FRIENDS IN NEED.
I speedily found that my enemies were five in number; and, as they were
all tall and powerful men, to struggle against them would have been
foolhardy.
"Don't choke me--I give in," I gasped, and then the pressure on my neck
was relieved.
"_Americano_," I heard one of the fellows mutter. "No talk, you!" he
hissed into my ear, and flourished a knife before my eyes to emphasize
his words.
I shut my mouth, to signify that I agreed, and then I was allowed to
rise, and in a twinkle my hands were tied behind my back. Two of the
men conducted me away from the spot, while a third followed us. The
other two men remained on guard at the highway.
I wondered if Alano had been captured, but just then did not give the
subject much thought. There was no telling whether the men were Spanish
or Cuban sympathizers; but, no matter to what side they belonged,
I noted with a shudder that they were a decidedly tough class of
citizens.
Leaving the highway, we made our way along a rocky course leading to a
small clearing at the top of a plateau. Back of the clearing was a rude
hut, set in a grove of sapodilla trees. Around the hut half a dozen
dirty soldiers were lying, who leaped up at our approach. An earnest
conversation in a Spanish _patois_ followed, and then one of the men
spoke to me in Spanish.
"No speak Spanish, eh?" he growled, in return to my assertion to that
effect. "Who you be? Where you go to?"
"I am on my way to Guantanamo, to join my father," I said, and made as
much of an explanation as I deemed necessary.
The soldiers glared suspiciously at me when my words were translated to
them. Then, without ceremony, they began to search me, taking all I had
of value from me.
"You are not going to rob me, I trust," I said, and the man who could
speak English laughed coarsely.
"We take all we get," he replied. "All right in war, _amigo_."
I was not his _amigo_, or friend, but I was forced to submit; and,
even as it was, I was thankful my life had been spared, for they were
a cruel-looking band, with less of the soldier than the bandit about
them.
When I saw a chance, I started in to question them concerning Alano,
but the nearest fellow, with a flat blow from his dirty hand, stopped
me.
"No talk!" growled he who could speak English.
After this I said no more, but from where I had been placed, at the
rear of the hot and ill-ventilated hut, I watched the men narrowly
and tried to understand what they were talking about. I heard General
Garcia mentioned and also the word "machete," the name of the long,
deadly knives most of the Cuban soldiers carried.
At last the men around the hut began to grow sleepy, and one after
another sought a suitable spot and threw himself down to rest. The
youngest of the party, a fellow not over twenty, was left on guard.
With his pistol in his lap, this guard sat on a flat rock, rolling
cigarette after cigarette and smoking them. From my position in the hut
I could just catch his outline, and I watched him eagerly. I pretended
to go to sleep, but I was very wide awake.
It must have been well past midnight, and I was giving up in despair,
when the last of the cigarettes went out and the guard's head fell
forward on his breast. In the meantime I had been silently working at
the rawhide which bound my hands. In my efforts my wrists were cut not
a little, but at last my hands were free.
Feeling that the guard and the others were all asleep, I arose as
silently as a shadow. Several of my captors lay between me and the
entrance of the hut, and it was with extreme caution that I stepped
over them. The last man sighed heavily and turned over just as I went
by, and with my heart in my throat I leaped out into the open.
But he did not awaken, nor did the guard notice my appearance. As I
passed the latter I saw something shining on the ground. It was the
pistol, which had slipped from the guard's lap. I hesitated only an
instant, then picked it up and glided onward to the end of the plateau.
"_Halte!_" The command, coming so suddenly, was enough to startle
anybody, and I leaped back several feet. A man had appeared before
me, one of the fellows left to guard the highway below. Following the
command came an alarm in Spanish.
On the instant the camp was in commotion. The guard was the first to
awaken, and his anger when he found his pistol gone was very great.
While he was searching for his weapon, the others poured from the hut
and ran toward me, leveling their weapons as they came.
I was caught between two fires, for the man before me also had his
pistol raised, and I did not know what to do. Then, to avoid being
struck, and not wishing to shed blood, I leaped toward some near-by
bushes.
Bang! crack! A musket and a pistol went off almost simultaneously, and
I heard a clipping sound through the trees. Just as my former captors
turned to follow me into the thicket, there came another shot from down
in the hollow of the highway.
"_Cuba libre!_" I heard echo upon several sides, and a rattle of
musketry followed. From a dozen spots in the hollow I saw the long
flashes of fire, and I at once knew that a portion of the Cuban army
was at hand and had surprised the Spanish sympathizers who were
attempting to hold the highway.
The moment the battle started below the plateau those who had held me
captive gave up pursuing me, and rushed back to the hut to obtain their
entire belongings--feeling, doubtless, that the region would soon get
too hot to hold them. I watched them turn away with keen satisfaction,
and remained where I was, the guard's pistol still in my possession.
For fully half an hour the firing kept up, and then came a rush along
the highway and again I heard the cry of "_Cuba libre!_" raised,
showing that the rebels were getting the best of the encounter and had
driven the Spanish soldiers from their hiding-places. On went one body
of men after the other down the road, until the sounds of their voices
and firearms were almost lost in the distance.
Certain that the plateau was now absolutely deserted, I ran back to the
hut and found my valise, which had been thrown in a corner. My pistol
was gone, but as I had another, fully loaded and just as good, I did
not mind this. With my satchel over my shoulder, I crawled cautiously
down to the highway and hurried in the direction I had before been
pursuing.
I had just reached the opposite side of the hollow, where all was pitch
dark, on account of the shade, when a feeble moan came to my ears.
Moving silently in the direction, I found a negro lying on his back, a
fearful wound in his shoulder.
The man could speak nothing but a Cuban _patois_, yet I understood
that he was in pain and desired his shoulder bound up. Wetting my
handkerchief in the water at the hollow, I washed the wound as best I
could and tied it up with strips of muslin torn from the sleeve of his
ragged shirt and my own shirt sleeve. For this, I could note by his
manner, that he was extremely grateful.
"_Americano?_" he said.
"Yes," I replied.
Then he asked me several other questions, from which I made out that he
wanted to know which side I was on. Feeling certain I was safe, I said
"Cuba," and he smiled faintly.
"I want to find General Garcia," I continued, emphasizing the name.
Then I tapped my breast, said General Garcia again, and pointed off
with my finger.
He nodded and attempted to sit up. With his bony finger he pointed
up the highway, and circled his finger to the northwest to signify I
was to turn off in that direction. Then he caught me by the arm and
whispered "Maysi" into my ear--the password.
Feeling I could do no more for him at present, I went on, and at the
distance of an eighth of a mile came to a side road, which was the
one he had described to me. It was narrow and rocky, and I had not
proceeded over two hundred feet in the direction when a soldier leaped
out from behind a banana tree and presented his gun.
"_Halte!_" he cried.
"Maysi!" I called promptly.
The gun was lowered, and, seeing I was but a boy, the guard smiled and
murmured "_Americano?_" to which I nodded.
"General Garcia," I said, and tapped my breast to signify I wished to
see the great Cuban leader.
Without a word the guard led me on a distance of a hundred feet and
called another soldier. A short talk ensued, and the second man
motioned me to follow him through a trail in the brush. We went on for
ten minutes, then came to a clearing hemmed in by a cliff and several
high rocks.
Here were over a hundred soldiers on foot and twice as many on
horseback. In the midst of the latter was the Cuban general I had asked
to see--the gallant soldier who had fought so hard in the cause of
Cuban liberty.