Fighting in Cuban Waters: or, Under Schley on the Brooklyn

They had progressed less than half a mile when Walter began to lag behind. "I can't go any farther," he declared. "I've been sick and I'm about used up."

"Sick? What is de mattair?"

"I don't know – unless it is malarial fever."

At the word "fever" Carlos Dunetta drew down the corners of his broad mouth. "Fever? Dat is werry bad —Americano canno stand dat. Maybe I best carry you to Josefina's hut. Josefina she my sistair. She take care of you if so you be sick."

The tall negro took Walter upon his back with ease and continued on his way. Presently they reached a trail, and passing along this for the distance of a hundred yards, came within sight of a long, low hut, thatched with palm.

The negro gave a peculiar whistle, and immediately a short, fat negro wench put in an appearance, followed by a man of twenty-five or thirty. The man was fairly well dressed, and evidently a Cuban of Spanish descent.

"It is all right, Carlos!" cried the wench. "This is Señor Ramona."

"Señor Ramona!" exclaimed the negro, and rushing up he dropped Walter and took the out-stretched hand of the Cuban gentleman. A long talk in Spanish, followed, of which Walter understood hardly a word. Yet he felt certain the pair were talking about the American warships outside of the harbor, the blowing up of the Merrimac, and about himself. Suddenly the negro ran back to him, at the same time calling the wench.

"You sick – I forget," he said. "Come; nice bed here." And he pointed to a grass hammock suspended from one of the rear corner posts of the hut to a near-by tree. "You lay dare; Josefina make good drink for you; den you feel bettair."

Walter was glad enough to accept the invitation, for standing unaided was now out of the question. As soon as he was in the hammock the negro woman ran off for a wet bandage, which she tied tightly over his forehead.

Carlos Dunetta evidently had an important message for Señor Ramona, for no sooner was the talk between the pair at an end, than the Cuban brought out a horse from the shelter of the trees, and dashed down the trail at a breakneck speed.

"Me watch, warn you if any Spaniards come," said Carlos, on returning to Walter's side. "You bettair rest, or get fever werry bad."

"Do you suppose there is any hope of my getting back to my ship?"

"De ship dat blow up?"

"No, a big warship out there," and Walter waved his hand in the direction of the coast.

At this, the tall negro shrugged his shoulders. "Carlos can take you to de shore – but no got boat. Maybe you swim, not so?"

"Well, hardly," answered Walter. "I may be a pretty good swimmer, but four or five miles is too much for any man."

The negro retired, and Walter lay back watching the woman, who had brought out several bags filled with herbs. Selecting some of the herbs, the woman steeped them in water, and poured the tea into an earthen bowl, sweetening the concoction with sugarcane ends. Bringing the bowl to Walter, she motioned for him to drink.

The youth had expected an unsavory mess, but he found the tea very pleasant to the taste, and ten minutes after he had taken half the contents of the bowl he was in a sound slumber, from which he did not awaken until nearly nightfall. In the meantime Josefina removed the life preserver and made him otherwise as comfortable as possible, proud to think she was serving un Americano who was battling against the enemies of her beloved Cuba.

"You had bettair come into de house now – night air werry bad for you," announced Carlos, as Walter sat up in the hammock and stared around him. "How feel now? weak?"

"I – I dreamed I was back on the Brooklyn and sailing for home," was the hesitating reply. "My head feels better, but I'm afraid my legs have gone back on me," Walter went on, as on trying to stand he found he must support himself against the tree. "This is the queerest spell of sickness I ever had."

"Never mind – if only so be dat de fever is broken," said Carlos, seriously. "Come." And he about carried Walter into the hut. Usually negro huts in Cuba are dirty and full of vermin, but this was an exception. In her younger days, Josefina had worked for a titled lady of Santiago, and there had learned cleanliness quite unusual to those of her standing. In a corner of the hut was a pile of fresh sugarcane husks covered with a brown spread, and to this she motioned Walter, and here he rested until the following morning.

CHAPTER XIX

CARLOS, THE REBEL SPY

"Well, I'm not out of my troubles yet, but I suppose I'm better off than those fellows who were captured and taken off to some Spanish dungeon."

It was Walter who mused thus, as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. The herb tea Josefina had made for him had "touched the spot" and he felt quite like himself again. The native Cubans have to fight fevers constantly, and, consequently, know a great deal about proper remedies.

"Will you eat?" questioned Carlos, who sat by, smoking a cigarette, while Josefina busied herself in preparing a morning meal of rice-cakes and strong coffee.

"I haven't much appetite, but I suppose I ought to eat if I want to get back my strength. But see here," Walter went on. "I can't pay you a cent for what you are doing for me, for I have no money with me."

"Dat's all right; Josefina and me no want pay – we glad to do for you," answered Carlos; and Josefina smiled so broadly that her eyes were fairly closed.

The rice-cakes were well done, and Walter ate several of them, and also sipped at the heavy black coffee, sweetened with sugarcane drippings. The meal over, Carlos leaped up and lit a fresh cigarette.

"You stay here and I go to shore – see if you can get to ship," he said. "If Spaniards come, Josefina show you where to hide, so no can find you."

"I'll have to stay, for I can't walk the distance to the shore – yet. By the way, where am I?"

"Dis place back of Estrella, 'bout halfway to Aguadores, on the Guama River. Can see warships from mouth of Guama."

"Yes, I've heard of the Guama. Some of the fellows on board ship said we might capture that point, or Guantanamo Bay, so as to have a place to coal when the ocean was rough. You are going to the shore?"

"If Spanish pickets let me," grinned Carlos. "Werry strong Spanish guard around here now. Werry much afraid American soldiers come."

"Perhaps they will come, if Sampson needs help," replied Walter, but without knowing that the army of invasion at Tampa was already preparing to leave for Cuba, and his own brother Ben with it.

After Carlos was gone, Walter tried to carry on a conversation with Josefina, but as the wench's English vocabulary was as limited as was the boy's knowledge of Spanish, the talk soon lagged. "Cuba libre! 'Member de Maine!" she said over and over again, and smiled that awful smile that almost caused Walter to burst into a fit of laughter. During the morning she made him some more tea and insisted upon his drinking it, greatly to the benefit of his health and strength, as he soon realized.

It was growing late in the afternoon, and Walter was wondering when Carlos would get back, when the sound of a rifle-shot from a distance startled him. Before he could get to the doorway of the hut, Josefina was outside and speeding up the trail in the direction her brother had taken.

"Get back!" It was the voice of Carlos, and he was running beside his sister, who kept up with him, despite her weight. "The Spaniards are coming."

"Soldiers?" gasped Walter.

"Yes; ten or fifteen. They caught me going through de pickets, but I knocked one so, and anodder so, and got away. Come wid me, before da catch you!" And he took hold of Walter's arm and turned him to the back of the hut.

Wondering what would happen next, but remembering what had been said about a hiding-place, the youth followed Carlos to the rear wall of the structure. Here, directly against the logs, grew a tall ebony tree.

"Dat tree hollow," explained the Cuban. "Climb to limb and drop inside. Josefina haul us out when Spanish go 'way." And he gave Walter a lift up.

The lower branches were but twelve feet from the ground, and were easily gained. Carlos came up also. "Let me drop first," he said. "Den you come on top of me. Be quick, or too late!" And down he went into darkness, and Walter came after.

The hollow portion of the tree was not over twenty inches in diameter, and it was a lucky thing for both inside that neither was stout nor broad of shoulder. As it was, they stood breast to breast with difficulty, and yet not daring to make a sound.

A shout came from the trail, sounding in strange contrast to the song Josefina had begun to sing – an old-fashioned Cuban ditty about a sailor and his lass. Soon the soldiers drew closer, and several came around to the side of the hut.

"Ho! within there!" came in Spanish. "Where is that wretch we are after?"

"Wretch!" answered Josefina, in pretended surprise. "Whom do you mean, kind sirs?"

"You know well enough – the tall fellow who knocked over our guards and ran in this direction."

"I have seen nobody; I have been busy washing," answered Josefina, pointing to a few articles of wearing apparel which lay soaking in a water-butt.