"Forward, March" Part 21

"Something must be up," whispered Rollo Van Kyp to Mark Gridley, and just then all eyes were directed inquiringly towards Ridge Norris, who was taking a place with his own troop.

"The Spaniards are right in front of us," he whispered, and almost instantly the startling news was pa.s.sed down the line. There was no joking now, nor complaints of the heat, but each man stood with compressed lips, peering into the dense underbrush on either side, and wishing that the suspense was over.

Now came the hurried forming of a line of battle. One troop was sent straight to the front, two were deployed to the left, and two more, one of which was that of Ridge and Rollo, were ordered to force their way through the thickets on their right, down into the valley, where they were to make connection with the regulars. While these movements were being executed, and with a suddenness that caused every man's nerves to tingle, a sharp firing began somewhere off in the right, and ran like a flash of powder along the whole line.

Blanket-rolls and haversacks had already been flung aside, and the sweating troopers, with their flannel shirts open at the throat and sleeves rolled up to the elbows, bore only their carbines, ammunition, and canteens of water. At first Ridge had only his revolver, but within five minutes he had s.n.a.t.c.hed up the carbine of a man who fell dead at his side, and was as well armed as the rest.

For an hour the Riders fought blindly, seeing no enemy, but pouring their own volleys in the direction from which the steady streams of Mauser bullets seemed to come. The smokeless powder used by the Spaniards gave no trace of their location, while the sulphurous cloud hanging over the Americans formed a perfect target for the Spanish fire.

Still the dark-blue line was steadily advanced, sometimes by quick rushes, and again by a crawling on hands and knees through the high, hot gra.s.s. Always over the heads of the troopers and among them streamed a ceaseless hail of bullets from Mauser rifles and machine-guns. Men fell with each minute, some not to rise again, some only wounded; but the others never paused to note their fate. Those who could must push on and get at the Spaniards. Those who were helpless to advance must, for the present, be left to care for themselves as best they might.

At length the ever-advancing line reached the edge of a gra.s.sy valley set here and there with clumps of palms. To the left was a stone building, formerly a distillery, now a Spanish fort, and directly in front was an intrenched ridge. To this the Spaniards had been slowly but surely driven, and now they occupied their strongest position.

At almost the same moment, and as though animated by a single thought, Roosevelt on the extreme left and Wood on the right gave the order to charge. With a yell the panting, smoke-begrimed Riders broke from cover and sprang after their dauntless leaders. They charged by rushes, running fifty feet, then dropping in the hot gra.s.s and firing; then reload, rise, and run forward. On their right the regulars were doing the same thing in the same manner with the precision of machines, while the colored troops stormed the ridge with a steadiness and grim determination that won for them undying fame, and answered forever the question as to whether or not the negro is fitted to be a soldier.

The a.s.sault was unsupported by artillery; those making it had no bayonets, and the Spanish fire, ripping, crackling, and blazing in vivid sheets from block-house and rifle-pit, was doubling and trebling in fury; but there was no hesitation on the part of the Americans, no backward step.

The Spaniards could not understand it. This thin line of yelling men advancing with such confidence must have the whole American army close behind them. In that case another minute would see an a.s.sault by overwhelming numbers. Thus thinking, the Spaniards faltered, glanced uneasily behind them, and finally ran, panic-stricken, towards Santiago, while Rough Riders and regulars swarmed with exulting yells and howls of triumph into the abandoned trenches. The first land battle of the war had been fought and won. Wood, Roosevelt, Young, Rough Riders, and regulars had covered themselves with glory, and performed a deed of heroism that will never be forgotten so long as the story of the American soldier is told.

"If we only had our horses we could catch every one of those chaps,"

said Rollo Van Kyp, as he sat in a window of the ruined building just captured by the Riders, happily swinging his legs and fanning himself with his hat. The young millionaire's face was black with powder, covered with blood from the scratching of thorns, and streaked with trickling perspiration. His shirt and trousers were in rags.

"It's a beastly shame we weren't allowed to bring them," he continued, "for this fighting on foot in the tropics is disgustingly hot work.

Now if I were in Teddy's place--"

"Private Van Kyp," interrupted Sergeant Norris, sternly, "instead of criticising your superiors you had better go and wash your face, for your personal appearance is a disgrace to the troop. But oh, Rollo!"

he added, unable longer to maintain the a.s.sumed dignity under which he had tried to hide his exultation, "wasn't it a bully fight? and aren't you glad we're here? and don't you wish the home folks could see us at this very minute?"

CHAPTER XXIV

FACING SAN JUAN HEIGHTS

The fight of Las Guasimas, in which Rough Riders and colored regulars covered themselves with glory, was only a first brisk skirmish between the advanced outposts of opposing armies, but its influence on both sides was equal to that of a pitched battle. It furnished a notable example of the steadiness and bull-dog tenacity of the American regular, as well as the absolute fearlessness and determination to win, at any cost, of the dudes and cowboys banded under the name of Rough Riders. It afforded striking proof that it is not the guns, but the men behind them, who win battles, since an inferior force, unsupported by artillery, and unprovided with bayonets, had charged and driven from strong intrenchments nearly four times their own number of an enemy armed with vastly superior weapons. It inspired the Americans with confidence in themselves and their leaders, while it weakened that of the Spaniards in both. To the Rough Riders it was a glorious and splendidly won victory, and as they swarmed over the intrenchments, from which the fire of death had been so fiercely hurled at them that morning, they yelled themselves hoa.r.s.e with jubilant cheers.

Then came the reaction. They were exhausted with the strain of excitement and their tremendous exertions under the pitiless tropical sun. Strong men who had fought with tireless energy all at once found themselves trembling with weakness, and the entire command welcomed the order to make camp on the gra.s.sy banks of a clear stream shaded by great trees.

In their baptism of fire eight of the Riders had been killed outright, thirty-four more were seriously wounded, and fully half of the remainder could show the scars of grazing bullets or tiny clean-cut holes through their clothing, telling of escapes from death by the fraction of an inch. Ridge Norris, for instance, found a livid welt across his chest, looking as though traced by a live coal, and marking the course of a bullet that, with a hair's deflection, would have ended his life, while Rollo Van Kyp's hat seemed to have been an especial target for Spanish rifles.

After regaining their breath, and receiving a.s.surance that the enemy had retreated beyond their present reach, these two, in company with many others, went back over the battle-field to look up the wounded, and bring forward the packs flung aside at the beginning of the fight.

At sunset that evening the Riders buried their dead, in a long single grave lined with palm-leaves, on a breezy hill-side overlooking the scene of their victory. The laying to rest of these comrades, who only a few hours before, had been so full of life with all its hopes and ambitions, was the most impressive ceremony in which any of the survivors had ever engaged. It strengthened their loyalty and devotion to each other and to their cause as nothing else could have done, and as the entire command gathered close about the open grave to sing "Nearer my G.o.d to Thee," many a voice was choked with feelings too solemn for expression, and many a sun-tanned cheek was wet with tears.

The camp of the Rough Riders was very quiet that night, and the events of the day just closed were discussed in low tones, as though in fear of awakening the sleepers on the near-by hill-side.

After the fight of Las Guasimas, its heroes rested and waited for six days, while the remainder of the army effected its landing and made its slow way to the position they had won over the narrow trails they had cleared. These days of waiting were also days of vast discomfort, and the patient endurance of drenching tropical rains and steaming heat, the wearing of the same battle-soiled clothing day after day and night after night, and, above all, of an ever-present hunger, that sapped both strength and spirits. They had started out with but three days'

rations, and four days pa.s.sed before a scanty supply of hard-tack, bacon, and coffee began to dribble into camp. The road to Siboney, flooded by constant rains, bowlder-strewn, and inches deep in mud, was for a long time impa.s.sable to wagons; and during those six days such supplies of food and ammunition as reached the idle army were brought to it by three trains of pack-mules that toiled ceaselessly back and forth between the coast and the front, bringing the barest necessities of life, but nothing more.

So the American army suffered and prayed to be led forward, while the Spaniards between them and Santiago strengthened their own position with every hour, and confidently awaited their coming. The invaders now occupied the Sevilla plateau, and were within five miles of the city they sought to capture. In their front lay a broad wooded valley, to them an unknown region, and on its farther side rose a range of hills, that Ridge Norris told them were the San Juan Heights, strongly protected by block-houses, rifle-pits, and bewildering entanglements of barbed wire, a feature of modern warfare now appearing for the first time in history. With their gla.s.ses, from the commanding eminence of El Poso Hill, crowned with the ruined buildings of an abandoned plantation, the American officers could distinctly see the Spaniards at work on their intrenchments a mile and a half away, and note the ever-lengthening lines of freshly excavated earth.

But for six days the army waited, and its artillery, which was expected to seriously impair, if not utterly destroy the effectiveness of those ever-growing earthworks, still reposed peacefully on board the ships that had brought it to Cuba. Only two light batteries had been landed, and on the sixth day after Las Guasimas these reached the front. At the same time came word that General Pando with 5000 Spanish reinforcements was nearing the besieged city from the north. In that direction, and only three miles from Santiago, lay the fortified village of Caney, held by a strong force of Spanish troops. If it were captured, Pando's advance might be cut off. So General Shafter, coming ash.o.r.e for the first time a week after the landing of his troops, planned a forward movement with this object in view. Lawton's division was to capture Caney, and then swing round so as to sever all outside communication with Santiago. While he was doing this, demonstrations that should deter the Spaniards from sending an additional force in that direction were to be made against San Juan and Aguadores. These movements were to occupy one day, and on the next the reunited army was to attack the entire line of the San Juan ridge. In the mean time no one knew anything of the valley lying between this strongly protected ridge and those who proposed to capture it.

So the order was issued, and late in the afternoon of June 30th, in a pouring rain, the camps were broken, and the drenched army eagerly began its forward movement. Lawton's division marching off to the right slipped and stumbled through the mud along a narrow, almost impa.s.sable, trail over the densely wooded hills until eight o'clock that evening, when, within a mile of Caney, it lay down for the night in the wet gra.s.s without tents or fire, and amid a silence strictly enjoined, for fear lest the Spaniards should discover its presence, and run away before morning.

At the same time Wheeler's division of dismounted cavalry, including the Rough Riders and Kent's infantry division, advanced as best it could over the horrible Santiago road, ankle-deep in mud and water, to El Poso Hill, on and about which it pa.s.sed a wretchedly uncomfortable night. Seven thousand heavily equipped men, mingled with horses, artillery, pack-mules, and army wagons, all huddled into a narrow gully slippery with mud, advance so slowly, however eager they may be to push forward, that although the movement was begun at four o'clock, midnight found the rearmost regiment still plodding wearily forward.

With the coming of daylight, on July 1st, the army lay beneath a dense blanket of mist that spread its wet folds over the entire region they were to traverse. It was eight o'clock before Grimes's battery of four light field-pieces, posted on El Poso Hill, opened an ineffective fire upon the heights across the broad valley. For twenty minutes the Spaniards paid no attention to the harmless barking of the little guns; then the smoke cloud hanging over them proved so admirable and attractive a target that they could no longer resist firing at it. So sh.e.l.ls began to fall about the battery with such startling accuracy that a score of Americans and Cubans gathered near it were killed or wounded before they could seek shelter. Among these first victims of the San Juan fight were several of the Rough Riders.

About this time General Sumner, temporarily in command of the cavalry, was ordered to advance his troops into the valley as far as the edge of the wooded belt, and within half a mile of the San Juan batteries.

"What shall I do when I get there?" asked General Sumner.

"Await further orders," was the curt reply.

There were other changes in commands that morning; for Brigadier-General Young, being prostrated by a fever, the Colonel of the Rough Riders was a.s.signed to his duties, and became "General" Wood from that hour. At the same time his Lieutenant-Colonel stepped into the vacancy thus created, and as "Colonel" Roosevelt was destined to win for himself and his dashing command immortal fame before the setting of that day's sun.

So the Rough Riders, together with five other regiments of dismounted cavalry, started down the deep-cut road, which in places was not over ten feet wide, and was everywhere sticky with mud, while an entire infantry division was crowded into it behind them. Like all other roads in that country, this one, now densely packed with human beings advancing at a snail's pace along nearly three miles of its length, was bordered on both sides by an impenetrable tropical jungle.

The Spaniards were advised of the forward movement, and though they could not see it, were already directing a hot fire at this road, of whose location they were, of course, well aware, and from the outset dead and wounded men marked the line of American progress. After a mile of marching under these conditions, the foremost troops came to a place where the San Juan River crossed the road. A short distance beyond it crossed again, thus forming the ox-bow to be known ever after that memorable day as the "b.l.o.o.d.y Bend." A little farther on was open country, and here General Sumner obeyed instructions by deploying his troopers to the right in a long skirmish line on the edge of the timber. In this position they lay down, sheltering themselves as best they could behind bushes or in the tall hot gra.s.s, and anxiously awaited further orders from headquarters. The Spanish fire, which they might not return, was ceaseless and pitiless, though because of absence of smoke none could see whence it came.

Already the loss in killed and wounded was a.s.suming alarming proportions, and still on-coming troops were pouring into that b.l.o.o.d.y Bend, where they must accept, with what fort.i.tude they could command, their awful baptism of fire. Fifty feet above their heads floated the observation balloon of the engineers, betraying their exact position and forming an admirable focus for the enemy's fire, which, after awhile, to the vast relief of every one, shot the balloon to pieces so that it dropped from sight among the trees.

For hours the troops waited thus in the frightful tropical heat, monuments of patient endurance. The dead and the living lay side by side, though such of the wounded as could be reached were dragged back to dressing-stations on the river-banks. Even here they were not safe, for the dense foliage that afforded a grateful shade also concealed scores of Spanish sharp-shooters. These maintained a cowardly and deadly fire, the source of which could rarely be discovered, upon all coming within range, regardless of whether they were wounded men, surgeons in discharge of their duties, hospital stewards, or Red Cross a.s.sistants, thus adding a fresh horror to warfare.

It was a terrible position, and the American army was being cut to pieces without a chance to fire a gun in self-defence. To advance appeared suicidal, to attempt a retreat meant utter destruction. No orders could come over the blockaded road from the Commander-in-Chief, miles in the rear, nor could word of the awful situation be sent back to him in time. The men thus trapped gazed at one another with the desperate look of hunted animals brought to bay. Must they all die, and was there no salvation?

Suddenly a mounted officer dashed into the open, pointing with his sword to the nearest hill crowned by a block-house. Then through a storm of bullets he spurred towards it, and, with a mighty yell ringing high above the crash of battle, his men sprang after him.

CHAPTER XXV

RIDGE WINS HIS SWORD

A few minutes before this, while the Rough Riders lay in sullen despair, with death on all sides and filling the air above them, a staff-officer from headquarters, keenly anxious concerning the situation and for the honor of his chief, appeared among them.

Whatever happened, he could not afford to betray uneasiness or fear.

So he walked erect as calmly as though inspecting troops on parade, apparently unconscious of the bullets that buzzed like hornets about him. He was studying the position of the several regiments, and his face lighted with a smile as he found himself among the men of the First Volunteer Cavalry.

"h.e.l.lo, Rough Riders!" he cried. "Glad to see you taking things so cool and comfortable. By-the-way, there is a promotion for one of you waiting at headquarters. It came by cable last evening. Sergeant Norris is promoted to a lieutenancy for distinguished service. If any one knows where he is, let the word be pa.s.sed. It may be an encouragement for him to hear the good news."

Those men near enough to catch the officer's words raised a cheer, and Ridge, who lay among them, sprang to his feet with a flushed face.

"That's him!" shouted Rollo Van Kyp, and the officer, stepping forward with extended hand, said, "I congratulate you, Lieutenant Norris, and am proud to make your acquaintance."

At that moment Colonel Roosevelt, on horseback, and so forming the most conspicuous target for Spanish bullets on the whole field, dashed to the front, pointed to the nearest block-house, and called upon his men to follow him. With a yell they sprang forward, and Ridge, being already on his feet, raced with the front rank.