When Santiago Fell: or, The War Adventures of Two Chums

“He has been shot in the leg,” was the reply. “Come on, help me carry him and get to cover. I am afraid they are on my track!”

“Run into the woods!” groaned Jorge. “Den we take to trees – dat’s best.”

As Alano was almost exhausted, I insisted that the guide be transferred to my back, and this was speedily done, and on we went, away from the river and directly into the forest. Of course, with such a burden I could not go far, and scarcely a hundred yards were traversed when I came to a halt, at the foot of a giant mahogany tree.

Not without a good deal of difficulty Jorge was raised up into the branches of the tree, and we followed.

“Still now and listen!” cried Jorge, with a half-suppressed groan.

With strained ears we sat in the mahogany tree for fully half an hour without speaking. We heard the Spaniards cross the river and move cautiously in the direction of the three fires, and presently they returned to their own camp.

“Thank fortune, we have outwitted them!” murmured Alano, the first to break the silence. “You poor fellow!” he went on to Jorge; “you saved my life.”

He asked about the wound which had been received, and was surprised, and so was I, to learn that it was but slight, and what had caused the guide’s inability to run had been a large thorn which had cut through his shoe into his heel. By the light of a match the thorn was forced out with the end of Jorge’s machete, and the foot was bound up in a bit of rag torn from my coat sleeve, for I must admit that rough usage had reduced my clothing to a decidedly dilapidated condition.

As we could not sleep very well in the tree without hammocks, we descended to the ground and made our way to a bit of upland, where there was a small clearing. Here we felt safe from discovery and lay down to rest. But before retiring Alano thanked Jorge warmly for what he had done, and thanked me also.

“I thought you were a goner,” he said to me. “How did you escape when the horse balked and threw you into the stream?”

I told him, and then asked him to relate his own adventures, which he did. After leaving me, he said, his horse had taken the bit in his teeth and gone on for fully a mile. When the animal had come to a halt he had found himself on a side trail, with no idea where he was.

His first thought was to return to the stream where the mishap had occurred, his second to find General Garcia. But Providence had willed otherwise, for he had become completely tangled up in the woods and had wandered around until nightfall. In the morning he had mounted his horse and struck a mountain path, only to fall into the hands of the Spanish soldiers two hours later. These soldiers were a most villainous lot, and, after robbing him of all he possessed, had decided to take his life, that he might not complain of them to their superior officer.

“From what I heard them say,” he concluded, “I imagine they have a very strict and good man for their leader – a man who believes in carrying on war in the right kind of a way, and not in such a guerrilla fashion as these chaps adopt.”

“I don’t want any war, guerrilla fashion or otherwise,” I said warmly. “I’ve seen quite enough of it already.”

“And so have I,” said my Cuban chum.

Of course he was greatly interested to learn that his father was on the way to place his mother and sisters in the old convent on the river. He said that he had seen the place several years before.

“It is a tumbled-down institution, and Father Anuncio lives there – a very old and a very pious man who is both a priest and a doctor. I shouldn’t wonder if the old building has been fitted up as a sort of fort. You see, the Spaniards couldn’t get any cannon to it very well, to batter it down, and if they didn’t have any cannon the Cubans could hold it against them with ease.”

“Unless they undermined it,” I said.

“Our people would be too sharp for that,” laughed my Cuban chum. “They are in this fight to win.”

Jorge now advised us to quit talking, that our enemies might not detect us, and we lay down to rest as previously mentioned. I was utterly worn out, and it did not take me long to reach the land of dreams, and my companions quickly followed suit.

In the morning our guide’s heel was rather sore, yet with true pluck he announced his readiness to go on. A rather slim and hasty breakfast was had, and we set off on a course which Jorge announced must bring us to the river by noon.

CHAPTER XVII.

A TREACHEROUS STREAM TO CROSS

I must mention that now that we had gained the high ground of the mountains the air was much cooler and clearer than it was in the valleys, and, consequently, traveling was less fatiguing.

Jorge went ahead, limping rather painfully at times, but never uttering a word of complaint. Next to him came Alano, while I brought up in the rear. It is needless to state that all of us had our eyes and ears wide open for a sight or sound of friend or enemy.

The road was a hard one for the most part, although here and there would be found a hollow in which the mud was from a few inches to several feet deep. Jorge always warned us of these spots, but on several occasions I stepped into the innocent-looking mud only to find that it was all I could do to get clear of the dark, glue-like paste.

It was but eleven o’clock when we came in sight of the river, which at this point was from thirty to forty feet wide. Looking up and down the water-course, we saw that it wound its way in and out among the hills in serpentine fashion. The bottom was mostly of rough stones, and the stream was barely three to four feet deep.

“How will we get over? – by swimming?” I questioned, as we came to a halt on a bank that was twenty feet above the current.

“Find good place by de rocks,” said Jorge. “Must be careful. Water werry swift.”

I could see that he was right by the way the water dashed against the rocks. Our guide led the way along the bank for a distance of several hundred feet and began to climb down by the aid of the brush and roots.

“That doesn’t look pleasant,” remarked Alano, as he hesitated. “Just look at that stream!”

Picking up a dry bit of wood he threw it into the water. In a few seconds it was hurried along out of our sight.

Nevertheless, we followed Jorge down to the water’s edge. Before us was a series of rocks, which, had the stream been a bit lower, would have afforded an excellent fording-place.

“De river higher dan I think,” said our guide. “You take off boots, hey?”

“That we will,” I answered, and soon had my boots slung around my neck. Alano followed my example, and with extreme caution we waded down and out to the first rock.

“Any alligators?” I cried, coming to a pause.

“No 'gators here,” answered Jorge. “Water too swift – 'gators no like dat.”

This was comforting news, and on I went again, until I was up to my knees. The water felt very refreshing, and I proposed to Alano that we take advantage of our situation and have a bath.

“I feel tremendously dirty, and it will brace us up. We needn’t lose more than ten minutes.”

My Cuban chum was willing, and we decided to take our bath from the opposite shore. Jorge declined to go swimming and said he would try his luck at fishing, declaring that the river held some excellent specimens of the finny tribe.

We had now reached the middle of the stream. I was two yards behind Alano, while Jorge was some distance ahead. We were crossing in a diagonal fashion, as the fording rocks ran in that direction.

Suddenly Alano muttered an exclamation in Spanish. “It’s mighty swift out here!” he cried. “Look out, Mark, or – ”

He did not finish. I saw him slip and go down, and the next instant his body was rolling over and over as it was being carried along by the rushing current.

“Jorge, Alano is gone!” I yelled, and took a hasty step to catch hold of my chum’s coat. The movement was a fatal one for me, and down I went precisely as Alano had done. The water entered my eyes and mouth, and for the moment I was blinded and bewildered. I felt my feet touch bottom, but in the deeper water to obtain a footing was out of the question.

When my head came up I found myself at Alano’s side. I saw he had a slight cut on the forehead and was completely dazed. I caught him by the arm until he opened his eyes and instinctively struck out.

“We’re lost, Mark!” he spluttered.

“Not yet,” I returned. “Strike out for the shore.”

With all the strength at our command we struck out. To make any headway against that boiling current was well-nigh impossible, and on and on we went, until I was almost exhausted. Alano was about to sink when he gave a cry.

“The bottom!” he announced, and I put down both feet, to find the stream less than three feet deep. With our feet down, we were now able to turn shoreward; and five minutes later Jorge had us both by the hands and was helping us out.

“Well, we wanted a bath and we got it,” were Alano’s first words. “Have you had enough, Mark?”