The Little Cuban Rebel OR A WAR CORRESPONDENT'S SWEETHEART By Edna Winfield NEW YORK AND LONDON STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1896 and 1898, By STREET & SMITH THE LITTLE CUBAN REBEL. CHAPTER I. THE YOUNG WAR CORRESPONDENT AND THE FAIR STRANGER--AN ACCIDENT INTRODUCES THE LITTLE CUBAN REBEL. "Sweet land of Liberty, Farewell!" On the upper deck of the fast coastwise steamer Columbian, bound for Santiago de Cuba, sat a young man of not more than twenty-three years of age, tall, well-formed, and with a face as striking as it was handsome. The noble steamer was just passing out of sight of Sandy Hook and many of the passengers, Americans and Spaniards, with a sprinkling of Englishmen and creoles, were leaning on the rails, anxious to catch a parting glimpse of terra firma. Not a few eyes were moist, the eyes of those who did not expect to soon return, perhaps not forever. The young man, who had made himself thoroughly comfortable in a steamer chair, divided his time in studying a number of documents he held in his hand, and in surveying his fellow passengers critically. His eyes, a deep brown, were thoughtful in the extreme, and at once gave forth the correct impression that he was a close student of human nature, as well as a keen observer of all that was transpiring about him. As the last glimpse of the distant sand-banks faded from view in the bluish mist, one after another of those by the rails turned to the decks, to find their seats, or to seek the seclusion of the cabins and state-rooms. It was not long ere the young man's attention was attracted to a young lady, small and slender, who came close to him with graceful steps, and sank into a seat opposite to his own. The face of the fair stranger was dark, with ruddy cheeks, each with the daintiest of dimples, while another dimple was hidden in the roundest of chins. The low forehead, with its heavy and deep eyelashes, was surmounted by an abundance of dark and wavy tresses, which clustered about the most beautiful of well-rounded shoulders, and fell over a bosom that rose and fell at every breath like the swells of the ocean. "By Jupiter!" murmured the young man, and that exclamation, simple as it was, meant a good deal. Howard Sherwood, newspaper correspondent of the New York United Press, was not in the habit of expressing any feeling or sentiment concerning the looks of the opposite sex. "A strict young man of business," was what his friends called him, "and he doesn't care a rap for the girls," they would add.