THE LAST OF THE BLOODHOUNDS.
The announcement that the bloodhounds would soon be upon us filled me
with dread. I had had one experience with this class of beasts, and I
did not wish to have another. I looked around at our party and saw that
the others, even to the captain, were as agitated as myself. A Cuban
dreads an unknown bloodhound worse than a native African does a lion or
an American pioneer does a savage grizzly bear.
"Have your pistols ready!" went on the captain, when an idea came into
my head like a flash, and I turned to him.
"If they are following the mules, why not turn the mules into a side
trail?" I said. "My father can ride with me, and Mr. Raymond can double
with somebody else."
"A good idea!" cried Captain Guerez. "Quick, let us try it."
In a twinkle my father had leaped up behind me, and Alano motioned Mr.
Raymond to join him. A small side trail was close at hand, and along
this we sent the mules at top speed, cutting them deeply with our
whips to urge them along.
"Now to put distance between them and ourselves!" cried my father, and
once more we went on. As we advanced we listened to the bloodhounds. In
a few minutes more we heard them turn off in the direction the mules
had taken, and their bayings gradually died away in the distance. Then
we slackened our speed a bit, and all breathed a long sigh of relief.
"That was a brilliant idea, my boy!" said Mr. Raymond warmly. "Mr.
Carter, you have a son to be proud of."
"I am proud of him," said my father, and he gave my arm a tight
squeeze. From that moment on, Mr. Raymond, who was a business man from
the West, became my warm friend.
It must not be supposed that we pursued our journey recklessly. Far
from it. The captain rode in advance continually, and on several
occasions called a halt while he went forward to investigate. But
nothing offered itself to block our progress, and late that night,
saddle-weary and hungry, we came in sight of the seaport town for which
we were bound.
"I believe the bark _Rosemary_ is in port here," said Mr. Raymond. "And
if that is so, we ought to be able to get on board, for I know the
captain well."
"Then that will save us a good deal of trouble," replied my father.
"But of course we can't go aboard openly--the Spanish authorities
wouldn't allow that."
How to get into the town unobserved was a question. Finally Alano's
father said he would ride in as a horse dealer, taking all of our
animals with him. To disguise himself he dirtied his face once more,
and put on my hat and coat, both rather small for him. Then driving
three of the horses before him, he went on.
We went into camp under some plantains, and it was not until three
o'clock in the morning that Captain Guerez came back. He returned with
a smile on his face, for he had sold two of the worst of the steeds at
a good price and had in addition found the _Rosemary_ and interviewed
her captain.
"The captain said he couldn't do anything for you to-night," he
explained. "But to-morrow, if it is dark, he will send a rowboat up
the shore to a rock he pointed out to me with his glass. You are to be
at the rock at one o'clock sharp--if it's dark. If it is not, you are
to wait until the next night. He says to try to come on board from the
quay will only bring you to grief."
"Good for Captain Brownley!" cried Mr. Raymond. "I felt sure he would
not go back on me. Once on board, Mr. Carter, and the three of us will
be safe."
"There is, therefore, nothing to do but to wait," went on Captain
Guerez. "I shall see you safe off, and then return to Father Anuncio's
convent with Alano and join the rest of my family once more."
As soon as it was light we rode and tramped through the woods and the
swamps to the seacoast, where it did not take long to locate the rock
the captain of the _Rosemary_ had pointed out to Captain Guerez. This
accomplished, we retired to a near-by plantain grove, there to eat and
rest, and spend a final day together.
The thought of parting with my chum was a sad one, yet I felt it my
duty to remain with my father. Alano was also affected, and often
placed his brown hand affectionately on my shoulder while we conversed.
"Let us both hope that this cruel and senseless warfare will soon
cease, and that Cuba will be free," I said.
"Yes, Mark, and that we will soon be together again," he replied. "I
hope your journey proves a safe one; and when you get back you must
remember me to all of the other boys."
"I'll do it; and you must remember me to your mother and your two
sisters," I said.
With it all, however, the day passed somewhat slowly, for we were
impatient to see what the night would bring forth. The sun set clearly,
and soon the heavens were bespangled with countless stars.
Mr. Raymond shook his head. "Captain Brownley won't risk coming
to-night," he remarked. "They could easily spot a boat from the town
shore, it is so clear."
But about ten o'clock it began to cloud over, and at eleven it started
to rain, a gentle but steady downpour. Not a star remained, and out on
the water it was as dark as Erebus.
"A kind Providence is with us!" cried my father. "We could not possibly
imagine a better night."
Slowly the time wore on, until Captain Guerez' watch indicated ten
minutes to one. We sat close beside the rock, paying no attention to
the rain, although it was gradually soaking us to the skin.
"Here they come!" whispered my father, and a few seconds later a
rowboat containing four sailors loomed up through the darkness. As
silently as a shadow the boat glided up past the rock and into the
swamp grass.
"On time, I see," said Mr. Raymond, as he advanced. "Is Captain
Brownley here?"
"No, he's watching at the ship, and will give us the signal when to
come aboard," replied one of the sailors, who was in command. "Come
aboard, if you are ready, sir."
"We are," said my father.
There was a short but affectionate good-by on both sides. Captain
Guerez wrung my hand tightly, and I gave Alano a warm squeeze. Then Mr.
Raymond, Burnham, father, and myself stepped into the rowboat, and the
sailors pushed off with their long oars. In another instant the craft
swung clear of the shore and was turned in the direction from whence we
had come. I was going to cry out a last parting to my chum, when the
sailor sitting nearest checked me.
"Be silent, my lad; if we're discovered we'll all be shot."
"Yes," put in my father, "don't make a sound. Leave everything to these
men. They have their instructions and know what they are doing."
On and on over the Bay of Guantanamo glided the rowboat. The rain still
came down, and if anything the night was blacker than ever. I wondered
how the sailors could steer, until I saw one of them consulting a
compass which lay in the bottom of the craft, looking it by the rays of
a tiny dark-lantern.
I reckoned that the best part of half an hour had gone by, when the
sailors rested on their oars, while one took up a night-glass. For five
minutes he waited, then put the glass down.
"It's all right," he whispered. "Let fall. No noise now, on your life!"
Forward went our craft again, and now I noticed that each oar was bound
with rubber at the spot where it touched the rowlock, to keep it from
scraping. Thus we moved onward in absolute silence.
From out of the darkness we now saw a number of lights, coming from
the town and the shipping. A few minutes later we ran up to the dark
hull of a large vessel. A rope ladder was thrown down to us, and a
sailor whispered to us to go up. We followed directions as rapidly as
we could, and once on the deck we were hurried below, while the rowboat
was swung up on the davits.
"Ah, Mr. Raymond, glad to see you!" said Captain Brownley, a bluff New
Englander, as he extended his hand. "A fine night to come on board."
And then he turned to us and we were introduced.
The _Rosemary_ was bound for Philadelphia, but would not sail for three
days. She was under strict Spanish watch, so it was necessary for us
to keep out of sight. We were locked in a stateroom, but made as
comfortable as circumstances permitted.
From time to time during the three days the captain came to us with
various bits of news. One was to the effect that the Spanish detachment
which had had my father and Mr. Raymond in charge had reported a
conflict with a Cuban force fifty or sixty strong. Another was that
the United States had declared war upon Spain and was going to bombard
Havana.
"I wonder if it is true that we are to fight Spain?" I said to Burnham.
"What do you think?"
"We ought to fight Spain," answered the newspaper man. "Cuba deserves
her freedom, and if she can't help herself against Spanish imposition
and brutality we ought to give her a friendly hand."
We talked the matter over at some length; but neither of us knew the
truth--that war was really declared, and that not Havana, but Santiago,
was to be attacked by the time the year was half over.
At last came the hour when the ship's anchors were hove apeak and the
sails were set. We sailed at high noon, and, having a good wind, soon
passed outside of Guantanamo Bay, which, as my readers may know, is
situated but a few miles to the eastward of Santiago Bay.
"Free at last!" cried my father, as he came on deck to get the fresh
air. "I must say I am not sorry to leave Cuba--since the times have
grown so troublesome."
He had scarcely spoken when a small Spanish revenue cutter hove in
sight, steaming down the coast evidently from Santiago Bay. While
Captain Brownley was examining the craft, there was a flash of fire,
and a dull boom sounded over the water.
"Great Scott! What does that mean?" demanded Burnham, leaping up from
his seat near the rail.
"It's an order to heave to," answered Captain Brownley grimly. "We are
not yet out of the woods, it would seem."
"Then that means for us to get out of sight again," said my father,
and, as the captain nodded, the four of us ran for the companion-way,
descended to the cabin, and secreted ourselves in the cabin pantry.
Five minutes later the Spanish revenue cutter steamed alongside, and
we heard the tramp of half a dozen strange pairs of feet on the deck
above.