Forward, March by Kirk Munroe (mobi ebook reader .TXT) 📕

Then, if I still live, I will return to you and seek my cousin. Oh, my friend, grant me this favor, and with every breath I will thank you! May it be so? Will you do as I ask?"

"Of course I will," answered Ridge, heartily. "I had already guessed your feelings, and made up my mind to give back your parole if you should ask for it. So now you are free to act as seems to you best."

"God bless you, amigo!" cried the young Spaniard, his face radiant with joy. "Now they come! Conceal yourself, while I do what may be done to save you."

CHAPTER XXII ROLLO IN CUBA

The sound of voices and of men crashing through the underbrush as they advanced up the hill from all sides was distinctly heard, and Ridge realized, with dismay, how completely he was surrounded. It did not seem possible that he could escape, but he mechanically obeyed his friend's instructions, and, diving into a dense thicket, lay flat on the ground beneath its leafy shelter.

At that same moment Navarro raised a great shout of "Here he is! There he goes! Look out for him!" He also fired several shots in rapid succession; and one of these wounding the horse that Ridge had ridden, sent it crashing in terrified flight directly towards the Spanish troops in the ravine. After the flying animal sprang the lieutenant, firing as he ran, and yelling to those on the hill to follow him.

With savage cries, and as eagerly as hounds in sight of a fox, the Spaniards gave over their careful beating of every covert, and rushed from all sides towards the scene of disturbance. Several of them passed so close to Ridge that he could have touched them, but in their blind haste they failed to notice him. In another moment they had swept over the crest of the hill and were plunging down its farther side. Before they reached the bottom, Ridge's wounded and terrified horse burst from cover directly among the ambushed troops in the ravine, by whom it was quickly killed. Then came the pursuers.

"Where is he? What have you done with him?" demanded Lieutenant Navarro, excitedly.

"Who, señor?"

"The spy! The Americano!"

"We have seen no one, only this brute of a horse."

"But he was mounted on it. I saw him and fired. He fled in this direction, and we pursued him."

"He must have been hit and fallen from the saddle."

"Then he is still close at hand," panted Major Alvarez, who had just reached the scene, "and alive or dead we must find him. Scatter, men, and search!" he added, fiercely, turning to the baffled soldiers of his command, who were crowding confusedly behind him.

This command was never obeyed; for at that moment, with a shriek and a roar, a shell from one of the American war-ships dropped into the ravine, and burst among the startled Spaniards. Their presence had been detected by the firing on the hillside, and with the range thus obtained the Yankee gunners sent shell after shell with deadly precision among the ambushed troops.

Completely demoralized by the awful effect of this fire, the Spaniards broke from cover and fled, leaving a score of dead behind, and bearing with them a desperately wounded officer. They carried him as far as Sevilla, which place they did not reach until the following morning, and where General Linares bent pityingly over him.

"Loyal and brave even unto death," he murmured. "For this last faithful service to Spain you shall rank as Captain." Then, as the closed eyes of the wounded man were opened with a look of recognition, the General turned to those who had brought him, and said:

"He is too valuable to our cause, and too brave a Spaniard to die if we can save his life. Therefore carry Captain Navarro to the hospital in Santiago, and deliver my orders that he receive the best of care."

So the painful journey was resumed, but on the crest of San Juan Heights, overlooking the city, the litter-bearers found that they were carrying a dead man. It was useless to convey him farther, and a little later they buried him, with full military honors, on the sunny slope that was shortly destined to become the scene of one of the world's decisive battles.

In the mean time Ridge Norris, snatched from the very jaws of destruction by the prompt devotion of his prisoner-friend, had emerged from his concealment, and hastened down the hill in a direction opposite to that taken by those who sought his life.

After awhile, believing that he had gained a safe distance from them, he paused to consider his situation. A minute later, when he had just planned to make a great circuit that should outflank the Spaniards in the ravine, and bring him to where the Americans were landing, a rush of approaching feet and a medley of voices caused him to plunge into the dense growth bordering the trail. Then catching a glimpse of the retreating Spaniards, whom he imagined to be searching for him, he forced his way still deeper into the tangle, until they were lost to hearing as well as to sight.

Half an hour afterwards, reassured by the unbroken silence of his surroundings, our young American attempted to regain the trail he had left, but, to his dismay, had failed to do so when darkness overtook him. The idea of spending a night in that Cuban jungle was decidedly unpleasant; but as there was nothing else to be done, Ridge quickly made such preparations for it as his limited resources would allow. His knowledge of Cuban woodcraft was much greater now than it had been two weeks earlier, and within fifteen minutes he had constructed a rude hammock of tough vines, over which was laid a great palm-leaf. This would at least swing him clear of the ground, with its pestilent dampness and swarming land-crabs. Although he knew that he should suffer from cold before morning, he dared not light a fire, for it would be almost certain to attract unwelcome attention. So he lined his swinging-bed with such dried grasses as he could find, and nestling in it tried to sleep. For hours this was impossible. The forest about him was filled with strange rattlings, dashings, and other indescribable sounds. He was also cold and hungry. But at length he lost consciousness of his unhappy position, and drifted into troubled dreams.

When next he awoke the sun was shining, and there was a confusion of voices close at hand. He could not catch the drift of conversation; but, as the tongue spoken was Spanish, he lay motionless and listened, expecting each moment to be discovered by some straggler. For several hours his unseen neighbors cooked, ate, smoked cigarettes, laughed, and talked without suspecting his presence within a few yards of them; while he, desperately hungry, cramped, and filled with impatience at this aggravating detention, wondered if they were going to stay there forever.

When, after what seemed an eternity of suspense, those who had unwittingly kept him prisoner took their departure, the sun had passed its meridian, and Ridge, parched with thirst, was suffering as much from the breathless heat as he had with cold a few hours earlier. As he cautiously approached the scene of the recent bivouac he found it to be where a small stream crossed a narrow trail, and, after quenching his thirst, he followed the latter in what he believed to be the direction of Daiquiri. At any rate, it was the opposite one from that taken by his recent unwelcome neighbors. Up hill and down the dim trail led him, across streams and through dark ravines, but always buried in dense foliage, through which he could gain no outlook.

After our young trooper had followed the devious course of this rough pathway for several miles, he suddenly came to a halt, and stood spellbound. From directly ahead of him came a burst of music swelling grandly through the solemn stillness of the forest. A regimental band was playing "The Star-spangled Banner," and never before had such glorious notes been borne to his ears. Tears started to his eyes; but without pausing to brush them away he dashed forward. A minute later he stood on the brow of a declivity looking down upon the sea-coast village of Siboney, which he instantly recognized, though its transformation from what it was when he had last seen it was wonderful. Then it had been a stronghold of Spanish troops. Now the fortifications crowning its encircling hills, abandoned by those who had erected them, stood empty and harmless; while in the village, and on the narrow plain surrounding it, an advance-guard of the American army was pitching its tents. Over a building on a hill-side opposite to where Ridge stood, which he remembered as headquarters of the Spanish Commandant, floated an American flag, evidently just raised, and from that quarter also came the inspiring music that had so quickened his pulses.

Ten minutes later he stood before that very building, having passed through the American lines unquestioned, though stared at curiously by those who noticed him at all. He wore the first Spanish uniform they had ever seen, and, not recognizing it, they took him for a Cuban officer, several of whom had already visited the camp. So the young American, looking in vain for a familiar face among the thousand or so of his busy countrymen, made his way to headquarters, where, for the first time, a sentry halted him and demanded his business. While he was thus detained an officer issued from the building, mounted a horse, and was about to ride away when Ridge sprang forward, calling:

"General! General Lawton!"

The officer halted, looked keenly at the sun-browned young man in Spanish uniform, and, almost without hesitation, said:

"You are Sergeant Norris of the Rough Riders, I believe?"

"Yes, sir," replied Ridge, saluting, and overjoyed at being recognized.

"I looked for you at Daiquiri," continued the General, "and hope you can give good reason for not reporting there as ordered."

"I believe I can, sir."

"Then come in with me and give it to Major-General Wheeler, who is at present in command."

Within half an hour the young scout had been complimented by both Generals on the success of his recent undertaking, and had furnished them with information of the utmost value concerning the obstacles to be encountered between Siboney and Santiago. The first of these he stated would be found at Las Guasimas, where the two trails from Siboney to Sevilla on the Santiago road formed a junction some three miles inland. A little later he had the honor of guiding General Wheeler on a reconnoissance over one of these trails, and pointing out the location of a strongly intrenched Spanish force, posted to oppose the American advance.

When they returned to Siboney the sun had set, and Ridge, faint for the want of food, was wondering where he should find a supper, when a mighty cheering, mingled with wild cowboy yells, rose from a point where the Daiquiri road entered the village.

"It sounds as though your irrepressible comrades had arrived," said the little General, turning to his young guide with a quizzical smile, "though I did not expect them before to-morrow. Perhaps you would like to go and welcome them."

"Thank you, sir. Indeed I should," and in another moment Ridge was hastening in the direction of the familiar sounds.

How his heart swelled with loving pride, as he sighted the red and white guidons of the on-sweeping column; and when the one bearing the magical letter "K" came into view, he could have wept for very joy.

But he didn't weep. There wasn't any time, for in another minute he was among them, proclaiming his identity to incredulous ears.

When the Riders of Troop K were finally forced to acknowledge that he was really their own sergeant whom they believed was left behind in Tampa, all military discipline was for the moment flung to the winds.