"They have made a mistake," Cristobal answered, as soon as he was able to speak. "I am only a poor boy from Barcelona, trying to take my young sister to our uncle in Cienfuegos. But they have arrested me for an insurgent, and what is to become of my poor sister? We were in a cane-field only twenty-five miles from Cienfuegos, when they tore me away from her; and there I had to leave her, without a friend on the island, unless she finds our uncle. Oh, señor, what is to become of her?"
"They have made many mistakes," the kindly old gentleman replied, ignoring Cristobal's last question. "Here in this miserable cell are old men and young—merchants, professional men, clerks, laborers, and what not—at least half of whom are entirely innocent. It is one of the misfortunes of war that the innocent must suffer with the guilty. But if you are a Catalan from Barcelona, tell me how you come to be in Cuba, and at such a time."
"My mother knew nothing about the troubles in Cuba," Cristobal answered. "She died in Barcelona four months ago, telling us to come to her brother, our uncle, in Cienfuegos. There was barely enough money left to bring us in a sailing vessel to Havana, and from here I wrote and wrote to our uncle, but received no answer, so I am afraid he must be in the field. We started to walk—"
"To walk to Cienfuegos!" the gentleman exclaimed; "a hundred and twenty miles! How old is your sister?"
"She is only twelve," Cristobal answered, sadly; "but she has the sense of a grown woman—a great deal more than I have."
"And then?" the old man said, encouragingly.
"We walked as far as Ysabel," Cristobal went on, "seventy-five miles from here, and there, by accident, I got a situation in a small store. For nearly three months I was able to take care of my sister; but then my employer was arrested for a rebel, and we started on for Cienfuegos."
"Poor little chaps!" exclaimed the old gentleman; "fourteen and twelve; in a strange country; no money or friends! Well?"
"There is not much more," the young Catalan answered. "We were within twenty-five miles of Cienfuegos, and at noon we went into a small patch of cane for our dinner, for sugar-cane was almost our only food. It was part of a great field, but all the cane had been burned but one little corner. We made a spark of fire to boil our coffee, and while it boiled there came along a squad of Spanish troops. They saw the smoke, and accused me of firing the field, and in a minute they had handcuffs on me and tore me away. They took me to Sagua la Grande, and in a few days I was brought here in a steamer. But what they did with me is nothing. What can have become of my poor sister?"
"My son," said the old gentleman, devoutly making the sign of the cross upon his forehead, "your sister is in stronger hands than yours. The Friend of the Fatherless will take care of her. And mark my words, my poor boy, it will be through your sister that you will be released from this unjust imprisonment. For yourself you can do nothing, nor can I aid you in any way. But she is your sister, and at liberty. She will go on foot to the Governor-General, perhaps; perhaps she will besiege every public office in Havana. I cannot say what course she will take; but if she has the wisdom you give her credit for, she will never rest till she sets you free. You Catalans are called 'the Yankees of Spain,' and a Catalonian girl will never desert her brother."