ON THE TRAIL OF MY FATHER.
"Mark!" ejaculated my Cuban chum, when, on releasing himself from his
sisters' embraces, he espied me. "So you have reached here before me. I
am very glad to see it."
"You are wounded?" I queried, as we shook hands. Had it not been for
the girls and Jorge we would have fairly hugged each other. "How did
that happen?"
"It's quite a story. Are my father and mother safe?"
"Yes, although your father, too, is wounded."
"Those soldiers at the coffee plantation, then, did not manage to catch
you?"
"No."
"They caught me and Jorge, and we were their prisoners for five or six
hours. We would not have gotten away, only Jorge bribed one of the
servants at the plantation, another negro. He cut the cords with which
we were bound, and we got out of the cellar into which we were put at
night."
"And that wound?"
"I got that when they came after us, ten minutes later. They couldn't
see us and fired blindly, and I got a bullet across the forearm. But
it's a mere scratch," Alano added, as he saw Inez and Paula look
serious.
He wanted to know all about my adventures, but there was no time to
tell of them just then, for the convent gates were soon reached and
here Alano's mother met him and, after a warm embrace, led him to his
father's side. It was a happy family gathering, and I thought it best
to withdraw for the time being. I walked again to the roof; and an hour
later Alano joined me there.
His story was soon told. After escaping from the coffee plantation he
and Jorge had become lost like myself in the forest. They, however,
had not made their way to the mountain side, but had entered a valley
between that mountain and the next, and, coming to a branch of the
river, had floated down it until overtaken by the storm at night.
The storm had driven them to shelter under some shelving rocks, and
here a temporary camp was made and Jorge went out on a search for food.
Little could be found, but in the morning the guide had brought down
several birds with a stick and these they had cooked and eaten with
keen relish. The way was then resumed, when, at noon, they had found
themselves on the wrong road and many miles out of their way.
[Illustration: "THE SPANIARDS WERE COMPLETELY DEMORALIZED."]
Jorge was much chagrined at his mistake and wanted Alano to kick him
for his thoughtlessness. The stream was left, and they took a cut
through the woods, which at last brought them to the old convent, as
described.
When Alano had finished, I told him my story in all of its details,
especially my adventures in the mountain stream and on the underground
river. He listened in silent amazement.
"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!"