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

the whole affair from beginning to end. Thrilled with such excitement as he had never before known, he had seen ship after ship wearing the proud colors of Spain driven helplessly to the beach by the withering blasts of Yankee gunnery, until all were destroyed. Never before had our young American been so proud of his country and his countrymen. Now his wonderful day was to be crowned with a great honor; for, no sooner was it certain that the Colon had surrendered, than a message from the flag-ship bade the Speedy return with all haste to Siboney and land the army officer whom she had brought out, that he might convey the glorious news to General Shafter and the men in the trenches before Santiago.

"That's you, old man!" cried Ensign Comly, "And I envy you your present job a heap more than I did the one you were undertaking the last time we set you ashore."

So back past the blazing wrecks of Cervera's squadron and on to Siboney dashed the despatch-boat. The transport from which Ridge had been rescued that morning still lay in the harbor, and her Captain, hailing the Speedy, eagerly asked for news; but none was given him, and he was treated to a contemptuous silence that caused him to grow more purple-faced than ever.

As Ridge was rowed ashore he directed Ensign Comly's attention to a large steam-yacht painted lead-color in imitation of the war-ships, but flying a Red Cross flag, that had evidently just arrived.

"She looks a little like Rollo Van Kyp's Royal Flush," he said; "but what is her name? G-r-a-y--Gray man? Gray mare? Oh no, Gray Nun. Queer name for a yacht, isn't it?"

"Yes; and those nurses on her deck don't look a bit like nuns," replied Ensign Comly. "Believe I'll make a call if we lie here this evening, for I understand that some of the nicest girls in the country have enlisted under the Red Cross since you chaps were sent to Santiago."

"Wish I could join you," sighed Ridge; "only I haven't spoken to a girl in so long that I shouldn't know what to say."

CHAPTER XXVIII LAST SHOT OF THE CAMPAIGN

The American army occupying the muddy trenches before Santiago had been rendered very unhappy that morning by a rumor that Cervera's ships had made a dash from the harbor, evaded the blockade, and escaped almost unharmed. How this rumor started no one knew, but it spread like wildfire, and was generally believed. There was ample opportunity for discussing it, since all firing had ceased, while under a flag of truce an envoy from General Shafter demanded the surrender of Santiago. So the men in the trenches were free to stand erect and stretch themselves, to wander about, leaving their rifles in position between the sand-bags, and even to make little fires, over which to boil cups of coffee, all without drawing the fire of a single Spanish sharp-shooter. It was a very novel sensation, and they enjoyed it. At the same time they were not happy, for Cervera's ships had escaped. What could the Yankee sailors have been about to let such a thing happen? What a disgrace it was, and how the whole world would jeer! Even Santiago seemed hardly worth capturing now.

All at once a sound of shouting was borne faintly to their ears from the distant rear. What had happened? Had they been outflanked by the Spaniards and attacked from that direction? No, for a band was playing on El Poso Hill, and the sound of shouting was advancing, like a roar of the sea. No one looked towards Santiago now, but all eyes, turned to the rear, were fixed on the point where the Sevilla road left the timber. At this place they gazed in eager but silent anticipation. Suddenly a horseman emerged from it and dashed at full speed across the valley, waving his hat and yelling as he came.

Up the slope of San Juan Hill he charged and through the terraced camps, that broke into a jubilant roar as he reached them. But he did not pause until he had gained the very trenches, where among the wondering Rough Riders he slipped wearily from his foam-flecked horse, shouting huskily but exultantly as he did so:

"Sampson has destroyed the Spanish fleet! Not a ship escaped! I know, for I saw the whole fight!"

"Hurrah!" "Hooray!" "Whoop-ee!" "Wow, wow, wow!" howled the Riders, as in their wild jubilation they danced, hugged each other, and flung things in the air. Then they raised Ridge high on their shoulders and bore him as proudly aloft as though he alone had achieved the wonderful victory of which he brought the news. Indeed, they seemed to believe that but for his presence with the American ships things might perhaps have gone differently, and Rollo Van Kyp only voiced the general sentiment when he said:

"Lucky thing for Sampson that he had at least one 'Terror' along to see that the scrap was conducted according to rules. How I wish, though, that the Nun had got here in time to take part in that fight, for she can outfoot the old Corsair--Gloucester, I mean--almost two to one. If she had only been on hand I believe she would have captured one of these little fellows alive, before he had a chance to make the beach."

"The who?" asked Ridge, in perplexity, for the latter part of this remark had been addressed to him alone.

"The Nun. Gray Nun is her whole name. My yacht--used to be the Royal Flush, you know. I offered her to the government as a gift, to be converted into a war-ship. But they wouldn't accept her. So I changed her name, and turned her over to the Red Cross people, to use as long as they had need of her. Don't know, though, as they took me up, for we left about that time, and I haven't heard since."

"But they did!" exclaimed Ridge. "And she reached Siboney to-day, for I saw her there not more than two hours ago, flying a Red Cross flag, and crowded with nurses."

"Good enough!" cried Rollo. "That is almost as fine news as the other. The old Flush must feel funny, though, all cluttered up with nurses, for that isn't exactly the kind of a crowd she has been used to. Same time, if my steward carried out the orders I wired him, she must be loaded to the muzzle with good things to eat and drink, for I told him to fill her up with the best to be had in New York City. So if any of the fellows are hankering for a change of grub, all they've got to do is to catch a fever or a Mauser bullet, and apply for a berth on the Nun. For my own part I prefer hardtack, bacon, and good health; but then tastes differ, you know."

"It was a splendid thing to do!" exclaimed Ridge; "and I don't believe there is another in the command would have thought of it. The boys will be prouder than ever of the old regiment to know that it contains a fellow not only able but willing to do such a thing."

"Oh, pshaw!" replied Rollo, flushing. "There isn't one but would do as much and more, only some of them don't happen to have yachts lying idle. And you mustn't tell them, old man. I wouldn't for anything have it get out that the Nun is my boat. That's the reason I changed her name. Some of them might think I was putting on airs, you know, if it should get out that I kept my yacht here at Siboney."

"But you'll get leave to run down and see her, won't you?"

"Not much, I won't. The dear old skipper would be sure to give me away, though his orders are not to mention my name in connection with her."

So the bountiful supply of delicacies and comforts of every kind provided by Rollo Van Kyp were distributed among the sick and wounded in the Siboney hospitals, and many a fever-stricken patient owed his life to the devoted care of the "gray nuns," as the nurses brought by the yacht were generally called; but only Ridge Norris knew whose was the generous forethought that had provided all these things.

In the mean time the truce, first declared on that memorable Sunday, was extended from day to day, for one reason or another, for a week. General Linares had been wounded early in the fighting, General Vara del Rey had been killed at Caney, and the command of Santiago had finally devolved upon General Toral. To him, then, was sent the summons to surrender. This he refused to do, but begged for time in which to remove women, children, and other non-combatants from the city before it should be bombarded. This was allowed, and nearly 20,000 of these helpless ones, frightened, bewildered, and half famished, were driven from Santiago to seek such refuge as the surrounding country might afford. War-wrecked and devastated as it was, its resources in the way of food and shelter were so slender that hundreds of them died from exposure, starvation, or disease, and but for the generosity of the Americans, who fed them to the full extent of their ability, thousands more must have perished.

And others came out from the beleaguered city; for an exchange of prisoners had been effected, and just before sunset on the third day of the truce three horsemen rode towards the American lines along the palm-shaded highway leading from Santiago. Two of them were Spanish officers, but one wore the white duck uniform of the American navy, and behind him clattered an ambulance in which were seven of the proudest, happiest sailormen ever turned loose from an enemy's prison. They were Hobson and his men, the heroes of the Merrimac, free at last to return to their own people. And never did heroes receive a more royal welcome than that accorded this handful of blue-jackets by their comrades of the army. From the outermost trenches all the way to Siboney, where a launch awaited them, their progress was an ovation of wildest enthusiasm. Every soldier of the thousands whom they encountered first saluted and then cheered until he was hoarse, while one regimental band after another crashed forth its most inspiring music in their honor. Out on the star-lit sea lay the great flag-ship from which these men had departed on their desperate mission more than a month before, and when, late that evening, they again reached it, they were once more safe at home with their work well done, and their fame established forever.

For a week the truce continued, and while the Spaniards strengthened their defences, the Americans lengthened their lines, built roads over which to bring up their artillery, provided their camps with bomb-proof shelters, and received reinforcements. Knowing all this, General Toral still refused to surrender, and during the afternoon of Sunday, July 10th, the white flags were taken down and a bombardment of the city was begun. For two hours, or until the coming of darkness, a heavy cannonade with brisk rifle-fire was kept up by both sides, but with little damage to either. With sunrise of the following morning it was resumed.

"I wonder what it is all for?" asked Rollo Van Kyp, as he crouched in the hot trench, industriously firing his carbine at the flashes from the Spanish rifle-pits. "We don't seem to hit them, and they certainly don't hit us. Now if Teddy would only order a charge, it would be something sensible. But this play-fighting is disgusting!"

Just then a Spanish shell burst close above the heads of this particular group of Rough Riders, and a fragment from it cut the staff of the troop guidon, planted in the soft earth, so that the silken flag fell outward. In an instant Rollo had leaped over the protecting embankment, picked up the fallen flag,