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.
They yelled and whooped and danced about him, slapping him on the back,
wringing his hands, and acting so like madmen, that the rest of the
command stared at them in blank amazement.
As for Rollo Van Kyp, he first hugged his recovered tent-mate into
breathlessness, and then invited the entire troop to take supper with
him at the Waldorf in celebration of the prodigal Sergeant's return.
To this invitation a hundred voices answered as one:
"Yes, we will! Yes, we will! Rollo in Cuba, yes, we will!"