"Forward, March" Part 22

In line with the Rough Riders were their fighting partners, the black riders of the Tenth United States Cavalry, and at the first intimation of an advance these leaped forward in eager rivalry of their white comrades. Across the plain they charged, and then up the steep hill-side, while the Spanish fire doubled in fury, and the tall gra.s.s in front of them was cut as though by the scythe of a mower.

Spectators in the rear gazed appalled at the thin line of troopers thus rushing to what seemed certain destruction.

"It is not war--it is suicide!" cried a foreign attache.

Whatever it was, it afforded an example that others were quick to follow, and the moment the intention of the Rough Riders became evident, regiment after regiment on the left--dismounted cavalry and infantry, regulars and volunteers, Hawkins's men and Kent's--broke from the cover that had afforded them so little protection, and swept across the open towards the deadly intrenchments crowning the main ridge of San Juan Heights. There was no order for this glorious charge. The commanding generals had not even contemplated such a bit of splendid but reckless daring. Even now, so hopeless did it seem, they would have stopped it if they could; but they might as well have tried to arrest the rush of an avalanche by wishing. It was a voluntary movement of men goaded beyond further endurance by suffering and suspense. As one of the foreign military spectators afterwards said, "It was a grand popular uprising, and, like most such, it proved successful."

The Rough Riders and the negro troopers who charged with them had no bayonets, and did but little firing until more than half-way up the hill they had undertaken to capture. With carbines held across their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, they simply moved steadily forward without a halt or a backward glance. Behind them the slope was dotted with their dead and.

wounded, but the survivors took no heed of their depleted ranks.

Roosevelt, with the silken cavalry banner fluttering beside him, led the way, and there was no man who would not follow him to the death.

Half-way up the hill-side Ridge Norris pitched headlong to the ground, and some one said: "Poor fellow! News of his promotion came just in time." As the young Lieutenant fell, another officer, cheering on his men immediately behind him, also dropped, pierced with bullets. The sword that he had been waving was flung far in advance, and as Ridge, who had only stumbled over an unnoticed mound of earth, regained his feet unharmed, he saw it lying in front of him and picked it up. He was ent.i.tled to carry a sword now, and here was one to his hand.

The Spaniards could not believe that these few men, frantically climbing that bullet-swept hill-side, would ever gain the crest. So they doggedly held their position, firing with the regularity of machines, and expecting with each moment to see the American ranks melt away or break in precipitate night. They did melt away in part, but not wholly, and their only flight was a very slow one that bore them steadily upward.

Just under the brow of the hill they paused for a long breath, and then leaped forward in a fierce final rush. Over the rifle-pits they poured, tearing down the barbed-wire barricades with their bare hands, and making a dash for the block-house. Already the dismayed Spaniards were streaming down the farther side of the hill. A last withering volley crashed from the loop-holed building, and then its defenders also took to panic-stricken flight. In another minute the flaunting banner of Spain had been torn down, and the stars and stripes of freedom waved proudly in its place. At the same moment, from earthwork and rifle-pit fluttered the yellow silk flags of the cavalry and the troop guidons; while to distant ears the news of victory was borne by the cheer of exhausted but intensely happy men.

Many of them were for the moment incapable of further effort, but as many more, inspired with fresh strength by success, dashed down the opposite side of the hill in pursuit of the flying Spaniards. Among these was Ridge Norris, waving his newly acquired sword, and yelling that there were other hills yet to be captured. A few minutes later these found themselves madly charging, for a second time, up a steep, bullet-swept slope in company with other cavalrymen and long lines of infantry. Now they were a.s.saulting San Juan Heights, defended by the strongest line of works outside of Santiago. The Spaniards had deemed the position impregnable, and so it would have been to any troops on earth save Americans or British; but the men now swarming up its slippery front not only believed it could be taken, but that they could take it. And they did take it, as the first hill had been taken, by sheer pluck and dauntless determination. In vain did the Spaniards hurl forth their deadliest fire of machine-gun and rifle. The grim American advance was as unchecked as that of an ocean tide. Finally it surged with a roar like that of a storm-driven breaker over the crest, and dashed with resistless fury against the crowning fortifications.

In another minute the Spaniards were in full flight, and from the hard-won heights of San Juan thousands of panting, cheering, jubilant Yankee soldiers were gazing for the first time upon the city of Santiago, which, only three miles away, lay at their feet, and apparently at their mercy.

While the troops who had thus stormed and carried San Juan were exulting over their almost incredible victory, word came that Lawton's men had performed a similar feat at Caney, and after hours of ineffective firing had finally won the forts by direct and unsupported a.s.sault.

Thus the entire line of Santiago's outer defences, many miles in length, had fallen to the Americans; but could they hold them until the arrival of their artillery? This was the question anxiously discussed at headquarters, where several of the Generals declared immediate retreat to be the only present salvation of the American army. The existing fortifications of San Juan Heights were unavailable for use against the Spaniards, and it did not seem possible that the tired troops could dig new ones in time. The enemy had as yet suffered but slight losses, and still occupied his inner line of forts, block-houses, and rifle-pits, nearly, if not quite, as strong as those just won from him. Beyond lay Santiago, with barricaded streets, loop-holed walls, and everywhere bewildering mazes of barbed wire.

While the commanding officers discussed the situation, arguing hotly for and against retreat, their men dug trenches along the farther crest of the San Juan hills. All night long they worked by the light of a full moon, excavating the gravelly soil with bayonet and meat-tin, filling hundreds of bags with sand, and laying them in front of the shallow pits, with little s.p.a.ces between them, through which rifle-barrels might be thrust. At the same time they scooped out terraces on the slope up which they had charged, and there pitched their camps, a long way from drinking-water, but close to the firing-line. Thus by daylight they were ready for any movement the enemy might make. Nor were they prepared any too quickly, for with earliest dawn the Spaniards opened a heavy fire, both artillery and rifle, on the American position. In places the opposing lines were not three hundred yards apart, and across this narrow s.p.a.ce the Spanish fire was poured with unremitting fury for fourteen consecutive hours.

The Americans only returned this fire by an occasional rifle-shot, to show that they were still on hand, and through the interminable hours of that blistering day they simply clung by sheer grit to the heights they had won.

On the previous day the Americans had lost over a thousand men killed or wounded, and during the present one-sided fight one hundred and seven more fell victims to Spanish bullets; but the trenches had been held, and that day's work settled forever the question of their retention.

In the mean time Lieutenant Norris, who had miraculously escaped unhurt from the very front of two fierce charges, was curious to know whose sword he was carrying; and so, after San Juan Heights had been safely won, he strolled back over the battle-field to try and discover its owner. After a long search he found the little mound of earth over which he had stumbled, and was startled to see it was a recently made grave. Beside it lay an officer in Rough Rider uniform, face down, and wearing an empty scabbard. His, then, was the sword; but who was he?

A gentle turning of the still body revealed the placidly handsome features of the young New-Mexican, Arthur Navarro. Near the grave, across which one of his arms had been flung, as though lovingly, lay a wooden cross bearing a rudely cut inscription in Spanish. It had evidently been overthrown by the charging Americans. Now Ridge picked it up, read the inscription, and stared incredulous. "Captain Ramon Navarro, Royal Spanish Guards. Died for his country, June 22, 1898."

"My friend Ramon, killed the very day he saved me from capture!"

murmured Ridge. "But how marvellous that they should have buried him here, that his grave should have saved my life by giving me that fall, and that the bullets intended for me should have taken the life of the cousin who was to have been his partner!"

So the two, one from the New World and one from the Old, who loved each other, but had been separated during life by the calls of duty, were united in death; for they buried the young New-Mexican close beside his Spanish cousin, and the gra.s.ses of San Juan Hill wave above them both.

Wearing the sword thus intrusted to him, and which he would send to far-away New Mexico at the earliest opportunity, Lieutenant Norris bore his full share of the second day's fighting on San Juan Heights. Late that night, as he was coming in from the trenches, he was called to General Sumner's tent to act as interpreter. A deserter, apparently a Spanish sailor, had just been brought in, and was evidently trying to convey some important information that no one present could understand.

"He says," exclaimed Ridge, after listening intently to the man, "that Admiral Cervera's ships--coaled, provisioned, and under full head of steam--are about to make a dash from the harbor. He thinks they will start soon after sunrise, or when our ships have drawn off to their accustomed day-time distance."

Although the reliability of this startling news was very doubtful, it was deemed of sufficient importance to be immediately transmitted to Admiral Sampson.

"Who is the best rider in your command?" asked the General, turning to Colonel Roosevelt, who had a.s.sisted at the examination of the Spanish deserter.

"Lieutenant Norris," was the unhesitating answer.

"Then let Mr. Norris take my orderly's horse, make his way with all speed to Siboney, press into service the first steam craft he comes across, and carry this fellow's statement, with my compliments, to Admiral Sampson."

Five minutes later our young trooper, once more on horseback, and in a blaze of excitement, was galloping for dear life over the rugged road by which the army had come from the coast.

CHAPTER XXVI

MUTINY ON A TRANSPORT

On the memorable morning of July 3d the sun had risen from the fog-bank that promised a hot day before our young trooper, wearied and mud-bespattered with his journey, and his face still powder-grimed with the smoke of the day's fighting, rode into the village of Siboney. It no longer presented the scenes of excited bustle and eager enthusiasm that had marked it on the eve of Las Guasimas, for the army had departed long since, and only its shattered wrecks of humanity had drifted back. Now Siboney was a place of suffering and death; for here had been established the hospitals to which wounded men limped painfully from the distant front, or were brought in heavily jolting army wagons.

On this peaceful Sunday morning--for it was Sunday, though Ridge did not know it at the time--a great stillness brooded over Siboney, and almost the only persons visible were medical attendants, who moved quietly about the big hospital tents or the fever-infested buildings that had been pressed into the same service.

In the little harbor lay but a single steam-vessel, a transport, though others could be dimly seen far out at sea, where they spent most of their time, which fact largely accounted for the woful lack of supplies at the front. A boat from the single ship that had ventured into the harbor lay on the beach discharging freight. To it Ridge hurried, and, addressing himself to the man who appeared to be in charge, said:

"I have an important communication for the Captain of your ship. Will you take me off to her?"

With a contemptuous glance at the disreputable-looking young trooper, the man answered:

"See about it when I get ready to go."

"Please make haste, then, for my business is very important, and I am in a great hurry."

"Oh, you be. Reckon you'd better swim out, then, for I've been hurried by you landlubbers 'bout as much as I propose to be on this v'y'ge."

Ridge's face flushed, and he wanted to make an angry retort; but there was no other boat available, and he could not afford to throw away this chance. So he bit his lips and silently watched the deliberate movements of the men, who seemed to find a pleasure in aggravating him by their slowness.

The boat could have been unloaded in five minutes, but the operation was made to consume a half-hour, during which time Ridge stood silent, though with finger-nails digging into the palms of his clinched hands.

All at once, without a word of warning, the boat's crew began to shove their craft from the beach.

"Hold on!" cried Ridge, springing forward. "I am going with you."

"Why aren't you aboard, then?" asked the mate, with a grin, as his men gave another shove that launched the boat into deep water.

Leaping into the sea, Ridge barely succeeded in clutching a gunwale and pulling himself aboard, amid chuckles of laughter from the crew. His ducking had not improved his personal appearance, and as he now sat in the bow of the boat dripping water from every point, he formed an object for so much rude wit and coa.r.s.e merriment, that upon reaching the transport he was furious with pent-up wrath.

On gaining the deck of the ship he hurried forward, and found her Captain smoking an after-breakfast cigar in his comfortably appointed cabin.

"Well, sir, who are you? and what do you want?" demanded this individual, as Ridge presented himself at the door.

"I am an army officer bearing a message of the utmost importance from General Sumner to Admiral Sampson; and as this is the only steam-vessel in the harbor, I have come to ask that you will carry me to the flag-ship."

"If you haven't got cheek!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Captain. "So you are an army officer, are you?"

"That is what I said."

"You don't look it. Are you the Quartermaster-General?"

"Certainly not."