Cuba -- History -- Revolution, 1895-1898 -- Fiction
The first pink of dawn was now deepening in the east, and as soon as it
had grown light enough to see to travel Colonel Cobo prepared to return
to his horses. The roof and walls of the bohio had fallen away to
ashes, its skeleton of poles and its few pieces of crude furniture
alone were smoldering when he called his men together and gave the word
to go.
"Come, my sweetheart." He addressed himself to the girl. "Leave that
carrion for the buzzards."
Rosa looked up to find him leering at her. She brushed the tears from
her eyes, crying:
"Go away! In God's name haven't you done harm enough?"
"Oh, but you're going with me."
The girl rose; her face was colorless; she was aquiver with
indignation. "Leave me!" she stormed. "What have I done to you? Don't--"
"Caramba! A temper. And you have strength, too, as I discovered. Must I
bind those pretty hands or--"
Colonel Cobo reached forth, laughing, and encircled her in his powerful
arms. Rosa fought him as she had fought at the first moment of
desperation, but he lifted her easily and went striding across the
field behind his men.
Esteban's party made good time over the hills and into the San Juan,
for Asensio knew the country well. Mid-afternoon found them in sight of
La Joya. Cueto's cane was thick and high; it was ready for the knife or
for the torch. Making a detour, the incendiaries approached it from the
east in order to have the trade-winds at their backs. They dismounted
in the shelter of a wood and removed the bags which they had carried on
their saddles. Inside these bags were several snakes, the largest
perhaps eight feet in length. To the tail of each the negroes fastened
a leather thong, and then to each thong a length of telegraph-wire, the
end of which had been bent into a loop to hold a bundle of oil-soaked
waste. These preliminaries accomplished, they bore the reptiles into
the cane-fields at widely separated places and lighted the waste.
Esteban, from his saddle, saw the first wisps of smoke arise and grow
and unwind into long ribbons, reaching deep into the standing crop.
Soon tongues of flame appeared and the green tops of the cane began to
shrivel and to wave as the steady east wind took effect. From the
nearest conflagration a great snapping and crackling of juicy stalks
arose. The thin, dry strippings with which the earth was carpeted
formed a vast tinder bed, and once the fire was started there was no
checking it. Smoke billowed upward and was hurried westward before the
breeze; in a dozen places the fields burst into flame. From somewhere
came a faint shouting, then a shot or two, and finally the ringing of a
bell.
Esteban waited only until he saw that his work of devastation was well
under way, then he led his followers back toward the hills. At sunset
he reined in upon the crest of a ridge and looked behind him into the
valley. The whole sky was black with smoke, as if a city were in flames.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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