"Forward, March": A Tale of the Spanish-American War

The next victim to succumb beneath the terrible American fire was the superb Vizcaya, which, pounded to death by the Brooklyn, Oregon, and Texas, was run on the beach at Aserraderos, seventeen miles west of Santiago Bay, a few minutes after eleven o'clock. Like her unfortunate consorts, she also was a mass of flame, and had no sooner struck than scores of her people leaped overboard to escape being roasted alive. Among these swimmers a body of Cuban troops poured a cowardly fire from the beach; but Captain Evans of the Iowa quickly put a stop to that, and stood by the blazing wreck so long as there was a Spaniard left to be rescued from flame or flood.

Of all Cervera's powerful squadron only a single ship was now left, the swift Cristobal Colon, which, by keeping behind the others, had as yet come to little harm. When the Vizcaya was run ashore, the Colon was more than four miles ahead of her leading pursuer, the Brooklyn. Close on the heels of the latter came the wonderful battle-ship Oregon, which had unexpectedly developed such extraordinary speed that, although starting next to the last of the American ships, she now very nearly led the chase. Next behind her came the Texas, while the superb New York, though still far in the rear, was overhauling all three, and had the race been long enough would eventually have exchanged broadsides with the Colon.

But she was not to be granted that satisfaction; for shortly after one o'clock, when the chase had lasted two hours, the Oregon threw a couple of great thirteen-inch shells, at a range of five miles, so close to the flying Spaniard that they deluged her with tons of water. Upon this, to the surprise of every one, and without making any sort of a fight, the finest ship of the Spanish navy lowered her flag and was headed in for the beach. After she had thus surrendered, and before the Americans could board, she was wrecked by her own crew, who opened sea-valves, smashed out dead lights, threw overboard the breech-blocks of their great guns, and in many other ways worked what destruction they could in the time allotted. As a result of this vandalism, the fine ship rolled over on her side soon after striking, and would have slipped off into deep water had not the New York rammed her to a better position higher up the beach.

Thus was destroyed the fine squadron that had been a menace to the Americans ever since the war began. Spain's loss was 600 human lives, 1200 prisoners, and six ships, valued at $12,000,000; while that of the Americans was one man killed and three wounded, all on the Brooklyn, together with a few trifling injuries to the Brooklyn, Iowa, and Texas.

And Ridge Norris, from the deck of the little Speedy, had been a spectator of 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, and, amid yells of approbation from his comrades, restored it to its former position. Then, half-turning and swinging his hat defiantly above his head, the daring young trooper sprang back to his place of safety. As he did so, something seemed to go wrong, and instead of landing on his feet he pitched awkwardly, and then lay motionless in the bottom of the trench.

At the same moment trumpet and bugle along the whole line sounded the order "cease firing," and once more the white flags of truce fluttered in the sunlight. Santiago was again summoned to surrender; and this time the summons was so seriously considered that, two days later, it was obeyed. Although no one knew it at the time, the last shot of the campaign had been fired and the war was virtually ended.

But the last shot had stricken down brave, generous, light-hearted Rollo Van Kyp just as he had covered himself with glory and was within a hair's-breadth of safety; for, as Lieutenant Norris knelt anxiously beside his friend, the gallant young trooper lay as though dead, with blood streaming over his face.

CHAPTER XXIX

TWO INVALID HEROES

Rollo Van Kyp, carefully lifted from the bloody trench in which he had fought and suffered so cheerfully, was borne to the rear, and the assistant surgeon of his regiment accompanied him to the hospital at Siboney. Ridge Norris wanted to do this, but his duties would not permit of his absence, for officers were becoming scarce, and as yet no one knew but that the fighting might be resumed at any moment. So he watched the departure of the ambulance with a heavy heart, and the whole troop shared his sorrow at the loss of their well-loved comrade.

The next day the assistant surgeon returned and reported Rollo's wound apparently so serious that there was little hope for him. "There was just one chance," he added, in answer to Lieutenant Norris's anxious inquiry for details, "and, by good luck, I secured it for him at the last moment. He would surely have died in Siboney, but if he can get home and into a Northern hospital he may pull through. By the greatest good fortune a Red Cross ship was about to start for the States with a number of the worst cases; and, just as she was sailing, I managed to get Van Kyp aboard. She was so crowded that they weren't going to take him, until her skipper–as big-hearted a Yankee sailorman as ever trod a deck–said he would give up his own cabin rather than have a Rough Rider left behind to die."

"What was his name?" asked Ridge.

"Haven't an idea."

"Do you know the name of the ship?"

"Yes, of course. She is the Gray Nun, a converted yacht."

"Rollo Van Kyp's own boat!" cried Ridge.

"You don't mean it?"

"I do." And then Ridge told all that he knew of his friend's splendid contribution to the service that was doing more than the government itself towards alleviating the sufferings of the American troops before Santiago. When he finished, he said, "Of course the skipper recognized Van Kyp?"

"No, he didn't," replied the other–"at least, not then, for the poor chap's face was covered to protect it from the sun, and I didn't mention his name until after he had been taken aboard, when I gave it to the surgeon in charge. At first I only described him as a Rough Rider wounded in recovering his troop flag, and the skipper said that was all he wanted to know about him."

Besides his news of Rollo, the surgeon had brought from Siboney a number of letters recently arrived there for the Rough Riders, and one of these was handed to Ridge. Opening it curiously, for he did not recognize the handwriting of its address, the latter read as follows:

"DEAR MR. NORRIS,–I have just been made very happy by learning from a friend of yours, a Mr. Comly, who is in the navy, that you are not only alive and well, but still with your regiment, and have done all sorts of splendid things. This is news that will cause great rejoicing among all your friends, including your own family, who have been very anxious and unhappy concerning you. Major Dodley reported in New Orleans that you had been placed under arrest for desertion–of course no one who knew you believed that for a moment–but had escaped and run away. Your father was so furious that he gave the Major a horse-whipping in front of the St. Charles, and made him take back every word. Then he telegraphed and wrote to Tampa; but half of your regiment had left, and those who remained behind could tell nothing except that you had disappeared in a very mysterious manner. You may imagine the distress of your father.

"I had returned to my own home, but Dulce wrote me all about it, and I received her letter when on the point of starting for New York to offer my services as a Red Cross nurse, for I didn't feel that I could let the war go on a day longer without having some share in it. I was accepted, and immediately assigned to duty aboard the society's ship Gray Nun, to which I am still attached. That is how I happen to be here, and I am so glad I came, for I don't believe even you can imagine how much we were needed. I have also discovered you, and shall write to Dulce at once. Hoping that we may meet before long, I remain,

"Very sincerely your friend,

"SPENCE CUTHBERT.

"On board Gray Nun, off Siboney, July 8, 1898."

"Whew!" whistled Ridge, softly, as he finished reading this letter. "If that isn't a budget of news! Spence Cuthbert here in Cuba nursing wounded soldiers! But it is just like the dear girl to do such a thing. If I had only known of it sooner, though, I might have found a chance to run down to Siboney and see her. Now it is too late, for the Nun has gone again. She will discover Rollo, though, and take care of him. Lucky fellow! Wish I was in his place! And Comly, too! He must have made that call and scraped an acquaintance. What cheek those navy chaps have, anyway! So Dodley reports me as a deserter, does he? And the dear old dad horsewhipped him. Oh, if I had only been there! It is a shame that I haven't managed to write home, and I'll do so this very minute."

In pursuance of this resolve, Ridge did write a long letter to his mother, in which he told of his great disappointment at not seeing Spence Cuthbert before she left Cuba, and sent it to Siboney to be forwarded at the first opportunity.

After that, other exciting events in connection with his duty occupied our young Lieutenant's attention; for at a meeting of Generals Shafter and Toral, under a great tree midway between the American and Spanish lines, the latter finally agreed to surrender the entire province of Santiago, with all the troops within its limits. On this occasion each General was accompanied by members of his staff, and to Ridge again fell the honor of acting as official interpreter. Thus for days he was kept so continually busy that he hardly found time for sleep. Then, on Sunday, the 17th of July, one week after the firing of the last shot, and two weeks after the destruction of Cervera's ships, at precisely noon, the red and yellow banner of Spain was lowered forever from over Santiago's municipal palace, and the glorious stars and stripes proudly flung to the breeze in its place. The impressive ceremony was witnessed by the Ninth Regiment of United States Infantry, two mounted troops of the Second Regular Cavalry, and by the brilliant staff who surrounded General Shafter. Besides these, Spanish officers and citizens of Santiago crowded every window, doorway, and portico of the cathedral, the San Carlos Club, the Venus restaurant, and other buildings facing the Plaza de Armas, and watched the proceedings in silence.

As the starry flag of the United States ran slowly to the top of the tall staff the Ninth Regiment band crashed forth the inspiring strains of "The Star-spangled Banner," and every American present, excepting, of course, the troops on duty, bared his head. At the same moment the thunder of distant artillery firing a national salute of twenty-one guns and exultant cheering from the trenches a mile beyond the city told that the glorious news had reached the waiting army.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, General Leonard Wood, formerly Colonel of the Rough Riders, was installed as Military Governor of the conquered city, and one of the first to congratulate him upon this new honor was the young Lieutenant of his old command, who had been permitted to do so much towards bringing the Santiago campaign to its happy conclusion. For Ridge Norris, in appreciation of his recent services, had been one of the very few guests invited to witness the change of flags.

Shortly after it was all over, as Ridge was slowly making his way back to camp, no longer upheld by excitement and utterly weary from his recent labors, he encountered a forlorn little group of natives, who aroused his instant sympathy. A young woman, gaunt and hollow-cheeked, with three children, trying to make her way back to the city, had sunk exhausted by the road-side. One of the children was a babe held tightly pressed to her bosom. Of the others, one was a small boy, who stood manfully by his mother's side; while a little girl, burning with fever, lay tossing and moaning on the ground.

As Ridge reached this group the woman cried, imploringly, "Help, Señor Americano! For love of the good God help me reach the city before my little ones perish!"

Ridge could understand and could talk to her in her own tongue. So in a few minutes he had learned her pitiful story. It was that of many another–a tale of starvation, sickness, death of her husband, and of homeless wandering for days. Now her one desire and hope was to return to her home in Santiago. Even before she had concluded her sad narration our young trooper had picked up the fever-stricken child, and, with the others following him, was retracing his steps towards the city. He did not leave them until they were safe in the wretched hovel they called home, and he had procured for them a supply of food. Then, followed by fervent blessings, he again started for the American lines.

That evening he could not eat the coarse camp fare of his mess, and the next morning found him raving in the delirium of fever. When, a little later, the Rough Riders were removed to a more healthful camp-ground, a few miles back in the hills, Lieutenant Norris, with several other fever-stricken members of the command, was taken to one of the Spanish hospitals in Santiago, where, three days later, Spence Cuthbert found him.