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.

Howard Sherwood had taken one long look at the beautiful girl before him, and now he dropped his eyes to the document in his hand. Unconscious of his presence, the fair stranger opened a book and began to read.

It was not long before the young newspaper correspondent again raised his eyes, somewhat slyly and shyly. But, instead of that fascinating face, he saw only the back of the book.

"Songs of Vassar!" he muttered, as he read the title of the book. "By Jove! can she be a college-bred miss--an American? I thought she must surely be a Spaniard or a Cuban. But perhaps she was sent to the United States by her parents to be educated, and is now going home on account of the war. Heavens! what a form and what features! more perfect than the studies of Spanish beauties by the old masters. I wish she would look up again."

Hardly had the last thought come to his lips than the song-book dropped into the fair stranger's lap, and she did look up, humming the last bar of one of the favorite melodies. Her eyes met those of Howard Sherwood fully, the song stopped, the heavy eyelashes shrouded those beautiful orbs, and the young man murmured a sigh that came straight from his heart. In confusion, he once more turned his eyes upon his papers, and soon after both were reading again.

But not for long. The private dispatches which Howard Sherwood carried became meaningless to him, and it was in vain that he tried to get to the close of the letter of instructions which had been thrust into his hands at the last moment. That fair face was in his mind's eye, and disturbed him as he had never been disturbed before. At last, totally unaccustomed to such sensations, he arose to his feet, thrust his papers away, and began to pace the deck.

"I never saw such a girl before," so ran his thoughts. "Beautiful doesn't express it--she's simply the embodiment of loveliness. What a form, and what a charming face, and such wavy, glossy hair! If Byron were alive, he'd follow her around daily, and write a three-volume poem about her! Pshaw! Howard Sherwood, you must be losing your head--you who have run the entire gauntlet of society in a dozen big cities! Remember, old boy, you are poor now, and must work for a living. Thank your stars you've struck luck as a newspaper correspondent, and leave womankind alone. There will be plenty of things to think about when you reach Cuba and start on your hazardous mission of outwitting the vigilance of the Spanish authorities, and sending in truthful reports of the war."

As Howard Sherwood strode along as far as the limit of the upper deck would permit, his attention was attracted to the work of several sailors who were working in the masts, repairing several yard arms which had been damaged by coming in contact with a tall derrick when the steamer was leaving the pier. The sailors were rather careless in their work, one letting a heavy piece of rope fall directly upon the young man's shoulders.

"Hi, there! be careful!" he called out. And the sailor who had caused the mishap shouted back an apology.

"I wish I knew her name!" thought Howard, coming back again to the subject of the fair stranger. "I wonder if it's written on that book? I'll walk up behind her and see, just for--for fun."

He turned and approached from behind several chairs, some empty and others occupied. But just as he came within range the book was thrown down.

"Look out, below there!"

It was the warning cry of the officer who was superintending the repairs above. Howard Sherwood sprang back and looked up. The end of one of the yard arms had become loose, and was falling directly toward the spot where the fair young stranger was sitting.

"Back!" cried Howard, as he leaped forward.

The fair young creature was dazed, and hardly moved. As the heavy yard arm came down, Howard swung it aside, and it fell with a crash to the deck. It had missed those beautiful raven tresses by only a few inches.

"Oh, señor!" came from the lips of the girl, as she tried to catch her breath. Then she gave Howard a look of unutterable gratitude. "You saved my life!" she added, in unmistakable Spanish accents.

"Oh, I did not do much," was the young war correspondent's reply. "But I am glad you were not injured. That was very careless of you," he shouted to the sailors, and the officer berated the men soundly. The yard was immediately raised, and that was the last of any accidents with them.

"I--I did not see the yard arm," went on the fair creature, giving Howard another grateful look. "You are strong, to throw it aside."

"I was an active member of an athletic club for several years," smiled Howard, his eyes now bent full upon that fascinating face. "Allow me to introduce myself--Howard Sherwood, correspondent----" He stopped short. "I am a New York newspaper man."

"Oh, indeed!" She added a few words in Spanish which he did not catch. "You are going down to Cuba to report the war?" she asked, with interest.

"Partly for that purpose," he replied, slowly. "I have another object--to look up some property in which my family has an interest.

"I see you are from Vassar," he went on, after a slight pause, and pointed to the song-book.

"Yes, I have been at Vassar for two years. But now papa has written for me to come home--the war has upset everything, you see."

"I trust it will not affect you," he smiled.

"It affects papa, and that affects me."

"And may I ask what side you are on?"

"Oh, I--I--can't really say until I see what is being done. Papa, I know, sides with the royalists, but up at the college I read so much about Cuban liberty, I am rather in favor of it, señor. On account of my views, some of the girls call me Estella, the little Cuban rebel!" and she burst into a bewitching laugh.

"Estella! That is a pretty name," he murmured. "May I ask the rest of it?"

"Estella Inez Corona," she replied, demurely.

"I trust we shall become good friends while on this steamer, Miss Corona," he said, as he extended his hand, which she took readily and warmly pressed. He soon learned that even college life at Vassar had not modified her natural Spanish impulsiveness and warmth of heart.

"A girl worth the winning," he thought, as he regretfully released her hand.