st night. We surrender, and we expect to
be decently treated."

"You are prisoners of war," was the officer's stern response, "and you
will be treated as such. Forward, march!"

CHAPTER XII.

THE FIRST PRISONERS OF WAR.

The command had hardly been obeyed when out from the brush at the
further side of the savanna came the pursuing Spaniards and with them
Ignacio.

The latter made straight for Clif with an upraised dagger, and would
have killed the cadet then and there if the commander of the troop had
not prevented him forcibly.

"You fool!" he said, "don't you know the orders?"

"What orders?"

"From Blanco. Prisoners are to be brought to Havana. If you want to kill
him, wait till you get him there."

And so the furious Ignacio was compelled to leave his enemy alone. He
now rode along behind the troopers, muttering curses under his breath.

But he knew that his time would come later; moreover he had not so very
long to wait, for the capture had been made quite near to Havana.

The country through which they were riding was broad and flat, rising
gradually to the blue hills at the southward. All about them it seemed
as if the land had once been under cultivation; but now it was overgrown
with rank vegetation.

In the distance could be seen the buildings of a little town, for which
they were heading.

The Spanish cavalrymen rode along merrily, their accoutrements jingling.
They were a dark-skinned, black-haired lot, and most of them were small,
and not very sturdily built. The Americans had heard it said that they
didn't get enough to eat, and they looked it.

The prisoners were mounted upon spare horses, and were kept well in the
middle of the group. Their hands were tied behind them, and one of their
captors had hold of the bridles of their mounts.

Clif's was a jaded old nag, and kept stumbling and stopping, making the
task of riding a difficult one, but he did not notice it very much, for
he was busily thinking.

His present situation was indeed a discouraging one, and he felt its
degradation keenly. It was not that his conscience troubled him, for he
knew that he had done all that could be expected of him.

But he was a prisoner for all that, and he had before him all the
horrors of which he had heard so much.

Still there was no chance of escape, and he could only bow to the
inevitable; but he could not help feeling a thrill of apprehension as he
glanced behind him and saw the malign