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Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
 “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 the troops
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 covered with 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 troops are
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!”
 CHAPTER XXIV.
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 have done 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 were wide-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 a Cuban 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 grew brighter, 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 embers also 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!
 CHAPTER XXV.
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 was thoroughly
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 an Americano.”
“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 the men, 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 detachment would 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.
 CHAPTER XXVI.
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, a casa or 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 father shortly. “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 only make 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 all was 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' one Americano.”
“My father!”
“I talk to some men, an' da tell me prisoners come in last night—
some from Rodania, udders from udder places. Americano in 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 faces out 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.
 CHAPTER XXVII.
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, learning of 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 promptly showed 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. It was 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.
 CHAPTER XXVIII.
A BATTLE ON LAND AND WATER.

It was about eight o’clock in the morning that the door of the
prison cell was opened and Gilbert Burnham and I were ordered to
march out into a larger apartment.
The order was given by a Spanish officer who spoke fairly good
English, and the officer was backed up by a guard of eight men, all
well armed.
“They are going to run no chances on us now,” remarked the
newspaper correspondent, as he arose from the floor, upon which he
had been resting.
“We had better be as civil as possible,” I answered. “If we anger
them they have it in their power to make us mighty uncomfortable.”
“I’ll keep as civil as my hot-headedness will permit,” he
grumbled.
We were led from one end of the fort to the other, where there
was a narrow room, provided with a small, square table and half a
dozen benches. At the table sat several officers I had seen before.
One was a particularly ugly-looking fellow, and Burnham nudged me
and said this chap was the fellow he had knocked down.
“And he’s got it in for me,” he added.
I was marched to the front of the table, and the officer who
could speak English forced me to clasp my hands behind me. This
done, one of the officers at the table asked a number of questions in
Spanish.
 “No habla V. castellano? [Do you not speak Spanish?]” he asked
me.
“No, señor,” I replied.
He glared at me suspiciously for a moment, then spoke to the
other officer.
“Who you are?” demanded the latter.
“I am Mark Carter, an American boy. I came to Cuba to join my
father, who was stopping at a plantation near Guantanamo.”
This was repeated in Spanish. At the mention of my name several
of those present exchanged glances.
“You son of Richard Carter?” was the next question.
“Yes, señor. I understand he is a prisoner. Is it true?”
My question remained unanswered, and it was plain that my
captors intended to give me no information.
“Why you break in the fort? Did this man pay you to do that?”
And the Spanish officer pointed to Gilbert Burnham.
“I never saw or heard of this man before, señor. I broke in
because I thought my father was a prisoner there. I heard an
American was there, and I thought it must be he.”
“Aha, I see! Well, your father is not here, as you have found out.”
“Where is he?”
This question also remained unanswered. The officers began to
consult among themselves, and then I was ordered back to the cell.
I tried to protest, and pleaded for liberty, for a chance to find my
parent, but it was all in vain. I was hustled off without ceremony and
made as close a prisoner as before.
 It was nearly noon before Gilbert Burnham joined me. In the
meantime I had had nothing to eat or drink, and was beginning to
wonder if my enemies meant to let me die of hunger and thirst.
The face of the newspaper correspondent was much downcast.
“I’m to catch it now,” he said. “To-morrow morning they are
going to start to transport me to some regular fortress, and there I
suppose I’ll be permitted to languish until this bloody war is over. I
wish I had made a dash for liberty when I was out in that
courtroom.”
“They would have shot you dead. They were too well armed for
anything of the sort.”
“Maybe. But this is tough. Is there a pitcher of water anywhere?”
“Not a drop.”
At this he stormed more than ever, and finally shouted to the
guard to bring some agua. But no one paid any attention to his
cries, further than to order him to be silent, under penalty of being
gagged, and then he subsided.
Slowly the morning wore away. The sun was shining brightly
outside, and the cell, with only one narrow window, high up to the
ceiling, was like a bake-oven. Once I climbed up to the window sill
and looked out, only to have the muzzle of a gun thrust into my
face, while a guard outside ordered me to drop. I dropped, and
made no further attempt to get a whiff of fresh air.
I wondered if Jorge had escaped in safety and if Captain Guerez
would do anything to save me. I felt certain he would be very angry
over the way I had acted, and, looking back, I felt that I richly
deserved to be censured.
It was high noon, and I and my companion were walking the
floor, impatient for food and drink, when the door opened and a
guard came in with a platter and an earthenware pitcher. He set
both on the floor and withdrew without a word.
“Well, here’s something, anyway,” remarked Gilbert Burnham.
“Bah! a stew of onions and garlic, not fit for a dog to eat. Let me
have some of the water.”
Neither of us could do more than taste the mess which had been
served; and as for the water, it looked as if it had been scooped from
the river, and was both warm and muddy. I had just finished taking a
gingerly drink, when a shot from outside startled both of us. Several
more shots followed, and then came a blast on a trumpet from
somewhere in the distance.
“Hullo! that means a fight!” ejaculated Gilbert Burnham, his face
brightening. “I hope it’s a body of rebels to the rescue.”
“So do I, and I further hope they release us,” I replied.
At the first shot an alarm had been sounded in and about the
fort. We could hear the soldiers hurrying in several directions and a
number of orders issued in Spanish. The firing now continued to
increase, and presently we heard a crash of splintered woodwork.
“It’s getting interesting, eh, Carter?” said Gilbert Burnham. “If
only they don’t grow too enthusiastic and fire in here!”
Scarcely had he spoken than we heard a little noise up at the
window. A bullet had entered and buried itself in the woodwork
opposite.
“Better lay down,” I urged, and set the example, which the
newspaper man was not long in following. The firing and shouting
kept on steadily, and we heard the occasional splashing of water,
telling that the encounter was taking place on the river as well as on
land.
The battle had been going on with more or less violence for half
an hour, when there came a wild rush through the fort, and some
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