SHARKS, SALT WATER ONES, AND OTHER THINGS.
The bridge had no protection along the side save a simple stringpiece of
timber. On the far side the houses rested nearly against the bridge
entrance, forming a street, which I had to pass through.
The moon went down at 10, but I could hear loud voices and occasional
bursts of laughter until 11. Then all grew still save the night noises
of the woods and swamps.
At midnight I carried my raft down to the edge of the water, then
leaving it there for use in case of a repulse, with my ironwood stick in
my left hand and my revolver in the right, I marched down to the bridge,
but fearing my upright figure might be seen, dark as it was, outlined
against the sky, I stooped and crawled along the stringpiece of timber
until within twenty feet of the large house at the end of the bridge.
Peering through the gloom I listened, but could not see or hear any
movement. Straightening myself up I took half a dozen paces, when, in
the stillness, I heard a sharp crackle that turned me to stone as the
flame of a wax match revealed two soldiers sitting on a bench within the
porch of the guardhouse not ten feet away. One had struck the match to
light a cigarette. The flame that betrayed them to me showed to them my
form outlined on the bridge.
There was a sudden exclamation, a hail, "Quien va!" then a sudden and
thrilling rattle of accoutrements, but I had turned and was flying back
across the bridge. Suddenly a rifle shot rang out sharply on the night;
a second followed, but I was unharmed. In ten seconds I was beside my
little raft, and, pushing it before me, waded out in the shallow water.
When up to my knees I halted, unstrapped my revolvers and placed them on
the raft. Then pulling off my shoes I put them and my load on the raft,
fastening all with a string put there for the purpose. Sticking my knife
through the lapel of my coat and resting my chin on the raft I began to
swim, keeping well out, so as to go outside the long wharf.
In the mean time everything was in commotion ashore. Two more shots were
fired, and flashes of the guns proved that a squad had turned out and
had crossed the bridge in hot pursuit. Then I blessed the wise
forethought that had led me to construct the raft. Certainly it had
saved me, for they would surely search the jungle.
During the fearful excitement I had forgotten all about the sharks. In
the darkness I had given all my attention to trying to get a glimpse of
the wharf. Suddenly, near me in the calm and awful stillness, there
sprang out of the dark waters a large fish which fell back with a
splash.
My heart stood still and my blood seemed to freeze, for to my horror I
fancied I saw the black fins of numberless sharks cutting the water. I
saw myself dragged down into the awful depths and torn limb from limb,
by the fierce and hungry monsters. I gave up hope and ceased my
swimming, expecting every minute to see the water churned into angry
foam by the furious sharks. Instinctively I placed my hand on the knife
I had thrust through the lapel of my coat for just such an emergency,
but strength and courage were all gone and my nerveless hand could not
draw it out. It seemed a long time that I waited, half dazed, for death,
which I hoped when it came would be swift.
Then I began swimming again, but in a hopeless way. My nerve was all
gone. I fancied I was ringed around with the black-finned devils, and
thought I could discern the currents from their waving tails; but I kept
on swimming, pushing my raft before me, until suddenly I was thrilled
through by my foot striking the bottom.
Making a rush for the shore, and once there, heedless of the fact that I
was in the rear of the houses, I fell down in the sand, weak and
panting, and there I lay until strength enough to walk came to me. Then,
taking my baggage from the raft, and cutting the cords that bound it
together, I started on. Courage and confidence soon came back, and I
kept steadily on for three hours, passing several small salt water
inlets, but no fresh water to fill my now empty bottle.
At the first sign of day I went just within the border of the jungle,
and lying down was soon asleep, and sleeping soundly, too, for waking I
found the sun high in the heavens, and, looking at my watch, saw it was
9 o'clock. At the same time I discovered that I was hungry, with no food
save a small piece of dried beef and not a drop of water in my bottle.
The salt water lagoon, or inlet, where I had my adventure of the
previous night was marked on my map as a river, but it was not. However,
I did not worry over the water question, as I knew I was near the hilly
country surrounding the town of Alguizor, an important military
headquarters, and I was confident of soon meeting some creek flowing
from the hills. As for food, there were to be found in the dense jungle,
where the soil was moist and wet, the holes of the nut crabs. They were
large and fat--that is, appeared to be fat--and I knew that with plenty
of them in the jungle I should not suffer from hunger.
Before starting inland for the day I turned to look at the blue waters
rippling under a light breeze, and glancing in the sun, only a few yards
away, I smiled to think of the phantoms my fears had conjured up, but
for all that I resolved that no more night swims in the sea should find
place in my programme.
I made my way with difficulty through the tangled woods, but had gone
nearly a mile before I came to the road. After a cautious survey from my
shelter, I stepped out on it, and looking away to the west I saw
cultivated hills with teams and people moving about; I also saw the road
became two--the right-hand one led away from the coast into the hills,
the one to the left continued to skirt the beach. Both roads were well
traveled, and I knew I was near the tobacco belt, which is cultivated
throughout its entire length, from the Gulf to the Caribbean Sea, for a
breadth of twenty miles, its western border touching the province of
Pinar del Rio. Forty miles beyond that border the rebels held the town
of San Cristoval, but I had made up my mind to follow the coast until I
reached the hamlet and harbor of Rio de San Diego, fifty miles south
from San Cristoval, then to strike north to the town of Passos, twenty
miles west of San Cristoval. Once past San Diego, I would be well within
the rebel lines, and could safely show myself, although I determined not
to do so voluntarily until I was at Passos.
The roundabout way I was traveling doubled the distance, but, aside from
getting outside the lines of the Spanish patrols, I was in no particular
hurry, and my mode of life was hardening and fitting me for the service
in which I was to embark. I counted upon taking ten days, or rather
nights, to reach San Diego, and five from there to Passos, where I would
make myself known to the rebel chiefs as an American volunteer in the
cause of Cuban liberty. And, I thought, what a change of scene for Mr.
F. A. Warren. From the Bank of England to a volunteer in a rebel camp in
Cuba!
[Illustration: MILITARY SUPPRESSING REVOLT OF CONVICTS AT CHATHAM.]
I crossed the road and entered the jungle to pass the day, but as the
ground was dry the trees and vines were not so closely matted, making it
easier to move about, and a far more agreeable place it was for a
daylight picnic than the jungle where I had passed the day before.
But no crabs showed themselves, and as there was no animal life to be
found, there was nothing but my piece of dried beef to be had "to go
into the interior," so I dined off that; then, lighting one of my
precious cigars, lay down in a sort of fairy bower to enjoy myself, and
succeeded. During the entire day no sight or sound of human form or
voice came to me, nor yet of animal life, save only a mateless bird,
garbed in green that flitted around. Of course, not a drop of water this
whole day long for me, and, though I was moderately thirsty, I did not
suffer, despite the fact that I smoked several cigars. But I felt that I
must have food and drink that night, whatever risk I incurred in
securing it. I determined, therefore, to start early on my journey and
get food before the country people were all in bed. As soon as night
fell I stepped out on the road and cautiously started westward. Knowing
there must be some town or hamlet near by, I purposed to enter, spy out
some shop and watch until the shopkeeper was alone, then enter and
purchase a supply of such food as he had, then march out and disappear
as quickly as possible.
Soon after starting I came to a small place such as the poor whites of
the country inhabit, and seeing two women in the doorway I walked in,
and with a salute and "Buenas noches, senoritas," I asked for water
(agua); they responded with alacrity and brought me some in a cocoanut
shell. I saw it was vile stuff, with an earthy taste, but thirsty as I
was it tasted like nectar. There was some food on a wooden dish inside,
and I suppose they saw me looking at it, for the older woman ran in and
returned bringing me two roasted plantains and a rice cake. Just then I
discovered a man inside and two others came up from the rear of the
house, or I would have purchased food of the women; but, seeing them, I
thanked the ladies, and, saying good night, disappeared in the darkness.
Picking up the empty bottle I had left in the road I walked on,
feasting as I went on my roasted plantains. How nice they tasted!
A mile ahead I came to a tumbledown roadhouse, with quite a crowd of
loud-voiced men standing around, who evidently had been indulging in the
fiery aguardiente sold there. Like the Levite and priest, I passed by on
the other side, giving the place a wide berth. Soon after I entered a
town or hamlet of a dozen houses. Two or three passed me in the darkness
with a "Buenas noches, senor," to which I mumbled some reply, they
doubtless taking me for a neighbor. Two uniformed men, evidently police
or soldiers, were lounging in the only shop, and I dared not enter until
they were gone. Planting myself in a deep shadow, I sat down waiting for
them to go out, but they showed no sign of moving until a shrill voice
from a female throat issued from a nearby house, bidding one of the
loungers to lounge no more just then, and he, hurriedly obeying the
summons, went; soon his companion followed; then, leaving my empty
bottle in the road, and with my hand on the revolver in my outside
pocket, I entered the shop. The easy-going Cuban shopkeeper paid no
particular attention to me, did not even stop rolling the cigarette he
was making. After deliberately lighting it, he lazily responded to my
"Buenas noches, senor," I saw bread, cakes and ham, and ordered of each;
then, seeing some Spanish wine, I took a bottle; also a bottle of
pickles. Producing a $10 Spanish bank note, I paid the bill, and emerged
into the night with the precious load, and so strong was the animal
instinct of hunger upon me that I would have fought to death sooner than
surrender the provisions I carried.
Picking up my empty bottle I looked out for a chance to fill it as I
walked through the town on the main road, which went straight west, but
intending to abandon it as soon as I came to the fields and found it was
safe to sit down for a feast, then make my way to the beach, now some
two miles away, and put in a good distance before daylight. But for two
mortal hours the road was bordered by impenetrable walls of cactus and
bayonet grass, and to make the matter worse the moon came out from
behind the clouds and poured a flood of light on the open road. Twice
men on horseback passed me, coming from the opposite direction, and both
times I sank down in the shadow of the cactus, both times with revolver
in hand, but dreading an encounter, as the noise of firing might wake a
hornets' nest about my ears.
At last I came to a road which entered a field. I was soon over the bars
and found myself in an old tobacco plantation, now partly planted in
Spanish beans. Crossing a couple of fields at the foot of the hills and
in going over a triangular piece of ground, I found the ruins of a
house, and nearby a small stream of water. I was in luck, and, taking a
good drink and filling my bottle, I sat down in a convenient shadow and
spread out my eatables. They were a goodly sight, and consisted of four
pounds of good ham, a dozen good-sized sweet cakes, two loaves of bread,
a bottle of pickles and one of wine, and one of water. I began with a
drink of wine, then followed ham and bread and cake for dessert, all
washed down with a fine long drink of water. Then lighting a cigar I
stretched myself at full length and spent a delightful hour star-gazing.
Then I arose, took another drink of wine, but as it was not particularly
select, threw the remainder away, and, filling both bottles from the
brook, I prepared to march.
How I wish the kodak fiend existed then and that one of them had
happened along just then to take a snap shot at me as I stood there in
full marching order, with my water bottles slung over my shoulders, my
eatables tied up in a large silk handkerchief, with my garments all in
tatters, the result of thorns and creepers snatching at them in my
jungle trampings; but, worst of all, my trusty and precious walking
boots were beginning to show signs of rough usage.
I struck the road leading to the beach and marched westward, but it was
an unknown land, and I was in constant fear of running against some
military post or patrol, being thus constantly delayed by long halts to
watch some suspicious object or by making long detours to avoid them.
Once I had a fright. Two men on horseback riding on the sandy road were
almost on me before I saw or heard them, and I only had time to sink
into the shadow as they passed almost within reach of my hand. Both were
smoking the everlasting cigarette, and were engaged in earnest talk.
Daylight came and found me not more than eight or ten miles further on
my journey, but I was very well content as I pitched my camp for the
day. I had a royal feast, then, after a cigar, lay down to sleep in
another fairy bower and slept until noon, and awoke to find myself
wondering how matters were going with Capt. Curtin in Havana, rather
amused over the state of chagrin I knew he must be in. I thought of a
possible future meeting some years ahead, when, all danger over, I would
see and chaff him over a bottle of Cliquot and the $50,000 he wouldn't
have, and how I went all the same and saved the money.
I realized I must be frugal or my provisions would never hold out; so,
after a light lunch, I began to make my way slowly to the beach through
the tangled maze of trees and vines. Coming in sight of the blue waters
I lay down to sleep again and awoke when the stars were out. The moon
would not go down till late, but as there was a deep, broad shadow cast
by the trees I walked in it.
Good food and the long day of rest restored my strength. All my
confidence returned, and I made good progress. At last the moon went
down, and then I pressed rapidly forward, always with revolver in hand,
ready for instant action. I think I made fully twenty-five miles this
night, but as the coast was indented my progress in a straight direction
was not more than half that distance. Just as it began to grow gray in
the east I came out on a wide inlet. It ran deep into the land. I
recognized it from my map as Puerto del Gato, and then I knew I was in
the province of Pinar del Rio and almost out of danger.
I went into the bush again and pitched camp, waiting for daylight to
come and reveal my surroundings. Pitching camp consisted in scraping a
few leaves together and lying down; but this morning I was too excited
to sleep. I felt that I was near my goal, after having safely gone
through many dangers. Once across the Puerto del Gato, two nights of
travel would place me outside of the farthest Spanish pickets and bring
me among friends, far beyond chance of pursuit, and I also knew that the
mere knowledge of my presence in the rebel camp would cause all thought
of pursuit to be dropped.
When daylight came I stood and looked around. Across the inlet, twenty
miles away, I could see only dark masses of green, with no sign of life.
To the north the land was hilly, with houses here and there in the
distance, and signs of animal life. I cautiously searched the shore for
a mile in the hope of finding a boat to cross to the other shore of the
inlet, but none was in sight.
About 9 o'clock I saw smoke off at sea, and soon I made out a small
Spanish gunboat coming rapidly up. Dropping anchor about a mile up the
inlet, she sent a boat ashore. I was feeling sleepy, and, going into the
woods again, I took a light lunch, and, emptying one bottle of water,
lay down to sleep, resolved to make my plans when I awoke. I did not
like the appearance of this gunboat; it seemed to promise the presence
of the enemy in force around me, besides being a visible manifestation
of the power of that enemy.
When I awoke from my nap I started on a cautious spying out of the land,
making my way toward the head of the inlet, but keeping always under the
protection of the woods. While going cautiously along I was startled by
the notes of a bugle ringing out some military call not far away, and a
moment later the gunboat replied with a gun, then steamed out to sea.
Continuing my progress through the woods I came to the road, and, hiding
securely in a thicket where I could see unseen, I watched. Soon I heard
the sound of voices, and then a detail of armed men passed, going
leisurely east, escorting an empty wagon drawn by four mules. It meant
much, these armed escorts, showing they were in the face of the enemy.
Several others passed during the hour of my watch. Then, with many
cautious glances up and down the road, I slipped quietly across and
crept for two hours through the jungle. Making my way to the side of the
bay, I saw that I had left the military post behind me. There were white
barracks and a wharf with people walking on it, and here the road and
beach were one. This much discovered, I went a safe distance into the
jungle and lay down to have a good sleep, feeling I would need all my
energy and strength for the coming night, as it promised to be a
critical one, especially as I could not afford to wait for the moon to
go down, and would not have the shelter of darkness, for the moonlight
was so powerful that one could easily read print by it.
I slept until dark, and awoke refreshed, then lunched and nearly
finished my last bottle of water. I had only sufficient food for two
more light meals. After lunch I smoked for an hour, star-gazing and
philosophizing. At 9 o'clock, emerging into the road, I started
cautiously out, walking in the shadow of the jungle as much as possible.
I thought the head of the inlet was about ten miles away, and expected
to find a military post or at least a picket stationed there.
* * * * *
Daylight once more. But it found me happy and content, for the
difficulties of the passage of the wide inlet, which had confronted me
the night before, had all been surmounted. I was now in a densely wooded
point on the western side of the bay. Between me and San Diego lay a
wild no man's land of fifty miles. That meant only two nights more of
peril and uncertainty, and it was all straight going. So far as the
coast line was concerned I was outside of the Spanish lines. Tired out
and very well contented, just as the sun rose fiery red above the
horizon, I lay down and was at once in dreamland. At noon, hungry and
with only a few ounces of food to satisfy my hunger, I woke. Finishing
my last bit of ham and bread, I lighted a cigar and set about planning.
Pulling out my little map, I began to scan it for the thousandth time.
About six miles to the north was the little town of San Miguel. Between
me and San Diego lay fifty miles of wild country swept by fire and
sword, without an inhabitant and without food. Hungry as I already was,
I felt it would not do to undertake a two days' journey through that
wilderness without eating. Of course I made a mistake. I was clear of
the toils, and I ought to have taken every and any chance rather than
enter the enemy's lines again.
I resolved, soon after night came, to set out for San Miguel, watch my
chance to enter a shop and purchase food, then, beating a hasty retreat,
strike out across the country straight for San Diego, there to find
myself among friends in the rebel camp.
I set out and without any particular adventure arrived about 9 o'clock
at San Miguel. It proved to be a hamlet with the houses ranged close
together on opposite sides of the streets. The moonlight cast a deep
shadow on one side, while the opposite side was almost like day. I stood
in the deep shadow watching. The first building was evidently a police
or military barrack. The door was wide open, but no one was visible
inside. About five doors off was a shop, but the door was closed, and
from where I stood there appeared no sign of life within. I waited about
ten minutes, and rashly concluding that there was no one save the
proprietor there, I stepped out of the shadow into the moonlight and
hurrying across the street, put my hand on the door, opened it and
stepping within found myself in the presence of twenty soldiers, all
gossiping, smoking or gambling. Belts and cartridge boxes along with
bayonets decorated the walls or were lying about on boxes and barrels.
All eyes were turned on me. I saw myself in a fearful trap and nothing
but consummate coolness could keep them from questioning me. My heart
beat fast, but with an affectation of indifference I saluted and said:
"Buenos noches, senores." They all returned my salutation, but looked at
each other eagerly, each waiting for the other to question me.
I stepped to the counter and asked for bread; two loaves were given me.
I picked up some cakes and paid for them. From the door I turned, and
putting all my dignity into a bow, I said: "Good night, gentlemen." They
all seemed held by a spell, but they looked and were dangerous as death.
I closed the door, fully realizing my peril, feeling the storm would
break the instant I was out of sight. Fortunately there was no one near,
and I ran swiftly across the street into the protecting shadow and
crouched down in a dark space between two houses. The cactus-like weeds
grew there and pricked me, but I heeded them not, for that instant the
soldiers poured out of the shop, an angry and excited mob, buckling on
their belts, cartridge boxes and bayonets as they ran. Some had their
muskets, others hastened to get them and all save two stragglers rushed
out of the town in the direction from which I had entered. I wondered at
this, but soon discovered the reason. Some few women, hearing the
tumult, came into the street, but seeing nothing, went in again; the
stragglers all disappeared and the street was quiet.
[Illustration: UNDERGROUND PASSAGE AND STAIRS LEADING TO OLD BAILEY
DOCK.]
I came out of my corner and hurried in the shadow down the road in the
opposite direction to the course followed by my pursuers. Arriving at
the last house at the foot of the street, I found myself confronted by a
small river, quiet and apparently deep, with all the space from the
last house to the river one impassable barrier of giant cactus, I had
either to swim the river or turn back, and I ought to have plunged in as
I was, revolver and all, the distance over being short; and, as I am an
expert swimmer, I could easily have got across, loaded down as I was.
But a contemptible trifle had weight enough to cause me to adopt the
suicidal course of turning back.
The fierce animal instinct of hunger was on me, the smell of the food
enraged me, and I thought if I swam the stream the cakes and bread I
carried would be soaked and probably lost, for I had them loose in my
arms; beside, I was overconfident of my ability to escape my pursuers.
They had marched by the road that led behind the village to the bridge
crossing the river some distance up; evidently, not seeing me, they took
it for granted I knew of the bridge, and had gone that way.
To appease at once my hanger, in a fatal moment I retraced my steps. As
I passed a house three women came out. They spoke to me, and in my
excitement, instead of saying good evening in Spanish (buenas noches), I
said good morning (buenas dias). They, of course, saw I was a stranger.
Just then four soldiers came hurriedly into the street from the road,
and I was forced to leave the women and crouch down in my former hiding
place. Then they did what women seldom do--betrayed the fugitive.
Calling to the soldiers, they pointed out the place I was in. All four
came running, and in a moment were almost on top of me. I presented my
revolver and snapped the trigger twice without exploding the cartridges;
they were too close or too excited to use their muskets, but all four
grappled with me, and naturally used me pretty roughly.
There was a terrific hullabaloo, as in response to their cries their
comrades came running in. By the time they had hustled me across the
street into the shop there was a mob of half a hundred around me. Soon
the commander, a captain, appeared. I wish I could say he was a
gentleman, but he was not. He was a little, peppery young fellow,
apparently with negro blood in his veins, and dictatorial and insulting
in manner.
Surely I was an object--a tramp in appearance--but with a diamond ring
on my finger (which I had taken from my pocket and slipped on), a
revolver strapped to my waist and a splendid chronometer in my pocket.
Such an object had never before loomed on their horizon. Was not one
glance enough to show that I must be a notable rebel, and there was but
one doom for such.
My desperate situation cast out all fear, and I was cold and haughty.
Flourishing my police passport, I informed him that I was Stanley W.
Parish of New York, a correspondent of the New York Herald, and he had
better look out what he was about.
But it was evident that police passports made out in Havana had no
currency in the face of the enemy; but at any rate it proved that
whatever my intentions might be, I had at least hailed last from Havana,
and not from the rebel camp, and this would prevent my peppery captain
from enjoying the pleasure of standing me up in the morning, to be
fusilladed, such being the law for all captives in the savage contest.
Down my gentleman sat on a barrel, pompous and important, and ordered me
to be searched. All this time a dozen hands were holding me fast. I told
my officer he was a fool and a clown, but my captors began to go through
my pockets, and speedily there was a heap of gold and paper money on the
barrel, and my little friend fingered it with a covetous eye. I had my
$10,000 in bonds pinned in the sleeve of my undershirt. This they
missed, but found all else I carried. In the mean time there was an
eager audience looking on, absorbed in the interest of the scene.
There was a collection indeed on that barrel. Beside my ring, there were
five other valuable diamonds, my chronometer, which with its regular
beat and stem-winding arrangement was a great curiosity. Then the heap
of money was a loadstone for all their hungry eyes. The captain was
making out an inventory and statement, while I stood white with rage to
see the half-breeds, blacks, browns and yellows, handle my property so
freely. I was especially in a rage with the impudent captain, who had
the nerve to put my watch in his pocket. Absorbed by the interest of the
scene, my captors had insensibly loosened their hold, and I determined
to have some satisfaction out of the captain. Suddenly seizing one of
the revolvers before I could be stopped I gave him a stinging blow with
it and sprang on him. We rolled on the floor, and there was a scene. I
was dragged off by fifty hands, every one trying to seize me, if only by
one hand. My captain got up with the blood running down his face, and,
rushing to a peg, he seized a sabre bayonet and flew at me like a mad
bull. I shouted at him in Spanish, calling him a cur and coward, bidding
him to come on. He was not unwilling, while my captors held me firmly
exposed to his assault. Another second would have ended my life, when a
woman spectator, who stood near nursing a child, threw her arms around
him; this, joined to my indifference, for I continued my jeers and
taunts, changed his purpose, to my disappointment, for I preferred death
to going back to Havana.
"From Wall Street to Newgate" is replete with stirring incidents,
marvelous adventures, hair-breadth escapes and remarkable
experiences, such as few men have met with. They are narrated in
any easy, picturesque style, evincing sincerity and candor, with no
attempt at sensation or exaggeration. The truth told is stranger
than fiction, and history may well be challenged to produce another
life into which has come so many varied and bewildering events, or
to disclose another character, trained in a religious home, having
culture and an unusual business talent, whose deflection from the
path of honor has stirred to its very depths the entire civilized
world.