"He's not a barkeeper, he's a teetotaler," Carr corrected, "and he's the greatest filibuster alive.He knows these waters as you know Broadway, and he's the salt of the earth.I did him a favor once; sort of mouse-helping-the-lion idea.Just through dumb luck I found out about this expedition.The government agents in New York found out I'd found out and sent for me to tell.But Ididn't, and I didn't write the story either.Doyle heard about that.So, he asked me to come as his guest, and he's promised that after he's landed the expedition and the arms I can write as much about it as I darn please.""Then you're a reporter?" said David.
"I'm what we call a cub reporter," laughed Carr."You see, I've always dreamed of being a war correspondent.The men in the office say I dream too much.They're always guying me about it.
But, haven't you noticed, it's the ones who dream who find their dreams come true.Now this isn't real war, but it's a near war, and when the real thing breaks loose, I can tell the managing editor I served as a war correspondent in the Cuban-Spanish campaign.And he may give me a real job!""And you LIKE this?" groaned David.
"I wouldn't, if I were as sick as you are," said Carr, "but I've a stomach like a Harlem goat." He stooped and lowered his voice.
"Now, here are two fake filibusters," he whispered."The men you read about in the newspapers.If a man's a REAL filibuster, nobody knows it!"Coming toward them was the tall man who had knocked David out, and the little one who had wanted to tie him to a tree.
"All they ask," whispered Carr, "is money and advertisement.If they knew I was a reporter, they'd eat out of my hand.The tall man calls himself Lighthouse Harry.He once kept a light-house on the Florida coast, and that's as near to the sea as he ever got.
The other one is a dare-devil calling himself Colonel Beamish.He says he's an English officer, and a soldier of fortune, and that he's been in eighteen battles.Jimmy says he's never been near enough to a battle to see the red-cross flags on the base hospital.But they've fooled these Cubans.The Junta thinks they're great fighters, and it's sent them down here to work the machine guns.But I'm afraid the only fighting they will do will be in the sporting columns, and not in the ring."A half dozen sea-sick Cubans were carrying a heavy, oblong box.
They dropped it not two yards from where David lay, and with a screwdriver Lighthouse Harry proceeded to open the lid.
Carr explained to David that The Three Friends was approaching that part of the coast of Cuba on which she had arranged to land her expedition, and that in case she was surprised by one of the Spanish patrol boats she was preparing to defend herself.
"They've got an automatic gun in that crate," said Carr, "and they're going to assemble it.You'd better move; they'll be tramping all over you.
David shook his head feebly.
"I can't move!" he protested."I wouldn't move if it would free Cuba."For several hours with very languid interest David watched Lighthouse Harry and Colonel Beamish screw a heavy tripod to the deck and balance above it a quick-firing one-pounder.They worked very slowly, and to David, watching them from the lee scupper, they appeared extremely unintelligent.
"I don't believe either of those thugs put an automatic gun together in his life," he whispered to Carr."I never did, either, but I've put hundreds of automatic punches together, and I bet that gun won't work.""What's wrong with it?" said Carr.
Before David could summon sufficient energy to answer, the attention of all on board was diverted, and by a single word.
Whether the word is whispered apologetically by the smoking-room steward to those deep in bridge, or shrieked from the tops of a sinking ship it never quite fails of its effect.A sweating stoker from the engine-room saw it first.
"Land!" he hailed.
The sea-sick Cubans raised themselves and swung their hats; their voices rose in a fierce chorus.
"Cuba libre!" they yelled.
The sun piercing the morning mists had uncovered a coast-line broken with bays and inlets.Above it towered green hills, the peak of each topped by a squat blockhouse; in the valleys and water courses like columns of marble rose the royal palms.
"You MUST look!" Carr entreated David."it's just as it is in the pictures!
"Then I don't have to look," groaned David.
The Three Friends was making for a point of land that curved like a sickle.On the inside of the sickle was Nipe Bay.On the opposite shore of that broad harbor at the place of rendezvous a little band of Cubans waited to receive the filibusters.The goal was in sight.The dreadful voyage was done.Joy and excitement thrilled the ship's company.Cuban patriots appeared in uniforms with Cuban flags pinned in the brims of their straw sombreros.
From the hold came boxes of small-arm ammunition of Mausers, rifles, machetes, and saddles.To protect the landing a box of shells was placed in readiness beside the one-pounder.
"In two hours, if we have smooth water," shouted Lighthouse Harry, "we ought to get all of this on shore.And then, all Iask," he cried mightily, "is for some one to kindly show me a Spaniard!"His heart's desire was instantly granted.He was shown not only one Spaniard, but several Spaniards.They were on the deck of one of the fastest gun-boats of the Spanish navy.Not a mile from The Three Friends she sprang from the cover of a narrow inlet.She did not signal questions or extend courtesies.For her the name of the ocean-going tug was sufficient introduction.Throwing ahead of her a solid shell, she raced in pursuit, and as The Three Friends leaped to full speed there came from the gun-boat the sharp dry crackle of Mausers.
