FROM ONE DIFFICULTY TO ANOTHER.
How we ever escaped from the falling tree I do not fully know to this
day. The lightning stunned me almost as much as my companion, and both
of us went down in a heap in the soft mud, for it was now raining in
torrents. We rolled over, and a rough bit of bark scraped my face; and
then I knew no more.
When I came to my senses I was lying in a little gully, part of the way
down the hillside. Alano was at my side, a deep cut on his chin, from
which the blood was flowing freely. He lay so still that I at first
thought him dead, but the sight of the flowing blood reassured me.
A strong smell of sulphur filled the air, and this made me remember the
lightning stroke. I looked up the hill, to see the palm tree split as I
have described.
"Thank God for this escape!" I could not help murmuring; and then I
took out a handkerchief, allowed it to become wet, and bound up Alano's
cut. While I was doing this he came to, gasped, and opened his eyes.
"_Què_--_què_----" he stammered. "Wha--what--was it, Mark?"
I told him, and soon had him sitting up, his back propped against a
rock. The cut on his chin was not deep, and presently the flow of blood
stopped and he shook himself.
"It was a narrow escape," he said. "I warned you we must get out into
the open."
"We'll be more careful in the future," I replied. And then I pointed to
an opening in the gully. "See, there is a cave. Let us get into that
while the storm lasts."
"Let us see if it is safe first. There may be snakes within," returned
Alano.
With caution we approached the entrance to the cave, which appeared
to be several yards deep. Trailing vines partly hid the opening; and,
thrusting these aside, we took sticks, lit a bit of candle I carried,
and examined the interior. Evidently some wild animal had once had its
home there, but the cave was now tenantless, and we proceeded to make
ourselves at home.
"We'll light a fire and dry our clothing," suggested Alano. "And if the
rain continues we can stay here all night."
"We might as well stay. To tramp through the wet grass and brush would
be almost as bad as to have it rain--we would be soaked from our waists
down."
"Then we'll gather wood and stay," said he.
Quarter of an hour later we had coaxed up quite a respectable fire in
the shadow of a rock at the entrance to the cave, which was just high
enough to allow us to stand upright, and was perhaps twelve feet in
diameter. We piled more wood on the blaze, satisfied that in its damp
condition we could not set fire to the forest, and then retired to dry
our clothing and enjoy a portion of the contents of the provision bag
Alano had improvised out of the purloined napkin.
As we ate we discussed the situation, wondering how far we could be
from some village and if there were any insurgents or Spanish soldiers
in the vicinity.
"The rebels could outwit the soldiers forever in these hills," remarked
Alano--"especially those who are acquainted in the vicinity."
"But the rebels might be surrounded," I suggested.
"They said at Santiago they had too strong a picket guard for that,
Mark."
"But we have seen no picket guard. Supposing instead of two boys a body
of Spanish soldiers had come this way, what then?"
"In that case what would the Spanish soldiers have to shoot at?" he
laughed. "We have as yet seen no rebels."
"But we may meet them--before we know it," I said, with a shake of my
head.
Scarcely had I uttered the words than the entrance to our resting-place
was darkened by two burly forms, and we found the muzzles of two
carbines thrust close to our faces.
"Who are you?" came in Spanish. "Put up your hands!"
"Don't shoot!" cried Alano in alarm.
"Come out of that!"
"It's raining too hard, and we have our coats off, as you see. Won't
you come in?"
At this the two men, bronzed and by no means bad-looking fellows,
laughed. "Only boys!" murmured one, and the carbines were lowered and
they entered the cave.
A long and rapid conversation with Alano, which I could but imperfectly
understand, followed. They asked who we were, where we were going, how
we had managed to slip out of Santiago, if we were armed, if we carried
messages, if we had the countersign, how we had reached the cave, and
a dozen other questions. Both roared loudly when Alano said he thought
they were rebels.
"And so we are," said the one who appeared to be the leader. "And we
are proud of it. Have you any objections to make?"
"No," we both answered in a breath, that being both English and
Spanish, and I understanding enough of the question to be anxious to
set myself right with them.
"I think our fathers have become rebels," Alano answered. "At least, we
were told so."
"Good!" said the leader. "Then we have nothing to fear from two
such brave lads as you appear to be. And now what do you propose to
do--encamp here for the night?"
"Unless you can supply us with better accommodations," rejoined my chum.
"We can supply you with nothing. We have nothing but what is on us,"
laughed the second rebel.
Both told us later that they were on special picket duty in that
neighborhood. They had been duly enlisted under General Garcia, but
were not in uniform, each wearing only a wet and muddy linen suit,
thick boots, and a plain braided palm hat. Around his waist each had
strapped a leather belt, and in this stuck a machete--a long, sharp,
and exceedingly cruel-looking knife. Over the shoulder was another
strap, fastened to a canvas bag containing ammunition and other
articles of their outfit.
These specimens of the rebels were hardly what I had expected to see,
yet they were so earnest in their manner I could not help but admire
them. One of them had brought down a couple of birds, and these were
cooked over our fire and divided among all hands, together with the few
things we had to offer. After the meal each soldier placed a big bite
of tobacco in his mouth, lit a cigarette, and proceeded to make himself
comfortable.
"The Spaniards will not move in this weather," said one. "They are too
afraid of getting wet and taking cold."
Darkness had come upon us, and it was still raining as steadily as
ever. Our clothing was dry; and, as the cave was warmed, the rebel
guards ordered us to put out the fire, that it might not attract
attention during the night.
We were told that we had made several mistakes on the road and were
far away from Tiarriba. If we desire to go there, the rebels said they
would put us on the right road.
"But if you are in sympathy with us, you had better pass Tiarriba by,"
said one to Alano. "The city is filled with Spanish soldiers, and you
may not be able to get away as easily as you did from Santiago."
Alano consulted with me, and then asked the rebel what we had best do.
"That depends. Do you want to join the forces under General Garcia?"
"We want to join our fathers at or near Guantanamo."
"Garcia is pushing on in that direction. You had best join the army and
stay with it until Guantanamo is reached."
"But we will have to fight?" said my Cuban chum.
The guard smiled grimly, exhibiting a row of large white teeth.
"As you will. The general will not expect too much from boys."
There the talk ended, one of the rebels deeming it advisable to take a
tramp over to the next hill and back, and the other crouching down in a
corner for a nap. With nothing else to do, we followed the example of
the latter, and were soon in dreamland.
A single call from the man who had slept beside us brought us to our
feet at daybreak. The storm had cleared away, and now it was positively
cool--so much so that I was glad enough to button my coat up tightly
and be thankful that the fire had dried it so well. The second rebel
was asleep, and had been for two hours. We followed one out of the cave
without arousing the other.
A tramp of half a mile brought us to a high bank, and here our rebel
escort left us.
"Across the bank you will find a wagon-road leading to the west," he
said. "Follow that, and you cannot help but meet some of our party
sooner or later. Remember the new password, 'Maysi,' and you will be
all right," and then he turned and disappeared from sight in the bush.
The climb to the top of the bank was not difficult, and, once over
it, the road he had mentioned lay almost at our feet. We ran down to
it with lighter hearts than we had had for some time, and struck out
boldly, eating a light breakfast as we trudged along.
"I hope we strike no more adventures until the vicinity of Guantanamo
is reached," I observed.
"We can hardly hope for that, Mark," smiled my chum. "Remember we are
journeying through a country where war is raging. Let us be thankful if
we escape the battles and skirmishes."
"And shooting down by some ambitious sharpshooter," I added. "By the
way, I wonder if our folks are looking for us?"
"It may be they sent word not to come, when they saw how matters were
going, Mark. I am sure your father would not want you to run the risk
that----Look! look! We must hide!"
Alano stopped short, caught me by the arm, and pointed ahead. Around a
turn in the road a dozen horsemen had swept, riding directly toward us.
A glance showed that they were Spanish guerrillas!