." And Walter found this was true, for presently a low and twisted branch caught him and flung him flat on his back. Had his arm been down he must have been knocked senseless.

The Spanish captain and the guard came crashing along behind them, shouting "Alto!" (Halt) at the top of their lungs. Captain Coleo was very much chagrined that they had gotten away so easily, and blamed the guard roundly. The latter did not dare to answer back, and felt he must catch the fleeing prisoners or suffer for it.

The course had been straight ahead, but now Carlos turned to the southward. Presently they came to a halt at the edge of a mountain torrent. The pursuers were still on the track and drawing closer.

"Jump and go ahead; I will come after," panted Carlos, who could run no more. "Don't wait!" he added, as he saw Walter hesitate.

"But yourself – " began Walter.

"Never mind – go!" broke in the negro; and Walter made the leap over the stream and ran on. Instantly Carlos sought the shelter of a near-by tree and became silent.

"I do not see them, capitan," observed the guard, as he and Captain Coleo reached the spot. "Have they crossed, do you think?"

"I will see, Rampo," was the answer, and the captain hurried on in the direction Walter had taken. Scarcely was he out of sight than with set teeth Carlos came forth from the shadow of the tree and crawled up behind Rampo as silently as a panther seeking its prey. A quick, nervous clutch and the negro had the soldier's Mauser. Then came a heavy swing of the butt, and with hardly a groan the Spanish guard went down with a broken skull. "Cuba libre!" muttered Carlos, grimly. "That for Maceo, our fallen hero!" referring to Antonio Maceo, the patriot who had led the rebels in eastern Cuba for several years, only to be shot down at last in ambush.

In the meantime Walter ran on, not knowing where he was going, and hardly caring, if only his liberty might be assured to him. Occasionally a flash of lightning lit up the scene, but this only served to make the general darkness more intense. Soon his foot caught in an exposed tree-root, and he went headlong, and rolled over and over to the bottom of a hollow filled with rank vegetation, foul-smelling moss, and brackish water.

Before he could collect his scattered senses he heard the Spanish captain coming up. He arose slowly to his feet, but, struck by a sudden idea, remained in the hollow, ankle-deep in water, and screened from view by the vegetation previously mentioned.

A flash of lightning revealed the captain and at the same time uncovered the youth. For a second both stood spellbound, then the Spaniard drew his pistol.

"Surrender!" he shouted; and the former mildness in his tone of voice was now missing. "Surrender, or I'll shoot you where you stand."

"Don't shoot," answered Walter, readily. "I'll come out."

"Where is that Cuban rebel?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Ha! don't fool with me, lad – I am in no humor for it now."

"Well, I don't know, and that is all there is to it. We separated several minutes ago."

"I do not believe you – he is hiding somewhere in the hollow. Tell me where, or as sure as I stand here, I will put a bullet through your head." And the pistol was aimed straight at Walter.

Before the youth could remonstrate, indeed, before he had time to think, the crack of a Mauser penetrated the damp air. A second of silence followed, and then, to Walter's amazement, Captain Coleo sank down where he stood, a ball through his brain.

"I hit him! what a fine shot!" The words came from Carlos, as he emerged into the opening, the rifle still in hand. "That makes number two, for de udder rascal is laid low with a broken head. Señor, we are in luck, but let us make de most of our chance."

"But – but – is he dead?" asked Walter, in a hoarse whisper. To him such a proceeding seemed little less than murder.

"Dead? To be sure he is dead. But don't let dat worry you. See de blood on your left ear, where he tried to serve you as I served him. Come, before de udder soldiers arrive." And, catching Walter by the arm, Carlos hurried him away.

"And this is war!" thought the boy. "Oh, how cruel! how barbarous! But Carlos is right, the captain tried to kill me." He drew a long breath. "I'm glad I wasn't the one to knock him over."

The pair had gone on about a hundred yards further when they came out on a broad highway, used principally as an ox-team road. Here Carlos called a halt again, to get his breath and take a view of the situation.

"Hark – a horse come!" he ejaculated suddenly, and slipped a cartridge into the Mauser rifle, for he had taken the ammunition box from the dead soldier. "Back, out of sight – ah!"

Walter ran to the shelter of a tree. But at the same time the negro bounded forward, throwing the rifle to the ground. It was no horseman approaching, only one of the animals that had broken away during the heavy thunder and lightning. Making a clutch at the beast's bridle, Carlos held fast and brought the horse to a sudden halt.