A Voyage with Captain Dynamite

by Charles Edward Rich

"Don't always look on the dark side of things, old chap," said Harry, a little testily. "Cheer up."

They were now in the open country again and made more rapid progress. The Spaniards moved along without any attempt at caution now. They well knew the Cuban methods of warfare, and did not fear an attack in the open. Opposed always by much superior numbers, the insurgents had learned that the only way to successfully cope with their enemy was to keep under cover and prosecute a guerilla warfare.

As they climbed the top of a small hill the boys were surprised to see in front of them the outlying buildings of what seemed to be a town or city of some size and importance. When they approached nearer they found that these buildings were but poor huts or cabins, and formed a sort of irregular, narrow street that led into the town, which was situated about a mile beyond. As they entered the street the character of these shed-like habitations flashed upon the boys. They were the homes of the "reconcentrados" of whom O'Connor had told them. The boys shuddered as they passed them and for a time scarcely dared to look to one side or the other for fear that they might see some horrible sight, so forcibly had O'Connor's description impressed them. Most of the huts were without doors and the interiors were open to a passing view. So hopeless were the miserable inmates that they did not even care to hide their suffering from the heartless eyes of the curious. The men laughed and joked as they passed on and Harry could not but feel that their jests were pointed by the misery of the reconcentrados.

Finally a horrible curiosity turned their heads and they saw in front of one of the huts a group of four persons. They were a man, a woman, a child of perhaps fourteen, and a babe in its mother's arms. The man lay stretched at full length on his back at the roadside. His eyes, which were open, were turned upward to the sky. The woman sat with her back to the mud wall of the hut. Her eyes were fixed on the man at her feet. The child stood in the doorway looking with expressionless eyes out into space. The few rags that covered them only served to emphasize the emaciation of their bodies and limbs. It needed no trained eye to tell that they were starving. As the party passed, not one of the four changed position or once turned their eyes. In their mute suffering they seemed unconscious of their surroundings.

One of the guards looked and laughed brutally.

Harry tugged at his bonds. In his fierce indignation he would have struck down the man.

Finally they passed out of this street of misery and entered the town. The boys had forgotten their own troubles in the contemplation of the suffering of the unhappy creatures behind them. The guards who had been slouching along at a swinging gait now straightened up and assumed a more soldierly air. At a word of command from their fat commander they halted before a building which was more imposing in appearance than its neighbors, and looked to be a public edifice of some sort. They marched, with their prisoners still between them, up the few steps that led to a wide doorway and into a large room on the right, where an officer was reclining in a lounging chair, lazily puffing a cigarette. It was now growing dark outside and the room was dimly lighted by a lamp that stood on the flat desk in front of the only occupant.

The man straightened himself up as the squad entered, and the little commander saluted with great deference.

"I told you so," said Harry, who noticed the air of deep respect that now marked their captor. "The little fat man is only an understrapper. Now we shall have a hearing."

While the little officer reported to his superior, the latter looked the boys over with some apparent curiosity. He asked a few questions and then uttering something that sounded like a judicial decision, he sank back in his chair again and lighted another cigarette.