Under Blanco's eye; or, Hal Maynard among the Cuban insurgents

Further from the pier, nearer every moment to the entrance of Havana harbor went the Fern, the last of the United States steamers to leave Cuba’s capital city on that memorable...

“I know,” continued Senor Vasquez, in the same low tone, “where you collected the money. I know just how much you collected, and can tell you, to a peseta, just how much you car...

With feet rather spread, his hands thrust into his trousers pockets, shoulders manfully back and head inclining slightly forward, he ignored Vasquez, but regarded the officers w...

He had marched for more than two miles through the streets, his military escort taking a roundabout course, as if they enjoyed displaying this dangerous captive to the excited p...

“Help! help! help! Thieves!” roared the victim, but his captor-carriers did not even attempt to stifle his cries--the surest way of proving that they had no reason to fear inter...

With the quiet but energetic heroism of common humanity, the rescuer strove to bring back the spark of life to a young man only just snatched from the engulfing waters.

“There are already many Americans who take a different view. With Maximo Gomez and Calixta Garcia there are scores, if not hundreds, of American citizens. I have not heard that...

A dream it certainly was not. The rifle with which each was provided was a reality. So was the small Cuban flag which Juan now wore proudly pinned to his tattered jacket.

“Rope the horses abreast,” directed Maynard. “You can ride on one side of the line, I on the other. In that way we can keep the brutes at a gallop, if needed.”

“Glancing bullet, likely,” muttered Hal, rising to his knees, and picking up his rifle once more. “The shock knocked me over, I suppose. Perhaps fright had something to do with...