"Then what are you?"
"I am an American sailor."
The weapons that had threatened Young Glory's life were at once lowered, but the men seemed to receive his statement with great suspicion. They conferred together hastily, still retaining their hold on the young hero's horse.
At length the leader spoke.
"We cannot decide this question. You may be an American sailor, or you may be a spy. That is for others to determine. You must come with us to the general."
"Hurry, then, I beg. For, senors, a project I have in view for the benefit of your cause will fail if I am long delayed."
They pushed through the woods, the patriots finding paths that Young Glory would have searched for in vain.
Some half mile was traversed in this fashion, when a sentinel challenged. The answer was satisfactory, and on they went.
Then past one picket after another they went, showing what faithful guard the patriots kept, until the order to halt was given, and Young Glory found himself near a large fire around which were a number of Cuban officers.
"A prisoner, general!" said the leader of the party.