"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."