The next morning he paid Carbajal's score and took the train to
the interior. In his bag was Tomas Alvarado's precious volume, and
in the same coach with him rode the Secret Service man.
In its general features Puerto Principe differed little from the
other Cuban cities O'Reilly knew. It was compactly built, it was
very old and it looked its centuries. Its streets were
particularly narrow and crooked, having been purposely laid out in
labyrinthian mazes, so the story goes, in order to fool the
pirates. In some ways it was quaint and unusual. For instance,
here and there were queer tinajones, vast venerable earthen jars
for holding rain-water, each inscribed with the date when it left
the potter's wheel; then, too, there was a remarkable number of
churches--massive structures, grayed by time--and in the northern
distance, blue against the sky, O'Reilly had a glimpse of the
Cubitas range, where he knew the insurrectos were in camp. That
was his goal: it seemed almost within his grasp. He was tempted to
abandon caution and make a dash for it, until he discovered that
the city was well guarded. One needed a pass to enter or to leave
Puerto Principe, and, moreover, the city had no suburbs, no
scattered residences outside its boundaries: when one came to the
end of a street one found oneself in an open field faced by a
barbed-wire barrier, and on every road leading from the town stood
a fortina, a little fort of brick or logs, in which were stationed
Spanish soldiers.
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