INTO THE ENEMY’S COUNTRY

Harry called Bert and Mason and explained the situation to them. Both were eager to accompany the expedition on shore. Washington was busy forward when the boys joined him. He had gathered and piled up under the rail a supply of guns and ammunition sufficient to arm a company of men. He had made good use of the few minutes the boys had occupied in dressing, for a small boat already lay alongside the steamer. Harry surmised that the men, who were all exceedingly fond of their commander, had assisted Washington in order that he might set out to give what aid he could to Captain Dynamite. There was scarcely a man among them but had made several voyages with him, and they well knew the danger that attended a journey through that part of the island, and the fate that awaited their chief if he should fall into the hands of the Spaniards. The mate was still in close conference with Captain Morgan, and either intentionally, or because of his preoccupation, paid no attention to the preparations of the little expedition.

“What are you going to do with all those guns?” asked Harry, as he surveyed the pile.

“May be some big shooting,” replied Washington, nodding his head, wisely. “More guns, more shooting.”

“But how are we to carry that arsenal? If I am not mistaken travelling hereabouts is not the easiest thing in the world, and we shall want as little to hamper as possible.”

“I guess young gemman right,” said Washington, looking regretfully at the heap of guns.

“Let us each take a gun and a pistol

“And machete machete,” interrupted the negro, his eyes bulging, while he swung his arm as if wielding one of the short Cuban swords.

“All right, Washington, machete if you choose. They may do to cut our way through the underbrush.”

“Cut way through Spaniard,” said Washington, still waving his arm excitedly.

“You can do all that kind of cutting, George Wash Jenks. Perhaps you would prefer a razor.”

“No, machete.”

“All right; machete it is, and I hope you will find something to use it on and work off some of that cutting energy.”

They then each selected from the supply of arms a rifle, pistol, and all the ammunition they could comfortably carry. They lowered them into the small boat and were about to climb in when Harry stopped them.

“What about food, Washington?” he asked. “We’d better tote some along, I think.”

With his usual energy, Harry had naturally taken command of the expedition.

“How much of a tramp is it to where Captain Dynamite is going?”

“Captain Dynamite go to Gomez Gomez at Cubitas.”

“That does not mean anything to us. How far is it from here to Cubitas and how long will it take us to reach it?”

“’Bout two days.”

“All right. Now Washington, you get some ship biscuit, dried beef, and coffee from your stock in the galley and we will each carry our own rations. I guess we can get through on that grub for two days.”

“And ah guess a leetle lasses for coffee, Misser Harry,” pleaded the negro.

“How under the sun are you going to carry molasses, Washington? I guess you will have to take your coffee black and without sweetening.”

“Never was such a musser at guessing,” murmured Washington, as he turned into the galley. He soon reappeared with the rations, four oilskin jackets, and a coffee pot. They divided the food and each bundled up his supply in an oil skin and tied the package on his back. They were now ready to begin their journey, and one by one they silently slipped over the side and dropped into the boat below.

“Washington, you take the tiller,” said Harry. “You know the way.”

“Yas, sah.”

“Do you know where to make a landing in the dark?”

“George Wash Jenks knows every inch of the coast hereabouts with him eyes shut.”

“All right then. You get up in the bow, Midget, and keep a lookout ahead. Bert and I will row. It’s not more than three hundred feet to the shore.”

The boys bent to the oars and the little boat shot across the narrow streak of starlit water into the shadow of the rugged shore.

“Stop!” whispered Mason quickly, when they were within a few feet of the beach. The boys backed water and brought the boat up within her own length.

“What is it?” asked Harry, anxiously.

“There’s a man on shore with a gun aimed plumb at us,” replied Davis, pointing into the darkness ahead.

“Him one of Misser Morgan’s men,” said Washington. “Him all right, ah guess, maybe.”

The boys started to row again when a loud command from shore made them rest on their oars with great dispatch.

“Halt, or I’ll fire.”

The words came out of the darkness in deep, determined tones. The boys could dimly distinguish the form of a man standing on a little bluff above them, with his rifle aimed with disturbing accuracy directly at their boat.

“We are friends from the Mariella,” called Harry, “and are on our way to join Captain Dynamite.”

“Captain Dynamite passed through the lines half an hour ago. He said he was travelling alone.”

“Yes, that’s right,” answered Harry. “He thinks he is, but we want to help him. Let us come ashore and I will explain to you.”

“Halt, or I fire,” again came the command.

“Don’t you think we better go back, Hal?” whispered Mason, who had crouched down in the bow out of the way of a stray bullet. “I don’t care much for this real gun business. It’s too exciting for my constitution.”

“Don’t you understand,” persisted Harry, “that we are friends of Captain Dynamite and the cause?”

“Friends of the cause will give the countersign,” said the voice in the same even tone.

“Washington, you ought to know the countersign,” whispered Harry to the negro, who had listened to the conversation with open mouth. He shook his head as if he did not comprehend.

“You know the word that tells people that you are a friend of Cuba.”

“O, dats de password suah.” Washington grinned with joy.

“Well, the password then; what is it?”

“Ah guess it is ‘Independencia.’”

“I hope you have guessed right this time.”

“Not such a mucher,” murmured Washington, deprecatingly.

“Independencia,” repeated Harry, loud enough for the man on shore to hear.

“Advance friends,” said the sentinel, quickly lowering his gun.

The party landed without further opposition and found instead of one man, whose form they had been able to distinguish from the boat, ten or a dozen more a few feet back from the shore, squatting around a small fire, the light of which was masked by a thick growth of underbrush. They were all dark-skinned men with heavy growths of black beard. They looked up without displaying any particular interest as the boys landed, but the sentinel who had challenged them came forward and held out his hand in greeting. He was undoubtedly an American.

“Glad to see any one who speaks English,” he said, as Harry approached and took his offered hand. “What are you boys doing here?”

“That’s a long story,” replied Harry, smiling. “Briefly, though, Captain Dynamite ran down our sail boat while we were sailing off Martha’s Vineyard, picked us out of the water and brought us along whether we would or no.”

“And where are you going now?”

“To join Captain Dynamite. He may need our assistance.”

The man smiled.

“I am afraid you will be more likely to need his if you persist in your purpose,” he said.

“That, of course, is a matter of opinion,” replied Harry, drawing himself up indignantly. “And to return the compliment may I ask what you are doing in Cuba?”

“Certainly,” laughed the man. “I came with Morgan. We are soldiers of fortune.”

“Then you are not a patriot?”

“Not exactly. I believe in the cause and I also believe that we will eventually win.”

“And then you expect your reward?”

“That’s what we are fighting here for.”

“Sort of playing with fortune,” chimed in Mason.

“Not exactly sort of throwing dice with fate.”

“Well, come on, fellows,” said Harry. “We are losing time and letting the captain get more of a lead on us.”

“So you are determined to go on?”

“I see no reason yet to turn back,” replied Harry.

“But you do not know the country and its dangers.”

“We have a good guide,” said Harry, pointing to Washington.

The man leaned forward and peered in the darkness at the negro.

“Why, it’s George Wash Jenks,” he said in surprise. “Captain Dynamite’s man. How are you, Wash?”

“Ah guess ah’s all right, sah.”

“Still guessing I see, Wash.”

“Not such a mucher, sah,” the negro grinned broadly.

“Well boys, you are right about your guide. You can’t go wrong around here while Wash is with you. Good luck to you. You will have to travel fast to catch up to Dynamite though. He was making express time and would not even stop to shake hands. All I could get out of him was: ‘Gomez I must get to Gomez.’ Nothing wrong, is there?”

“No, nothing nothing that concerns the cause. Good-bye. Come on, Washington.”

Harry turned and started into the brush.

“Not that way, Misser Harry,” called Washington. “We keep by the shore a piece yet. Never get no further than six feet in there, ah guess.”

He turned along the narrow beach below an overhanging bluff. For half an hour they hugged the shore.

“Did the captain come this way do you think, Washington?” asked Harry.

“Don’t guess this time, Misser Harry. No other way to come.”

So far the going had been comparatively easy. They had to now and then clamber over jagged points of rocks that made out into the sea, and in the darkness they several times stumbled and fell, but no one was much hurt. Most of the way, however, had been along the sandy beach. Now Washington stopped and seemed to be looking for something. He peered out into the darkness over the sea and then shook his head. Then he stepped back toward the water and looked up at the skyline of the quickly rising inland country.

“Lost the trail?” enquired Harry, after he had watched the negro’s movements for some time in silence.

“Not lost ’em, Misser Harry. Tryin’ to find ’em. Big tree on leetle island. Can’t see ’em.” He pointed out over the sea where he had been gazing. Then he turned and pointed inland. “Big tree there. Can see him all right.”

The boys looked up to where he pointed over the land and saw a large palm rising high above its fellows and clearly marked against the sky. It resembled the two big trees that had guided Captain Dynamite in making the entrance to the hidden lagoon. Evidently Washington was searching for some spot that was to be discovered by bringing the big tree on shore and the now invisible one on the island into line.

“George Wash Jenks, he find ’em. Don’t worry ’bout dat,” he said, as he walked about five feet to the right and then faced about and approached the bluff, which at this point was twenty feet high and thickly grown with brush and low entangling plants. He fumbled around among the vines and then turning to the boys called: “All right now.”

As Harry came up he pointed at the bluff and then pulling aside the underbrush began to slowly work his way inward. The boys followed him. The branches scratched their faces and the ground vines clung to their feet. They were entering a narrow cleft in the hill which was filled with rank vegetation.

“Keep a pushin’,” said Washington. “Not so bad when we get in leetle more.”

They struggled on for about one hundred feet when the brush became less thick and finally they reached a narrow lane that had been hewed and trampled through the high growth. Their progress now became easier and with Washington in the lead they pushed ahead rapidly. They had made their way about half a mile inland when out of the brush came a voice that brought them to a standstill with a start.

“Alto! Quién Va?”

“Dat another Misser Morgan’s men,” whispered Washington.

“Independencia,” said Harry, when he had recovered his breath, for the challenge coming unexpectedly from one concealed by the darkness and the bushes was somewhat startling. There was a low reply in Spanish and they proceeded without molestation.

About every half a mile a mysterious voice challenged them, but the countersign secured for them uninterrupted progress. Through the waning night they pushed on, until the light in the sky told them that day was breaking. Then Washington stopped. He had scarcely spoken since they took the trail.

“Missers,” he said, as they halted, “better have breakfast now.”

“Can we light a fire here safely?”

“Yes, now; not bime bye.”

They unslung their improvised knapsacks and gathering some dry brush soon had a small fire burning. Washington made the coffee, procuring water from a stream that ran through the brush. The boys, thoroughly tired out, threw themselves down for a brief rest. They munched their crackers and dried beef with relish and drank coffee in turn from a tin cup that Washington had had the foresight to provide.

“This seems very much like camping up at school,” said Mason.

“Yes, only I would prefer to have the boys in the bushes than a lot of Spaniards and Cubans with real bullets in their guns,” replied Bert.

“You always do look at the unromantic side of things, Bert. We haven’t seen a Spaniard yet.”

“Good and plenty when we get in the open,” said Washington.

“How do you know this country so well, Washington?” asked Harry.

“Born here, Misser Harry. I’se Cuban nigger.”

“I thought you said you were ‘George Wash Jenks, New York, U. S. A.?’”

“I suah are now, sah. I was only a picaninny when I ranned away with
Massa Cap’n Dynamite.”

“So you ran away with your young master, eh?”

“Yas, sah, dat’s it.”

“And you’ve been with him ever since?”

“Him couldn’t lose me, sah.” George grinned.

“And who is Miss Juanita?”

“Missee Juanita live on next plantation. She and Massa Capt’n Dynamite goin’ to get married bime bye. He tell her so when he ranned away.”

“Well Washington, it’s sun up now and we better be moving if we expect to catch up with Massa Captain Dynamite.”

“We not catch Cap’n until we get to Cubitas.”

“Why not?”

“Cap’n travel through this country faster’n any mule, and he not stop ’til he get there.”

“Not stop to sleep?”

“No sleep, no eat. Missee Juanita in danger. I know the Massa Cap’n.”