SEÑOR GUEREZ.
I was horrified over the discovery that I had made. Here I was, in
absolute darkness, hemmed in by water and rocky walls, and drifting
rapidly I knew not whither.
In my terror I cried aloud, but only echo answered me--a peculiar echo
which made me shiver from head to foot.
On and on, and still on, was I dashed by the underground current,
which seemed to grow more powerful as I advanced, until my head grazed
repeatedly against the wall over me, and I felt like giving myself up
for lost. Oh, how bitterly I regretted the curiosity which had led me
to explore the cavern in which chance had so strangely placed me!
But now what was this--a light? At first I could scarcely believe the
evidence of my senses. There was a bright flash--then total blackness
again.
What could it mean? Perhaps I was dreaming--or the fearful situation
had turned my brain. Then came a second flash and a revelation.
It was the lightning from without, shining through some opening into
the waters under and around me! I was nearing the outer world. Oh, for
a breath of fresh air again!
Even as the thought crossed my mind, my head struck the rocky ceiling
again, and under I went, to find that I could not come up, the water
now rising to the very rocks. But a stronger light could be seen, and
I dove along, came up once, twice--and then emerged into the open air
with a splutter and a gasp, on the verge of exhaustion.
The underground stream emerged at the very base of the mountain, and
on both sides were level stretches of swamps, covered with rushes and
other tropical growths. Swimming for the nearest bank, I drew myself up
and fell on my breast, too worn out to stand.
It did not matter to me just then that it was night, that I was alone,
and that it was raining in torrents. I was safe from drowning--that was
my one thought, and never was a thought sweeter to a boy.
For fully fifteen minutes I remained on the bank of the stream. Then,
having recovered somewhat from the effects of my awful experience, I
arose and took as good a view of my situation as was possible. I waited
for a strong flash of lightning, and by this saw that my former wish
had been realized and that I was within a few hundred feet of the river
upon which the convent was said to be located.
While the storm and the night lasted there was nothing to do but to
seek shelter wherever it might be found; and, as the lightning now
appeared to die away, I walked to the very mountain side, and found
shelter under an overhanging rock, flanked by several tall trees.
Here I wrung what water I could from my clothing and made myself as
comfortable as my miserable condition permitted.
Never was a person more glad to see the sun than I. Old Sol came up
clear and strong, and my clothing quickly dried upon my body as I
walked along.
Passing around the swamps, which were full of monstrous toads and
numerous lizards, I reached the bank of the larger stream and started
to hunt for the convent for which Alano, Jorge, and myself had been
bound. As I hurried on, as rapidly as the formation of the ground
permitted, I could not help but wonder what had become of my chum
and our negro guide. Had they escaped, to roam around looking for
me, or had they fallen into the hands of the Spaniards at the coffee
plantation?
Having had no breakfast, it was not long before I began to feel hungry.
To satisfy the cravings of my appetite I picked several almost ripe
plantains, which, however, proved rather poor eating. I also spent some
time in a hunt for berries, but none were to be found.
By noon I calculated I had covered four or five miles, and reached a
narrow woods, growing on both sides of the river. Beyond the woods was
a village, a decidedly poor-looking settlement composed of a score of
rude dwellings built of logs and thatched with palm leaves to keep out
the rain.
I did not know whether to enter the village or not, and remained in the
woods for some time, watching the inhabitants, consisting of a score of
men and women and perhaps fifty children of all ages. The children were
dirty, and wore hardly any clothing, but they seemed to be as happy as
though such a thing as war had never been mentioned. Most of the men
were at work curing some wild-hog meat, while the women were engaged in
braiding mats and other articles for sale or exchange.
At last three of the children, running close to the woods, espied me,
and set up a shout of wonder and alarm, at which the men stopped work
and came rushing forward with their clubs and machetes. Seeing there
was no help for it, I stepped out into the open, and was immediately
surrounded.
Not a soul in the settlement, which went by the name of Jiawacadoruo,
could speak a word of English, and for the time being I was partly at a
loss to make them understand that I came as a friend who meant no harm.
At the word "_Americano_" they grinned, and one of them queried "_Cuba
libre?_ [For Cuban liberty?]" and I nodded. Then I pointed to my mouth
and stomach to signify that I was hungry.
At once half a dozen of the women rushed off, and soon I was presented
with several bowls of broth, made of chicken meat and vegetables,
strongly flavored with the inevitable garlic, and a pot of strong black
coffee. There was also a dish of boiled arrowroot, made from the native
maranta, and this tasted best of all to me.
While I was eating I tried, by every means in my power, to make these
Cubans understand that I wanted to find the old convent, but failed
utterly. Finally an idea struck me, and I essayed to carry it out.
Tearing a page from a blank book in my pocket, I drew upon it a rough
representation of a river and pointed to the stream, at which the men
gathered around nodded that they understood.
Next I drew the picture of a boy at one end of the river, and pointed
to myself. I am not by any means an artist; but we had had drawing
lessons at Broxville Academy, and I managed to represent the boy as
walking rapidly, as if in a great hurry to get to where he was going.
This caused the men to laugh heartily.
The next thing to do was to draw the old convent. Never having heard
the structure described, I had to draw entirely upon my imagination,
and my knowledge of convent architecture was decidedly limited. Yet
I managed to draw a fairly good representation of a ruined stone
building, with a cross at the top, and before it put a priest, to whom,
by an inspiration, I suddenly pointed and cried "Father Anuncio."
A dozen exclamations followed, and the men nodded to show that they now
knew what was wanted. A parley followed, and one tall negro stepped
forth and motioned that he was ready to be my guide by pointing first
to me and then to my picture of the old convent.
Luckily I still retained a few silver pieces in my pocket, and before
leaving I left two of these behind, to be divided among the crowd of
negroes, for let me say in passing that all of the inhabitants of
Jiawacadoruo are people of color. With my newly made guide I started up
the river, and the settlement was soon lost to sight.
I wondered how long it would take to reach the old convent, and tried
to put the question to Bumbo, as I made his name out to be, but
without success. Instead of answering with his fingers or by pointing
to the sun, he merely grinned and walked faster, until it was all I
could do to keep up with him.
It was almost sundown when we passed a bend in the stream and mounted
a bluff overlooking a wide expanse of swamp land. The topmost point of
the bluff reached, the guide pointed ahead, and there, almost at our
feet, I saw the massive outlines of what long years before had been
an imposing Spanish convent, planted in that out-of-the-way spot for
certain noble families who had left Spain under a cloud during the wars
of the seventeenth century.
As we approached the building, which was now little more than a mass
of ruins, I saw several men standing just outside of the inclosed
courtyard. One was a priest, and two others were in the uniform of
officers in the Cuban army. One of the latter I recognized as Señor
Guerez, having met the gentleman once while he was on a business visit
to the United States.
"Señor Guerez!" I called out, as I ran to him; and he turned in
amazement.
"Mark Carter!" he ejaculated, with a strong Spanish accent. "I am much
astonished."
"Is my father with you?" I demanded eagerly, as I looked around.
"No, my boy; I am sorry to say it."
"And where is he?" I went on, my heart rising to my throat, as I saw a
look of anxiety cross the gentleman's bronzed features.
"Your father was made a prisoner by the Spanish authorities two days
ago," replied the señor, and the answer all but prostrated me.