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

CHAPTER XXXI.
THE BATTLE AT THE RAILROAD EMBANKMENT

“We are lost!” cried my Cuban chum, as he came stumbling down to where his father and I stood, with our prisoner between us.

“We’re in for it, that’s a fact!” ejaculated Gilbert Burnham, as he came after Alano, bringing the remaining two horses. “Come on, can’t we ride two on a horse and escape them?”

Captain Guerez shook his head. There was no time left to answer, for some of the soldiers were already less than a score of yards away. The captain waved his hand and ran off, followed by all of us, and leaving our late prisoner standing with mouth wide open in amazement.

To try to go back whence we had come, and thus expose ourselves on the top of the railroad embankment, would have been foolhardy. Instead, the captain led the way directly into a grove of sapodilla trees some distance up the track.

Our Spanish pursuers called upon us to halt, not once, but many times; and when we did not heed their repeated commands, they opened fire in a manner which made us feel far from comfortable, for a bullet grazed the captain’s hand, and another whizzed so closely to my ear that I nearly fell from ducking. There may be those who can stand up coolly under fire; but I must confess I am not one of them, and I am willing to give a flying bullet all the room it wishes in which to spend itself.

Hardly had we reached the grove of sapodillas than Captain Guerez swung around and began to use his own pistol in a most effective way, wounding two of the soldiers in advance of the main body of the Spaniards. Seeing this, the rest of us took courage and also opened fire, although I must confess I aimed rather low, having no desire to kill anyone. The cracks from our four pistols brought consternation to our pursuers, and they halted and fell back a dozen paces.

“Come on,” whispered Captain Guerez. “Our only hope is to lose ourselves in the woods. The enemy outnumbers us five to one.”

Away he went again, with all of us close upon his heels. Another volley from the Spaniards rang out, but did no damage, as the trees and brush now hid us from view.

We had passed along a distance of a hundred feet when we heard a crashing in the brush coming from a direction opposite to that being taken by ourselves. Fearing another company of Spanish infantry was coming up, Captain Guerez called us to his side.

“Here is a narrow ravine, leading under the railroad tracks,” he said hurriedly. “Let us go down into that and work our way to the other side of the embankment.”

No opposition was made, and into the ravine we fairly tumbled, just as the soldiers came up once more. Bushes and stones hid us from view, and we went on only when the thunder rolled, that no sounds of our progress might reach our enemies' ears.

Ten minutes later found us close to the railroad embankment. But here we came to a halt in dismay. The ravine had been filled up by the recent rains, so that crawling under the tracks was out of the question.

“Now what is to be done?” asked Alano in a low voice. “We can’t stay here, that’s certain.”

“Some of the soldiers are coming up the ravine after us!” exclaimed Burnham a moment later. “Hark!”

We listened, and found that he was right. At least half a dozen of the Spaniards were advancing in a cautious manner, their guns ready for immediate use.

“Let us climb this tree,” said Captain Guerez, pointing to a tall monarch of the forest, whose spreading branches reached nearly to the opposite side of the embankment. “Be quick, all of you!”

He leaped for the tree, and Burnham followed. I gave Alano a boost up, and he gave me a hand; and inside of forty seconds all of us were safe for the time being. As we rested on the upper branches of the tree we heard the far-away whistle of a locomotive.

“A train is coming!” said Alano.

“If we could only board it!” I put in eagerly. “It would carry us part of the way to Guantanamo, wouldn’t it?”

“It would – going in that direction,” said Captain Guerez, with a wave of his hand. “But the train may be filled with Spanish soldiers, and what then?”

The locomotive kept coming closer, and presently we heard the rattle of the cars as they bumped over the rails, which were far from being well ballasted. The captain was peering out from behind the tree branches, and he gave a deep breath as a flash of lightning lit up the scene.

“It is a freight train!” he exclaimed softly. “Come down to the branch below, all of you!”

We understood him, and one after another we dropped to the branch mentioned. It was directly over the track upon which the freight was pounding along, and we calculated that the distance to the top of the tallest cars would not be over six or eight feet.

“We can’t jump with that train running at twenty or thirty miles an hour,” I said, with a shudder. “We’ll slip and be ground to death under the car wheels.”

“Mark is right – a jump is out of the question,” added Gilbert Burnham. “I’d rather risk staying here.”

“The train may have supplies for the soldiers about here and stop,” whispered Captain Guerez. “Watch your chances.”

On and on came the train, and in a few seconds more we realized that those in charge had no intention of stopping in that vicinity. Yet as the headlight came closer we lowered ourselves in readiness to make a leap.

Suddenly there was a shrill whistle, and down went some of the brakes on the long train. I glanced in the opposite direction from whence the freight had come and saw on the tracks one of our runaway horses, which stood staring in alarm at the glaring headlight. Evidently the engineer had been startled by the sudden appearance of the animal, and, not realizing exactly what it was, had, on the impulse of the moment, reversed the locomotive’s lever and whistled for brakes.

The train could not be stopped in time to save the beast, which was struck and sent rolling over and over down the embankment. Then the train went on still further, the locomotive finally coming to a halt about fifty yards beyond the tree upon which all of us were perched.

As it slowed up the top of one of the tall freight cars rolled directly beneath us. Giving the word to follow, Captain Guerez let himself drop on the “running board,” as it is termed by train hands – that is, the board running along the center of the top of a freight car from end to end. All of us came after him, the quartette landing in a row less than two yards apart. As soon as each had struck in safety he lay down flat, that those below the embankment, as well as those on the train, might not have such an easy chance to discover us.

Scarcely had the train halted than some of the Spanish soldiers came running up to ascertain why it had stopped. But their shouting evidently frightened the train hands, who possibly thought a band of rebels was at hand and that the horse on the track had been a ruse to stop them. The engineer whistled to release brakes, and put on a full head of steam, and on went the train, while the Spaniards yelled in dismay and flourished their weapons.

“By Jove! that was a move worth making!” remarked Gilbert Burnham, after the long train had covered at least an eighth of a mile. “We are clear of those chaps now.”

“Where will this train take us?” asked Alano of his father.

“The next village is Comaro, but I do not know if the train will stop,” was the reply. “Two miles further on is Los Harmona, but we must not go there, for I understand there is a strong Spanish garrison stationed in the village. Let us get down between the cars and watch our chance to spring off. If we remain here some of the brakemen may come along and give the alarm.”

The lightning and thunder were decreasing in violence, and the rain had settled into a thin but steady downpour. The captain was nearest to the front end of the freight car, and led the way down the narrow ladder to the platform below. Once on this, and on the platform of the car ahead, we divided into pairs on either side and awaited a favorable opportunity to leave the train.

Comaro was reached and passed in the darkness, and the long freight began to pull out for Los Harmona at a steady rate of twenty-five miles or more an hour. No chance had been given us to jump off without great danger, and now it began to look as if we would be carried right into the fortified town, or further.

“Some distance below here is, unless I am greatly mistaken, a wide patch of meadow,” said Captain Guerez. “I do not believe a leap into the water and mud would hurt any of us very much, and, under the circumstances, I am in favor of taking the risk, in preference to being carried into Los Harmona.”

“If you go I will follow,” I said, and Alano said the same.

“Well, I don’t intend to be left alone,” smiled Burnham grimly. “But what will we do after we strike the meadow?”

“The meadow is not very broad,” answered the captain, “and beyond is a highway leading almost directly into Guantanamo. We will take to this highway and trust to luck to get on as originally intended. Of course the loss of our horses is a heavy one, but this cannot be helped. If we – Ha!”

Captain Guerez stopped short, and not without good reason. From the interior of the freight car had come the unmistakable sounds of human voices. We heard first two men talking, then a dozen or more. The conversation was in Spanish, and I did not understand it. But Alano and his father did, and my Cuban chum turned to Burnham and me in high excitement.

“What do you think!” he whispered. “This car is filled with Spanish soldiers bound for Guantanamo! They heard us talking, and they are going to investigate and find out where we are and who we are!”

CHAPTER XXXII.
A LEAP IN THE DARK

My readers can readily believe that all of us were much alarmed at the prospect ahead. We had not dreamed that the freight car contained soldiers, although all of us had heard that the Spanish Government was transporting troops by this means wherever the railroads ran.

Alano had scarcely explained the situation, when Captain Guerez motioned us to withdraw from the side edges of the platforms, so that the soldiers looking out of the broad side doors of the car could not catch sight of us.

“We must jump as soon as the meadow appears,” whispered the captain. “Be prepared, all of you.”

He had scarcely finished when we heard a clatter of feet, and knew that one or more of the Spaniards had crawled from a side door to the top of the car. Then followed cautious footsteps in the direction of the rear platform. Finding no one there, the Spanish soldiers came forward.

“Ha!” cried one, as he espied Captain Guerez. “Who are you?”

“Friends,” was the reply, of course in Spanish.

“Friends? And why ride out here, then?”

“We have no money, capitan. We are dirt-poor.”

“And where do you intend to go?”

“Los Harmona – if the train will ever reach there.”

“What will you do there?”

“We may join the Spanish soldiery, capitan– if you will take us.”

“Ha!” The Spanish officer tugged at his heavy mustache. He was only a sergeant, but it pleased him to be called captain. “Why did you not come into the car instead of sneaking around outside? If you want to become soldiers we will take you along fast enough. But you must not play us false. Come up here.”

“I am afraid – I may fall off,” answered Alano’s father, in a trembling voice.

All the while the conversation had been carried on he had been peering sharply ahead for the meadow and the water to appear. We now shot out of the woods, and on either side could be seen long stretches of swamp. He turned to us and spoke in English. “All ready to jump?”

“Yes,” we answered in concert.

“Then jump – all together!”

And away we went, leaving the rude steps of the freight cars with an impetus that took each several yards from the tracks. I made a straight leap and landed on my feet, but as quickly rolled over on my shoulder in the wet grass. Burnham came close to me, but took a header, which filled his nose and one ear with black mud. Alano and his father were on the opposite side of the track.

A pistol shot rang out, followed by half a dozen more, but the bullets did not reach any of us. In a moment the long train had rolled out of sight. We watched its rear light for fully an eighth of a mile, when it disappeared around a bend behind a bit of upland.

“Hullo, Mark, how are you?” It was the voice of Alano, who came up on the tracks directly the freight had passed. He was not hurt in the least. Captain Guerez had scratched one arm on a bit of low brush, but outside of this the entire party was uninjured.

“Come now, follow me; there is no time to be lost,” said the captain. “Those soldiers may take it into their heads to have the train run back in search of us.”

“Yes, that’s true,” said Burnham. “Which way now?”

“We’ll walk back on the tracks until we reach dry ground.”

The plunge into the wet meadow had completed the work of the rain in soaking us to the skin, but as the night was warm we did not mind this. Keeping our eyes on the alert for more Spanish sentries, we hurried along the railroad embankment for a distance of several hundred yards. Then we left the tracks and took a trail leading southward.

Our various adventures for the past few hours had completely exhausted Burnham, while the others of the party were greatly fatigued. The newspaper man was in favor of stopping under a clump of palm trees and resting, but Captain Guerez demurred.

“We’ll reach a hut or a house ere long,” he said. “And there the accommodations will be much better.”

“Well, we can’t reach a resting-place too soon,” grumbled Burnham. “I can scarcely drag one foot after the other, and it’s so close my clothing is fairly steaming.”

“You are no worse off than any of us,” I made answer, as cheerfully as I could.

The highway was a stony one, and the rains had washed away what little dirt there was, making walking difficult. However, we had not very far to go. A turn brought us in sight of a long, low house built of logs and thatched with palm; and Captain Guerez called a halt.

“I’ll go forward and investigate,” he said. “In the meantime be on guard against anybody following us from the railroad.”

He was gone less than quarter of an hour, and on returning said it was all right. A very old man named Murillo was in sole charge of the house, and he was a strong Cuban sympathizer.

The place reached, we lost no time in divesting ourselves of a portion of our clothing and making ourselves comfortable in some grass hammocks spread between the house posts.

“We ought to start early in the morning,” I said, my thoughts still on my father.

“We will start at four o’clock,” announced Captain Guerez. “So make the most of your rest.”

The captain had intended to divide up the night into watches, but Murillo came forward and volunteered to stand guard.

“You go to sleep,” he said in Spanish. “I sleep when you are gone. I know how to watch.”

Feeling the old man could be trusted, we all retired. In a few minutes Burnham was snoring, and shortly after the others also dropped asleep.

It lacked yet a few minutes of four o’clock in the morning when Murillo came stealing into the house and shook everyone by the shoulder.

“Spanish soldiers down by the railroad,” he explained hurriedly. “They intend to come up this road.”

“Then let us be off!” cried Captain Guerez.

All of us were already arranging our toilets. In a few seconds we were ready to leave, and Murillo was paid for the trouble he had taken in our behalf.

“Have they horses?” asked Captain Guerez; and Murillo nodded.

“Then come, all of you!” cried Alano’s father. He started out of the door, and we came after him. Hardly, however, had he taken a dozen steps than he pushed each of us behind a clump of bushes.

“Soldiers!” he muttered. “They are coming from the opposite direction!”

“We are caught in a trap!” exclaimed Alano. “We cannot go back, and we cannot go forward.”

“Here is a how d’ye do!” put in Burnham. “I’m sure I don’t want to take to those beastly swamps.”

Murillo had followed us to the doorway. His face took on a troubled look, for he wanted us to get away in safety.

“More soldiers coming the other way!” he cried. “What will you do? Ah, I have it! Come into the house at once?”

“But what will you do?” queried Captain Guerez impatiently.

“I’ll show you. Come, and you shall be safe.”

The old man spoke so confidently that we followed him inside at once. Pushing aside a rude table which stood over a rush matting, he caught hold of a portion of the flooring. A strong pull, and up came a trapdoor, revealing a hole of inky darkness beneath.

“Into that, all of you!” he cried; and down we went, to find ourselves in a rude cellar about ten feet square and six feet deep. As soon as the last of us was down, Murillo replaced the trapdoor, matting, and table, and we heard him throw off some of his clothing and leap into one of the hammocks.

We had been left in total darkness, and now stood perfectly still and listened intently. Not more than three minutes passed, when we heard the tramping of horses' hoofs on the rocky road. The house reached, the animals came to a halt, and several soldiers dismounted. A rough voice yelled out in Spanish:

“Hullo, in there! Who lives here?”

“I do,” replied Murillo, with a start and a yawn, as though he had just awakened from a long sleep.

“Have you seen anything of four strangers around here?”

“No, capitan.”

There was a pause, and the leader of the soldiers came tramping inside.

“You are sure you are telling me the truth?”

“Yes, capitan.”

“It is strange.”

The newcomer was about to go on, when a shout from outside attracted his attention. The soldiers from the opposite direction had come up. A short conference was held, of which, however, we heard nothing distinctly. Then some of the soldiers came inside, and we heard their heavy boots moving directly over our heads.

“You say you saw nobody?” was again asked of Murillo.

“No, capitan, not a soul. But then I have been asleep since evening. I am an old man, and I need a great deal of rest.”

“You are lazy, no doubt,” came with a rough laugh. “Andros, what do you think?”

“What should I think? There seems to be no one around. We might make a search.”

“Yes, we’ll do that. It can do no harm. Tell the other men to scour the woods and brush.”

The order was given; and a moment later those who had first come in began to search the house.

CHAPTER XXXIII.
CAPTAIN GUEREZ MAKES A DISCOVERY

We listened in much consternation while the soldiers overhead moved from one portion of the dwelling to another. Would they discover us?

“Be prepared for anything!” whispered Captain Guerez, and they were the only words spoken.

There was no second story to the house, so the search through the rooms took but a few minutes, and the soldiers came to a halt around the table.

“I suppose you are a rebel,” said the officer abruptly to Murillo.

“I am an old man, capitan; I wish to end my days in peace.”

“I know your kind.” The officer paused. “Well, comrades, we may as well be on our way.”

These words caused me to utter a deep sigh of relief. They had not discovered us, and now they were going away. But the next words sent a chill down my backbone.

“Can there be a cellar under the house?” questioned one of the others.

“There is no cellar,” said Murillo simply. “There is a little hole, half full of water. You can look down if you wish.”

“We will.”

What could it mean? We held our breath as the old man led the way to the apartment used as a kitchen. We heard him raise another trapdoor, some distance behind us.

“Humph! A man would be a fool to get in there!” we heard the officer remark, and then the trap was dropped again into place. “We will go.”

The soldiers passed through the kitchen and toward the front door. One of them must have taken a last look around, for suddenly he uttered a cry.

“Ha! what is this? A collar and a tie! Do you wear these?”

“Confound it, my collar and tie,” murmured Burnham. “I knew I forgot something.”

“They belong to my nephew,” said Murillo calmly.

“Your nephew? Where is he?”

“He is now at Baiquiri at work on one of the shipping wharves.”

“He must dress well?” remarked the officer dryly.

“Alfredo earns much money. He was educated at the college.”

The officer tapped the floor with his heavy boot. “You tell a good story,” he said. “Beware lest we find you have been lying. Come!” The last word to his companions.

The soldiers went outside, and we heard a call to the men sent out into the woods and brush. A few minutes later there followed the sounds of horses' hoofs receding in the distance.

“Now we can get out of this hole, thank goodness!” burst out Burnham.

“Wait – Murillo will inform us when the coast is clear,” said Captain Guerez.

Fully five minutes passed before the old man raised the trap. His face wore a satisfied smile.

“We fooled them nicely, did we not, capitan?” he said.

“You did well, Murillo,” said Alano’s father. “Here is a gold piece for your trouble.”

But the old man drew back, and would not accept the coin. “I did it not alone for you,” he said. “Cuba libre!”

We all thanked him heartily, and then Alano’s father asked him in what directions the two bodies of soldiers had gone. That from the railroad had taken the highway to Canistero.

“We will have to take another road, not quite so short,” said Captain Guerez. “It is unfortunate, Mark, but it cannot be helped. Forward!”

Much refreshed by our night’s rest, we struck out rapidly, and by noon calculated that we had covered eight miles, a goodly distance in that hilly district. A little before noon we came out on a clearing overlooking a long stretch of valley and swamp lands.

“Just below here is the village of San Luardo,” said the captain. “It is there we ought to find out something concerning your father. It may be possible he is quartered somewhere in the village, that is, if the journey to Santiago has been delayed.”

“Is the village under guard?” I questioned anxiously, my heart giving a bound when I thought how close to my parent I might be.

“Yes, every village in this district is under Spanish rule.”

“Then how can we get in?”

“I have been trying to form a plan,” was the slow answer. “Let us get a little closer, and I will see what can be done.”

We descended from the clearing, and just before noon reached the outskirts of the village. The captain had been right; two companies of freshly imported soldiers were in control of San Luardo.

As we surveyed the situation from a bit of woodland, we heard the heavy creaking of an ox-cart on the stony road. Looking down we saw the turnout coming slowly along, loaded with hay and straw, probably for the horses of the Spanish soldiers.

“I will go into town in that!” cried Captain Guerez. “Stop that fellow!” and he indicated the driver.

A rush was made, and the ox-cart came to a sudden halt. When the dirty fellow who drove it saw us he turned pale, but a few words from Alano’s father soon reassured him, and he readily consented to allow the captain to hide himself under the hay and straw and thus pass the guards. The driver was working for the Spaniards, but his heart was with the insurgents.

Stripping himself of his coat and everything else which gave him a military appearance, Captain Guerez rubbed a little dirt on his face, neck, and hands, leaped into the ox-cart, and dove beneath the straw. If discovered, he intended to explain that he was out of work and was willing to do anything the Spaniards desired.

Once more the cart creaked on its way toward the village, and we were left alone. Withdrawing to a safe and cool shelter, we sat down to rest and to await the captain’s return.

“I wish I could have gone along,” I said to my chum.

“Father can do the work better alone,” replied Alano, who had great faith in his parent’s ability.

“Perhaps so. He wouldn’t want me anyway – after the mess I made of it when I discovered Mr. Burnham.”

“Mess!” cried the newspaper man. “Why, it was through you that I escaped, my boy. You’re all right. But I fancy Captain Guerez knows just exactly what he wishes to do, and probably one person can do it better than two.”

“The fact that you are an American would make everyone regard you with suspicion,” added Alano.

Two hours went by, which to me seemed a day, and then came a peculiar whistle from the road. At once Alano leaped to his feet.

“My father is back!” he announced, and we ran forth to meet the captain. At first we hardly knew him, for he had taken some grease and some burnt cork and transformed himself into a negro. He was out of breath, and one of his hands was much scratched.

“I had a narrow escape,” he panted. “Come with me! There is not a moment to lose!”

Although almost out of breath, he ran off, and we went with him through the woods and up the side of a small hill, which course took us around San Luardo. Not until the town was left well behind did the captain stop and throw himself on a patch of deep grass. He was too exhausted to speak, yet he saw my anxiety and smiled.

“Don’t worry, Mark; so far your father is safe,” were his brief words.

“That’s good!” I cried, with a weight lifted from my heart, for during the wait I had conjured up any number of dreadful thoughts concerning my parent.

“Yes, so far he is safe. They have him a prisoner at San Luardo, but they intend to remove him to Santiago before nightfall.”

“Before nightfall!” My heart seemed to stop beating. “How will they do it? Can’t we stop them and rescue him?”

“We must rescue him,” was the reply. “That is why I hurried back. If they get him to Santiago he will be – that is, Mark, I am afraid you will never see him alive again.”

I understood Captain Guerez only too well. My father was doomed to die the death of a spy, and he would be shot very shortly after his removal to the seaport town.