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Updated: June 15, 2025
It sounded bad; there hadn't been a real rumble in months, not with a killing. He shook his head. "Not dead. You're wanting to see, you go down Gomez's cellar. Yeah, they're all stiff but they're breathing. I be along soon as the old man comes back in the store." He looked pretty sick.
General Betancourt read the letter which O'Reilly handed him, then looked up with a smile. "So! You are one of Gomez's Americans, eh? Well, I would never have known it, to look at you; the sun and the wind have made you into a very good Cuban. And your clothes One might almost mistake you for a Cuban cabinet officer." O'Reilly joined in the laughter evoked by this remark.
After organizing an expedition that was to march to Puerto Principe under Gomez's command, Marti intended to go to the seacoast in order to return abroad and continue his work there in favor of the secessionist revolution.
We staid at Gomez's that night, sleeping, as all did, on the ground, and the next morning we crossed the hill by the bridle-path to the old Mission of San Juan Bautista. The Mission was in a beautiful valley, very level, and bounded on all sides by hills. The plain was covered with wild-grasses and mustard, and had abundant water.
Instinct had caused him to watch the Mexican's right hand, and, in the instant when Gomez had secured the knife from his hat and snapped back his hand for the throw, Rathburn had drawn and fired. He knew well the dexterity of a man of Gomez's stamp with a knife. The gun route was the only chance to protect his life. But Rathburn realized, too, that he had shot to kill!
Taking a good mouthful, I felt as though I had taken liquid fire; the tomato was chile colorado, or red pepper, of the purest kind. It nearly killed me, and I saw Gomez's eyes twinkle, for he saw that his share of supper was increased. I contented myself with bits of the meat, and an abundant supply of tortillas. Ord was better case-hardened, and stood it better.
He maintained such a hideous and surprising uproar, answering Gomez's stern commands to be silent with such maniacal howls, that the old soldier was finally glad to yield his consent, incidentally consigning the rebellious youth to that perdition with which he had threatened Cuba.
One of the few sharp-shooters in the enemy's army got the range of the little group on the hill, and almost the first ball which he sent in that direction struck the "Record" correspondent in the forehead between and just above the eyes. As he reeled in the saddle Gomez's chief of staff sprang to catch him and break his fall.
Archibald, the correspondent of a San Francisco paper, was wounded on the Cuban coast early in May, in a fight resulting from an attempt to land arms and ammunition for the insurgents; and a correspondent of the Chicago "Record" was killed after he had actually succeeded in reaching General Gomez's camp.
You wish to go west, eh?" "Yes, sir. I want to find Colonel Lopez." "Lopez? Miguel Lopez?" the general inquired, quickly. "I believe that's his name at any rate the Colonel Lopez who has been operating in Matanzas Province, You see, he knows the whereabouts of my friends." "Well, you won't have to look far for him." General Gomez's leathery countenance lightened into a smile.
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