THE "TERRORS" IN BATTLE
"Couldn't you let me begin that supper with a hardtack right now?"
pleaded our hungry young trooper, as soon as he could make himself
heard. "It's a day and a half since my last meal, which was only a
small ration of boiled rice, and it seems as though a hardtack at this
minute would do me more good than the promise of a hundred Waldorf
suppers."
The hunger that demanded even a despised hard-tack was at that time so
incredible to the well-fed Riders, that at first they could not believe
his request to be made in earnest. When, however, they saw the
eagerness with which he began to devour one of the iron-clad biscuits,
hesitatingly offered by Rollo Van Kyp, they were convinced that he was
indeed on the verge of starvation. They were also reminded of their
own keen appetites, for, amid the excitement of that day's landing and
their forced march from Daiquiri, they had eaten nothing since a
daylight breakfast. But each man carried three days' rations, and
camp-fires were quickly ablaze in every direction. From these
delicious odors of boiling coffee and frizzling bacon so stimulated
their hunger, that when, tin cup and plate in hand, they sat down to
that first meal on Cuban soil, they pronounced it equal to any ever
served in New York City.
While Ridge, sharing his chum's cup and plate, was striving between
mouthfuls of this thoroughly enjoyable supper to answer a few of the
innumerable questions showered upon him, he suddenly became aware of an
officer standing on the edge of the fire-light and regarding him with
interest. As our young trooper sprang to his feet with a salute, he
was covered with confusion to recognize in the motionless figure his
own Lieutenant-Colonel, and to remember that in all this time he had
neglected to report his return to the regiment. He began a confused
apology, but the other interrupted him, laughing.
"It is all right, Sergeant," he said. "We heard of you from General
Wheeler, who, by-the-way, is much pleased with the results of your
expedition. So I came to find you, with a reprimand for not having
reported at once to Colonel Wood, but when I saw you devouring
hardtack, I was quite willing to accept starvation as your excuse.
Now, however, the Colonel would be pleased to see you."
After an hour spent at headquarters, where he was honored with an
invitation to eat a second supper, during which his apparently
unappeasable appetite for hardtack and bacon caused much amusement.
Ridge was allowed to return to his comrades. A throng of these
gathered about the camp-fire of Rollo Van Kyp's mess, and, unmindful of
the showers that fell at short intervals, listened for hours with
breathless interest and undisguised envy to the story of his recent
adventures. They were happily reassured by his description of the
strength of Santiago's fortifications, and his assertion that the
Spaniards would put up a good fight before surrendering them; for they
had been inclined to think and speak contemptuously of the enemy who
they feared would yield without a struggle.
So the greater part of the night was passed. They ought to have been
asleep, storing up strength against the morrow; but who could sleep
amid the uproar and excitement of that first night at Siboney? Not the
Rough Riders, at any rate. Half a dozen transports had come into the
little bay; and from them scores of boat-loads of troops and supplies
were being landed through the roaring surf on the open beach. A
thousand naked figures, screaming, ducking, and splashing one another
like so many schoolboys on a frolic, assisted and impeded the landing
of their comrades, who, crowded into pontoons and small boats, were
pitched, howling with delight, from the crest of each in-rolling
breaker. A half-moon and the powerful search-lights of two war-ships
flooded the whole extraordinary scene with brightness. On shore the
dripping arrivals crowded about the red camp-fires drying their soaking
uniforms, cooking, eating, singing, laughing, and filled with
irrepressible happiness at having escaped from their "prison hulks" and
reached Cuba at last.
Thus, at dead of night, was an army landed on a hostile shore, and by
two o'clock in the morning five thousand American troops were crowded
in and about the village of Siboney.
Acting on the reports brought him by Ridge Norris and by certain Cubans
whom the Spanish rear-guard had driven back the day before, as well as
upon the knowledge gained by his own reconnoissance, General Wheeler
had determined to attack the enemy, who were strongly posted at the
forking of two roads leading from Siboney to Sevilla. The broader of
these roads bore to the right through a narrow valley, while the other,
merely a rough trail, climbed the hill back of the village and followed
the crest of a ridge to the place of intersection. Both passed through
an almost impenetrable growth of small trees and underbrush, thickly
set with palms, bamboos, Spanish-bayonets, thorn bushes, and cactus,
all bound together by a tangle of tough vines, and interspersed with
little glades of rank grasses. To the right-hand trail, miscalled the
wagon-road, were assigned eight troops from two regiments of dismounted
regular cavalry, the First and Tenth (colored), under General Young.
With these Colonel Wood and his Rough Riders, advancing over the
hill-trail, were to form a junction at the forks, locally known as Las
Guasimas, three miles away.
So at earliest dawn the troops detailed for this duty were astir, after
but three hours of troubled sleep. The regulars, having the longer
route to traverse, were given a half-hour's start of the others, who,
in the mean time, made coffee and bolted a few mouthfuls of food. Then
troops were formed, First Sergeants called the roll, the order,
"Forward march!" was given, and the Riders, burdened with
blanket-rolls, haversacks, canteens, tin cups, carbines, and
cartridge-belts filled to their utmost capacity, began to scramble up
the steep hill-side.
The sun was already red and hot, the steaming air was breathless, and
by the time the top of the first hill was gained the panting troopers
were bathed in perspiration that trickled from them in rivulets. A
short breathing-space was allowed, and then, with Ridge Norris and a
Cuban scout to feel the way, the line of march was again taken up.
Next behind the scouts came a "point" of five men, then Capron's troop
strung out in single file and acting as advance-guard. Behind these
followed the main body of the little army, headed by Colonel Wood. For
an hour and a half they toiled forward in this fashion, laughing,
joking, commenting on the tropical strangeness of their surroundings,
and wondering if there was a Spaniard nearer to them than Santiago.
At length a halt was called, and the wearied men, suffering greatly
from the sweltering heat, gladly flung themselves to the ground. At
the same moment Ridge was reporting to Colonel Wood that he had located
the Spaniards only a few hundred yards ahead, and behind strong
intrenchments. Upon this the Colonel moved cautiously forward to study
the position, leaving his men to fan themselves with their hats and
exchange laughing comments upon one another's appearance, utterly
unconscious of the enemy's proximity.
Suddenly word was passed back for silence in the ranks. Then came
"Attention!" and "Load carbines!"
"Something must be up," whispered Rollo Van Kyp to Mark Gridley, and
just then all eyes were directed inquiringly towards Ridge Norris, who
was taking a place with his own troop.
"The Spaniards are right in front of us," he whispered, and almost
instantly the startling news was passed down the line. There was no
joking now, nor complaints of the heat, but each man stood with
compressed lips, peering into the dense underbrush on either side, and
wishing that the suspense was over.
Now came the hurried forming of a line of battle. One troop was sent
straight to the front, two were deployed to the left, and two more, one
of which was that of Ridge and Rollo, were ordered to force their way
through the thickets on their right, down into the valley, where they
were to make connection with the regulars. While these movements were
being executed, and with a suddenness that caused every man's nerves to
tingle, a sharp firing began somewhere off in the right, and ran like a
flash of powder along the whole line.
Blanket-rolls and haversacks had already been flung aside, and the
sweating troopers, with their flannel shirts open at the throat and
sleeves rolled up to the elbows, bore only their carbines, ammunition,
and canteens of water. At first Ridge had only his revolver, but
within five minutes he had snatched up the carbine of a man who fell
dead at his side, and was as well armed as the rest.
For an hour the Riders fought blindly, seeing no enemy, but pouring
their own volleys in the direction from which the steady streams of
Mauser bullets seemed to come. The smokeless powder used by the
Spaniards gave no trace of their location, while the sulphurous cloud
hanging over the Americans formed a perfect target for the Spanish fire.
Still the dark-blue line was steadily advanced, sometimes by quick
rushes, and again by a crawling on hands and knees through the high,
hot grass. Always over the heads of the troopers and among them
streamed a ceaseless hail of bullets from Mauser rifles and
machine-guns. Men fell with each minute, some not to rise again, some
only wounded; but the others never paused to note their fate. Those
who could must push on and get at the Spaniards. Those who were
helpless to advance must, for the present, be left to care for
themselves as best they might.
At length the ever-advancing line reached the edge of a grassy valley
set here and there with clumps of palms. To the left was a stone
building, formerly a distillery, now a Spanish fort, and directly in
front was an intrenched ridge. To this the Spaniards had been slowly
but surely driven, and now they occupied their strongest position.
At almost the same moment, and as though animated by a single thought,
Roosevelt on the extreme left and Wood on the right gave the order to
charge. With a yell the panting, smoke-begrimed Riders broke from
cover and sprang after their dauntless leaders. They charged by
rushes, running fifty feet, then dropping in the hot grass and firing;
then reload, rise, and run forward. On their right the regulars were
doing the same thing in the same manner with the precision of machines,
while the colored troops stormed the ridge with a steadiness and grim
determination that won for them undying fame, and answered forever the
question as to whether or not the negro is fitted to be a soldier.
The assault was unsupported by artillery; those making it had no
bayonets, and the Spanish fire, ripping, crackling, and blazing in
vivid sheets from block-house and rifle-pit, was doubling and trebling
in fury; but there was no hesitation on the part of the Americans, no
backward step.
The Spaniards could not understand it. This thin line of yelling men
advancing with such confidence must have the whole American army close
behind them. In that case another minute would see an assault by
overwhelming numbers. Thus thinking, the Spaniards faltered, glanced
uneasily behind them, and finally ran, panic-stricken, towards
Santiago, while Rough Riders and regulars swarmed with exulting yells
and howls of triumph into the abandoned trenches. The first land
battle of the war had been fought and won. Wood, Roosevelt, Young,
Rough Riders, and regulars had covered themselves with glory, and
performed a deed of heroism that will never be forgotten so long as the
story of the American soldier is told.
"If we only had our horses we could catch every one of those chaps,"
said Rollo Van Kyp, as he sat in a window of the ruined building just
captured by the Riders, happily swinging his legs and fanning himself
with his hat. The young millionaire's face was black with powder,
covered with blood from the scratching of thorns, and streaked with
trickling perspiration. His shirt and trousers were in rags.
"It's a beastly shame we weren't allowed to bring them," he continued,
"for this fighting on foot in the tropics is disgustingly hot work.
Now if I were in Teddy's place--"
"Private Van Kyp," interrupted Sergeant Norris, sternly, "instead of
criticising your superiors you had better go and wash your face, for
your personal appearance is a disgrace to the troop. But oh, Rollo!"
he added, unable longer to maintain the assumed dignity under which he
had tried to hide his exultation, "wasn't it a bully fight? and aren't
you glad we're here? and don't you wish the home folks could see us at
this very minute?"