Transcriber Note
Text emphasis denoted as _Italic_.
[Illustration: "A RUSH WAS MADE AND THE OX CART CAME TO A SUDDEN
HALT."]
WHEN SANTIAGO FELL
OR
_THE WAR ADVENTURES OF
TWO CHUMS_
BY
CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL
AUTHOR OF "A SAILOR BOY WITH DEWEY," "OFF FOR HAWAII,"
"GUN AND SLED," "LEO, THE CIRCUS BOY,"
"RIVAL BICYCLISTS," ETC.
[Illustration]
CHATTERTON-PECK COMPANY
NEW YORK, N. Y.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
WITH CUSTER IN THE BLACK HILLS;
Or, A Young Scout among the Indians.
BOYS OF THE FORT;
Or, A Young Captain's Pluck.
THE YOUNG BANDMASTER;
Or, Concert Stage and Battlefield.
WHEN SANTIAGO FELL;
Or, The War Adventures of Two Chums.
A SAILOR BOY WITH DEWEY;
Or, Afloat in the Philippines.
OFF FOR HAWAII;
Or, The Mystery of a Great Volcano.
_12mo, finely illustrated and bound in cloth.
Price, per volume, 60 cents._
NEW YORK
CHATTERTON-PECK COMPANY 1905
Copyright, 1899, by
THE MERSHON COMPANY
PREFACE.
"When Santiago Fell," while a complete story in itself, forms the first
volume of a line to be issued under the general title of the "Flag of
Freedom Series" for boys.
My object in writing this story was to present to American lads a
true picture of life in the Cuba of to-day, and to show what a fierce
struggle was waged by the Cubans against the iron-handed mastery of
Spain previous to the time that our own glorious United States stepped
in and gave to Cuba the precious boon of liberty. The time covered is
the last year of the Cuban-Spanish War and our own campaign leading up
to the fall of Santiago.
It may be possible that some readers may think the adventures of the
two chums over-drawn, but this is hardly a fact. The past few years
have been exceedingly bitter ones to all living upon Cuban soil, and
neither life nor property has been safe. Even people who were peaceably
inclined were drawn into the struggle against their will, and the
innocent, in many cases, suffered with the guilty.
This war, so barbarously carried on, has now come to an end; and,
under the guiding hand of Uncle Sam, let us trust that Cuba and her
people will speedily take their rightful place among the small but
well-beloved nations of the world--or, if not this, that she may join
the ever-increasing sisterhood of our own States.
Once more thanking my numerous young friends for their kind reception
of my previous works, I place this volume in their hands, trusting that
from it they may derive much pleasure and profit.
Captain Ralph Bonehill.
_January 1, 1899._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Off for the Interior 1
II. The Escape from the Gunboat 8
III. In the Wilds of the Island 15
IV. In a Novel Prison 22
V. Lost among the Hills 30
VI. From One Difficulty to Another 37
VII. Fooling the Spanish Guerrillas 45
VIII. Andres 52
IX. Across the Canefields 59
X. A Council of the Enemy 66
XI. A Wild Ride on Horseback 74
XII. A Daring Leap 81
XIII. Friends in Need 87
XIV. General Calixto Garcia 95
XV. A Prisoner of War 102
XVI. A Rescue under Difficulties 108
XVII. A Treacherous Stream to Cross 116
XVIII. Alone 123
XIX. The Cave in the Mountain 130
XX. Señor Guerez 137
XXI. The Attack on the Old Convent 145
XXII. The Routing of the Enemy 154
XXIII. On the Trail of My Father 161
XXIV. In the Belt of the Firebrands 168
XXV. Escaping the Flames 176
XXVI. A Disheartening Discovery 184
XXVII. Gilbert Burnham 191
XXVIII. A Battle on Land and Water 198
XXIX. Looking for my Cuban Chum 205
XXX. Once More among the Hills 212
XXXI. The Battle at the Railroad Embankment 220
XXXII. A Leap in the Dark 229
XXXIII. Captain Guerez Makes a Discovery 238
XXXIV. The Dogs of Cuban Warfare 244
XXXV. The Last of the Bloodhounds 252
XXXVI. Cast into a Santiago Dungeon 261
XXXVII. The Fall of the Spanish Stronghold 271
WHEN SANTIAGO FELL.
CHAPTER I.
OFF FOR THE INTERIOR.
"We cannot allow you to leave this city."
It was a Spanish military officer of high rank who spoke, and he
addressed Alano Guerez and myself. I did not understand his words, but
my companion did, and he quickly translated them for my benefit.
"Then what are we to do, Alano?" I questioned. "We have no place to
stop at in Santiago, and our money is running low."
Alano's brow contracted into a perplexing frown. He spoke to the
officer, and received a few curt words in reply. Then the Spaniard
turned to others standing near, and we felt that we were dismissed. A
guard conducted us to the door, and saluted us; and we walked away from
the headquarters.
The reason for it all was this: Less than a month before we had left
the Broxville Military Academy in upper New York State to join Alano's
parents and my father in Cuba. Alano's father was a Cuban, and owned a
large sugar plantation some distance to the eastward of Guantanamo Bay.
He was wealthy, and had sent Alano to America to be educated, as many
rich Cubans do. As my father and Señor Guerez were well acquainted and
had strong business connections, it was but natural that Alano should
be placed at the boarding school which I attended, and that we should
become firm friends. For a long time we played together, ate together,
studied together, and slept together, until at last as chums we became
almost inseparable.
Some months back, and while the great struggle for liberty was going
on between the Cubans and their rulers in Spain, certain business
difficulties had taken my father to Cuba. During his stop in the island
he made his home for the greater part with Señor Guerez, and while
there was unfortunate enough during a trip on horseback to fall and
break his leg.
This accident placed him on his back longer than was first expected,
for the break was a bad one. In the meantime the war went on, and the
territory for many miles around Santiago de Cuba was in a state of wild
excitement.
Not knowing exactly what was going on, Alano wrote to his parents
begging that he be allowed to come to them, and in the same mail I
sent a communication to my father, asking if I could not accompany
my Cuban chum. To our delight the answer came that if we wished we
might come without delay. At the time this word was sent neither Señor
Guerez nor my father had any idea that the war would assume such vast
proportions around Santiago, involving the loss of many lives and the
destruction of millions of dollars of property.
Alano and I were not long in making our preparations. We left
Broxville two days after permission was received, took the cars to the
metropolis, and engaged immediate passage upon the _Esmeralda_ for
Santiago de Cuba.
We had heard of the war a hundred times on the way, but even on
entering the harbor of the city we had no thought of difficulty in
connection with our journey on rail and horseback outside of the city.
We therefore suffered a rude awakening when the custom-house officials,
assisted by the Spanish military officers, made us stand up in a long
row with other passengers, while we were thoroughly searched from head
to foot. Each of us had provided himself with a pistol; and these,
along with the cartridges, were taken from us. Our baggage, also,
was examined in detail, and everything in the way of a weapon was
confiscated.
"War means something, evidently," was the remark I made, but how much
it meant I did not learn until later. Our names were taken down, and
we were told to remain in the city over night and report at certain
headquarters in the morning. We were closely questioned as to where
we had come from; and when I injudiciously mentioned the Broxville
Military Academy, our questioner, a swarthy Spanish lieutenant, glared
ominously at us.
"I'm afraid you put your foot into it when you said that," was Alano's
comment at the hotel that evening, when we were discussing our strange
situation. "They are on the watch for people who want to join the
insurgents."
"Perhaps your father has become a rebel," I ventured.
"It is not unlikely. He has spoken to me of Cuban independence many
times."
As might be expected, we passed an almost sleepless night, so anxious
were we to learn what action the Spanish authorities would take in our
case. When the decision came, as noted at the opening of this story, I
was almost dumb-founded.
"We're in a pickle, Alano," I said, as we walked slowly down the
street, lined upon either side with quaint shops and houses. "We can't
stay here without money, and we can't get out."
"We must get out!" he exclaimed in a low tone, so as not to be
overheard. "Do you suppose I am going to remain here, when my father
and mother are in the heart of the war district, and, perhaps, in great
danger?"
"I am with you!" I cried. "For my father is there too. But how can we
manage it? I heard at the hotel last night that every road leading out
of the city is well guarded."
"We'll find a way," he rejoined confidently. "But we'll have to leave
the bulk of our baggage behind. The most we can carry will be a small
valise each. And we must try to get hold of some kind of weapons, too."
We returned to our hotel, and during the day Alano struck up an
acquaintanceship with a Cuban-American who knew his father well. Alano,
finding he could trust the gentleman, took him into his confidence,
and, as a result, we obtained not only a good pistol each,--weapons we
immediately secreted in our clothing,--but also received full details
of how to leave Santiago de Cuba by crossing the bay in a rowboat and
taking to the woods and mountains beyond.
"It will be rough traveling," said the gentlemen who gave us the
directions, "but you'll find your lives much safer than if you tried
one of the regular roads--that is, of course, after you have passed
the forts and the gunboats lying in the harbor."
Both Alano and I were much taken with this plan, and it was arranged we
should leave the city on the first dark night. Two days later it began
to rain just at sunset, and we felt our time had come. A small rowboat
had already been procured and was secreted under an old warehouse. At
ten o'clock it was still raining and the sky was as black as ink, and
we set out,--I at the oars, and Alano in the bow,--keeping the sharpest
of lookouts.
We had agreed that not a word should be spoken unless it was necessary,
and we moved on in silence. I had spent many hours on the lake facing
Broxville Academy, and these now stood me in good stead. Dropping my
oars without a sound, I pulled a long, steady stroke in the direction I
had previously studied out.
We were about halfway across the bay when suddenly Alano turned to me.
"Back!" he whispered, and I reversed my stroke as quickly as possible.
"There is a gunboat or something ahead," he went on. "Steer to the
left. See the lights?"
I looked, and through the mists made out several signals dimly. I
brought the boat around, and we went on our way, only to bring up, a
few seconds later, against a huge iron chain, attached to one of the
war vessels' anchors, for the vessel had dragged a bit on the tide.
The shock threw Alano off his feet, and he tumbled against me, sending
us both sprawling. I lost hold of one of the oars, and at the same
moment an alarm rang out--a sound which filled us both with fear.