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A Prisoner of Morro: In the Hands of the Enemy, a fiction by Upton Sinclair |
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Chapter 12. The First Prisoners Of War |
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_ CHAPTER XII. THE FIRST PRISONERS OF WAR The command had hardly been obeyed when out from the brush at the further side of the savanna came the pursuing Spaniards and with them Ignacio. The latter made straight for Clif with an upraised dagger, and would have killed the cadet then and there if the commander of the troop had not prevented him forcibly. "You fool!" he said, "don't you know the orders?" "What orders?" "From Blanco. Prisoners are to be brought to Havana. If you want to kill him, wait till you get him there." And so the furious Ignacio was compelled to leave his enemy alone. He now rode along behind the troopers, muttering curses under his breath. But he knew that his time would come later; moreover he had not so very long to wait, for the capture had been made quite near to Havana. The country through which they were riding was broad and flat, rising gradually to the blue hills at the southward. All about them it seemed as if the land had once been under cultivation; but now it was overgrown with rank vegetation. In the distance could be seen the buildings of a little town, for which they were heading. The Spanish cavalrymen rode along merrily, their accoutrements jingling. They were a dark-skinned, black-haired lot, and most of them were small, and not very sturdily built. The Americans had heard it said that they didn't get enough to eat, and they looked it. The prisoners were mounted upon spare horses, and were kept well in the middle of the group. Their hands were tied behind them, and one of their captors had hold of the bridles of their mounts. Clif's was a jaded old nag, and kept stumbling and stopping, making the task of riding a difficult one, but he did not notice it very much, for he was busily thinking. His present situation was indeed a discouraging one, and he felt its degradation keenly. It was not that his conscience troubled him, for he knew that he had done all that could be expected of him. But he was a prisoner for all that, and he had before him all the horrors of which he had heard so much. Still there was no chance of escape, and he could only bow to the inevitable; but he could not help feeling a thrill of apprehension as he glanced behind him and saw the malignant Ignacio gazing at him. But Ignacio bided his time, and said nothing. Meanwhile, the troopers trotted on. In about fifteen minutes the little town drew near. Clif did not know the name of it, for he had no idea where he had run ashore on the previous night. But he did not think he was far from Havana. The arrival of the soldiers created intense excitement in the town. Men and women and children and barking dogs rushed out to see them pass. And when it was discovered that five Yankees had been captured the cavalrymen received an ovation. But they made straight on to their destination; what it was Clif had no trouble in guessing. There was a railroad station in the town, and there the troopers came to a halt. Most of them dismounted from their horses to rest, and the captain hurried off to attend to the task of getting a train to take those prisoners to the capital. Meanwhile a great crowd gathered about the little station; most of them were ugly-looking, ragged men, and they crowded around the prisoners and stared at them curiously. There were looks of hatred upon their unpleasant faces, and their remarks it may be believed were not complimentary. "The Yankee pigs have met their match at last," snarled one tobacco-stained peon, who had forced his way up close to Clif. "And they'll go to Havana as they wanted to," put in another, with a leer. "They were boasting they'd get there." There were some grins at that sally, which encouraged the Spaniard to go on. "How do you like it?" he inquired. "Santa Maria, couldn't you have run fast enough?" "They won't run any more," snarled another. "They'll be put where they're safe." An old woman with a haggard, savage-looking face and a heavy stick shook the latter in the Americans' faces, as she cursed them in her shrill, Spanish jargon. And then suddenly came a loud cry from the outskirts of the crowd. "Stone the pigs! Kill 'em! Don't let them get away!" Clif could not see the man who yelled that, but he knew the voice, and realized that Ignacio was getting in his fine work again. And he seemed likely to be successful, too, for the cry appeared to please the crowd. "Yes, yes, kill 'em!" swelled the muttering shout. And a moment later some one, perhaps Ignacio himself, flung a heavy stone at the Americans. It sailed over the heads of the mob, and struck one of the sailors a glancing blow on the forehead. It made an ugly wound, and blood flowed. The sight seemed to please the crowd. "Por dios!" they laughed. "Good for them! Keep it up!" Perhaps the sight of blood enraged them; but at any rate, their hostility became more evident. They shook their fists and muttered savagely. And all the while Ignacio's voice chimed in. "Kill 'em! Kill 'em!" The prisoners seemed about to have a very unpleasant experience indeed. There was no one to restrain the crowd except the soldiers and they sympathized with the angry people. And the crowd seemed to know that; they surged nearer. "A prison's too good for them!" they roared. The old hag was still shaking her cane and yelling her maledictions. At that moment a man snatched the stick from her hand and aimed a blow at Clif's face. The cadet's hands were tied behind him, and he was nearly helpless. But he managed to turn and catch the blow upon his shoulders. And an instant later his foot shot out and caught the enraged Spaniard squarely in the stomach. The man staggered back. "Madre di dios!" he gasped. "He's killed me." Clif's daring action set the crowd in a perfect frenzy. "Stone 'em!" yelled Ignacio. And seemingly all at once they sprang at the prisoners with sticks and stones and knives and fists. The soldiers made a feeble effort to stop them, but the crowd saw them laughing as they did so. "Nobody cares about the Yankee pigs!" the crowd roared. "Go for them." It would have gone hard with the Americans just then had it not been for the fact that the captain reappeared. He had no love to waste on them, but he knew his duty. And he sprang forward with a stern command: "Drive that crowd back! Quick!" And then the cavalrymen acted in a quite different manner. The angry mob was forced away, in spite of their protests. The sailors breathed somewhat more freely. Still it was to their relief when they saw an engine and a single freight car coming up the track. They knew that was for them and that they would soon be out of the reach of that mob. "But not of Ignacio!" Clif groaned. "Not of Ignacio." The "private car" intended for the strangers came to a stop in front of the little station, and they were told to dismount from the horses and enter. The crowd gave a parting jeer as they lost sight of them. Once inside the sailors were gruffly ordered to sit down, and their feet were tied securely. A sergeant and three men were detailed to mount guard over them, and then everything was ready for the start. Clif watched anxiously for one thing; he had an idea that his deadly enemy might not succeed in following them the rest of the journey. But in that he soon saw that he was mistaken. Ignacio had no idea of being foiled in his vengeance. Just before the door of the car was shut his small, crouching figure entered. He stopped just long enough to clinch his fist and shake it at Clif; and then he retired into a corner to snarl angrily to himself. A few moments later there was a creaking of wheels and the "train" had started. The roar of the crowd died away and was succeeded by the sound of the rapid motion. The prisoners were on their way to Havana. "And I wish there'd be a wreck and end us before we got there," mused Clif. _ |
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