A DISHEARTENING DISCOVERY.
"Under Spanish guard!" I cried, and looked questioningly at Alano's
father.
"That's too bad," he said gravely. "However, there is no help for this
unexpected turn of affairs, and we must make the best of it. Alano, my
son, you are sure you are not mistaken?"
"There are a number of Spanish soldiers on the highway, and with the
field-glass I saw that more soldiers were scattered round about."
"Then your report must be true. I'll ride ahead and take a view of the
situation."
I begged to go along, and Captain Guerez agreed. Alano came too, while
the others withdrew to a thicket, to avoid being surprised by any of
the Spaniards who might be out foraging.
A turn in the highway brought us in full view of Cubineta. Of course we
were not foolish enough to expose ourselves. Screened behind bushes and
vines, we took a survey through the glass of the place, its people, and
the soldiers.
Cubineta was not a large village, but it was a pretty place and
evidently thriving--or had been thriving before the war put a blight
upon all Cuban industries. There was one long street of stores and
dwellings, a church, a _casa_ or town-house, and at the farthest end
what looked to be a hastily constructed fort, built of heavy logs and
sods.
"The Spaniards are evidently going to use the place as a center or
depot for supplies," was Captain Guerez' comment. "Under the present
circumstances I hardly know what is best to do."
"Perhaps they have my father a prisoner in that fortress," I suggested.
"It is not unlikely, Mark--if the men who held him have not yet gone
further than Cubineta."
"Can't we steal into town under cover of night?" I continued.
"We might do that--if it would do any good."
"I want to join my father at any hazard."
"That might be very foolish, Mark. How can you assist him if you are
yourself made a prisoner?"
"Would they hold a boy like myself?"
"You are not so young as you would like to make them imagine," laughed
Alano's father shortly. "Besides, if left free, they would be afraid
you would carry messages for your father. I think the best thing we can
do just now is to let Jorge go into town, pretending he is half starved
and willing to do anything for anybody who will give him food. By
taking this course, no one will pay much attention to him, as there are
many such worthless blacks floating about, and he can quietly find his
way around the fort and learn what prisoners, if any, are being kept
there."
This was sensible advice, and, impatient as I was to catch sight of my
parent, I agreed to wait. We rode back to where the others had made
their camp, and Jorge was called up and duly instructed. The black
grinned with pleasure, for he considered it a great honor to do spy
work for such an influential planter as Captain Guerez. Possibly he had
visions of a good situation on the plantation after the war was over;
but, if so, he kept his thoughts on that point to himself.
Jorge gone, the time hung heavily on the hands of all; but I believe
I was the most impatient of the crowd, and with good reason. Alano
noticed how uneasily I moved about, and soon joined me.
"You must take things easy, Mark," he said. "Stewing won't do any good,
and it will only make you sick, combined with this hot weather, which,
I know, is about all you can stand."
"If only I felt certain that my father was safe, Alano! Remember, he is
all I have in the world. My mother has been dead for years, and I never
had a brother or a sister."
"I think it will all come out right in the end," he answered, doing his
best to cheer me up. "They won't dare to--to----" He did not finish.
"To shoot him? That's just what I fear they will do, Alano. From what
I heard at Santiago de Cuba, the Spaniards are down on most Americans,
for they know we sympathize with you and think Cuba ought to be free,
or, at least ought to have a large hand in governing itself."
When nightfall came most of the others lay down to sleep. But this was
out of the question for me, tired though I was physically, and so I was
left on guard, with instructions to call one of the men at midnight.
Slowly the hours went by, with nothing to break the stillness of the
night but the hum of countless insects and the frequent note of a
night bird. We had not dared to build a campfire, and in consequence
there was no getting where the smoke drifted and out of the way of the
mosquitoes.
At midnight I took a walk around to see if all was safe. The man I
was to call slept so soundly I had not the heart to wake him up, so I
continued on guard until one, when a noise down by the road attracted
my attention.
Pistol in hand I stalked forward, when I heard a low voice and
recognized Jorge. The negro had been walking fast, and he was almost
out of breath.
"Well?" I inquired anxiously. "Is my father there?"
"I think he is, señor," replied the guide. "I go to prison-fort--da
have six Cubans dare an' one _Americano_."
"My father!"
"I talk to some men, an' da tell me prisoners come in last night--some
from Rodania, udders from udder places. _Americano_ in a prison by
himself, near the river. I swim up close to dat prison--maybe we make
hole in wall an' git him out."
"Could we do that, Jorge, without being discovered?"
"Tink so, señor--work at night--now, maybe. Swim under river an' come
up by fort, den dig with machetes--make hole under fort."
"If only we could do that!" I cried; and then, struck with a sudden
idea, I caught Jorge by the arm. "Jorge, if I go, will you come and
show me the way and help me?"
"Yes, señor."
"Then let us go at once, without arousing the others. More than two
might spoil the plan. Go back to the road and wait for me."
The guide did as directed, and I turned back into camp. Here I awoke
the man previously mentioned, and told him I was going off to meet
Jorge. He but partly understood, but arose to do guard duty, and I
hurried off.
I felt that I was not doing just right in not notifying Captain Guerez
and Alano, but I was impatient to meet my father and was afraid if I
told them what Jorge had said they would want to delay matters. As
events turned out it would probably have been much better had I been
guided by their advice.
A short but brisk walk brought the guide and myself in sight of the
town. On the outskirts the campfires of the Spanish soldiers burned
brightly. These we carefully avoided, and made a détour, coming up
presently to the bank of the stream upon which the fort was located.
The river was broad and shallow, and as it ran but sluggishly we might
have forded across, but this would have placed us in plain view of the
sentries, who marched up and down along the river bank and in front of
the prison-house.
Disdaining to undress, we dropped down into the stream and swam over,
with only our faces out of water, and without a sound, to a spot
behind the building opposite. We came up in a tiny hollow, screened by
several small bushes, and crawled on our stomachs to the rear of the
wing in which the guide said the American prisoner was incarcerated.
I had a long and broad dagger which I had picked up the day previous,
and Jorge had his machete, and with these we began to dig a tunnel
leading under the wooden wall of the fort. Fortunately, the ground was
not hard, and soon we broke through the very flooring of the prison. I
was in the lead, and in great eagerness I poked up my head and gazed
around me.
"Hullo, who's there?" cried a startled voice, in English, and my heart
sank completely, for the prisoner was not my father at all.