RIDGE WINS HIS SWORD
A few minutes before this, while the Rough Riders lay in sullen
despair, with death on all sides and filling the air above them, a
staff-officer from headquarters, keenly anxious concerning the
situation and for the honor of his chief, appeared among them.
Whatever happened, he could not afford to betray uneasiness or fear.
So he walked erect as calmly as though inspecting troops on parade,
apparently unconscious of the bullets that buzzed like hornets about
him. He was studying the position of the several regiments, and his
face lighted with a smile as he found himself among the men of the
First Volunteer Cavalry.
"Hello, Rough Riders!" he cried. "Glad to see you taking things so
cool and comfortable. By-the-way, there is a promotion for one of you
waiting at headquarters. It came by cable last evening. Sergeant
Norris is promoted to a lieutenancy for distinguished service. If any
one knows where he is, let the word be passed. It may be an
encouragement for him to hear the good news."
Those men near enough to catch the officer's words raised a cheer, and
Ridge, who lay among them, sprang to his feet with a flushed face.
"That's him!" shouted Rollo Van Kyp, and the officer, stepping forward
with extended hand, said, "I congratulate you, Lieutenant Norris, and
am proud to make your acquaintance."
At that moment Colonel Roosevelt, on horseback, and so forming the most
conspicuous target for Spanish bullets on the whole field, dashed to
the front, pointed to the nearest block-house, and called upon his men
to follow him. With a yell they sprang forward, and Ridge, being
already on his feet, raced with the front rank.
In line with the Rough Riders were their fighting partners, the black
riders of the Tenth United States Cavalry, and at the first intimation
of an advance these leaped forward in eager rivalry of their white
comrades. Across the plain they charged, and then up the steep
hill-side, while the Spanish fire doubled in fury, and the tall grass
in front of them was cut as though by the scythe of a mower.
Spectators in the rear gazed appalled at the thin line of troopers thus
rushing to what seemed certain destruction.
"It is not war--it is suicide!" cried a foreign attache.
Whatever it was, it afforded an example that others were quick to
follow, and the moment the intention of the Rough Riders became
evident, regiment after regiment on the left--dismounted cavalry and
infantry, regulars and volunteers, Hawkins's men and Kent's--broke from
the cover that had afforded them so little protection, and swept across
the open towards the deadly intrenchments crowning the main ridge of
San Juan Heights. There was no order for this glorious charge. The
commanding generals had not even contemplated such a bit of splendid
but reckless daring. Even now, so hopeless did it seem, they would
have stopped it if they could; but they might as well have tried to
arrest the rush of an avalanche by wishing. It was a voluntary
movement of men goaded beyond further endurance by suffering and
suspense. As one of the foreign military spectators afterwards said,
"It was a grand popular uprising, and, like most such, it proved
successful."
The Rough Riders and the negro troopers who charged with them had no
bayonets, and did but little firing until more than half-way up the
hill they had undertaken to capture. With carbines held across their
breasts, they simply moved steadily forward without a halt or a
backward glance. Behind them the slope was dotted with their dead and.
wounded, but the survivors took no heed of their depleted ranks.
Roosevelt, with the silken cavalry banner fluttering beside him, led
the way, and there was no man who would not follow him to the death.
Half-way up the hill-side Ridge Norris pitched headlong to the ground,
and some one said: "Poor fellow! News of his promotion came just in
time." As the young Lieutenant fell, another officer, cheering on his
men immediately behind him, also dropped, pierced with bullets. The
sword that he had been waving was flung far in advance, and as Ridge,
who had only stumbled over an unnoticed mound of earth, regained his
feet unharmed, he saw it lying in front of him and picked it up. He
was entitled to carry a sword now, and here was one to his hand.
The Spaniards could not believe that these few men, frantically
climbing that bullet-swept hill-side, would ever gain the crest. So
they doggedly held their position, firing with the regularity of
machines, and expecting with each moment to see the American ranks melt
away or break in precipitate night. They did melt away in part, but
not wholly, and their only flight was a very slow one that bore them
steadily upward.
Just under the brow of the hill they paused for a long breath, and then
leaped forward in a fierce final rush. Over the rifle-pits they
poured, tearing down the barbed-wire barricades with their bare hands,
and making a dash for the block-house. Already the dismayed Spaniards
were streaming down the farther side of the hill. A last withering
volley crashed from the loop-holed building, and then its defenders
also took to panic-stricken flight. In another minute the flaunting
banner of Spain had been torn down, and the stars and stripes of
freedom waved proudly in its place. At the same moment, from earthwork
and rifle-pit fluttered the yellow silk flags of the cavalry and the
troop guidons; while to distant ears the news of victory was borne by
the cheer of exhausted but intensely happy men.
Many of them were for the moment incapable of further effort, but as
many more, inspired with fresh strength by success, dashed down the
opposite side of the hill in pursuit of the flying Spaniards. Among
these was Ridge Norris, waving his newly acquired sword, and yelling
that there were other hills yet to be captured. A few minutes later
these found themselves madly charging, for a second time, up a steep,
bullet-swept slope in company with other cavalrymen and long lines of
infantry. Now they were assaulting San Juan Heights, defended by the
strongest line of works outside of Santiago. The Spaniards had deemed
the position impregnable, and so it would have been to any troops on
earth save Americans or British; but the men now swarming up its
slippery front not only believed it could be taken, but that they could
take it. And they did take it, as the first hill had been taken, by
sheer pluck and dauntless determination. In vain did the Spaniards
hurl forth their deadliest fire of machine-gun and rifle. The grim
American advance was as unchecked as that of an ocean tide. Finally it
surged with a roar like that of a storm-driven breaker over the crest,
and dashed with resistless fury against the crowning fortifications.
In another minute the Spaniards were in full flight, and from the
hard-won heights of San Juan thousands of panting, cheering, jubilant
Yankee soldiers were gazing for the first time upon the city of
Santiago, which, only three miles away, lay at their feet, and
apparently at their mercy.
While the troops who had thus stormed and carried San Juan were
exulting over their almost incredible victory, word came that Lawton's
men had performed a similar feat at Caney, and after hours of
ineffective firing had finally won the forts by direct and unsupported
assault.
Thus the entire line of Santiago's outer defences, many miles in
length, had fallen to the Americans; but could they hold them until the
arrival of their artillery? This was the question anxiously discussed
at headquarters, where several of the Generals declared immediate
retreat to be the only present salvation of the American army. The
existing fortifications of San Juan Heights were unavailable for use
against the Spaniards, and it did not seem possible that the tired
troops could dig new ones in time. The enemy had as yet suffered but
slight losses, and still occupied his inner line of forts,
block-houses, and rifle-pits, nearly, if not quite, as strong as those
just won from him. Beyond lay Santiago, with barricaded streets,
loop-holed walls, and everywhere bewildering mazes of barbed wire.
While the commanding officers discussed the situation, arguing hotly
for and against retreat, their men dug trenches along the farther crest
of the San Juan hills. All night long they worked by the light of a
full moon, excavating the gravelly soil with bayonet and meat-tin,
filling hundreds of bags with sand, and laying them in front of the
shallow pits, with little spaces between them, through which
rifle-barrels might be thrust. At the same time they scooped out
terraces on the slope up which they had charged, and there pitched
their camps, a long way from drinking-water, but close to the
firing-line. Thus by daylight they were ready for any movement the
enemy might make. Nor were they prepared any too quickly, for with
earliest dawn the Spaniards opened a heavy fire, both artillery and
rifle, on the American position. In places the opposing lines were not
three hundred yards apart, and across this narrow space the Spanish
fire was poured with unremitting fury for fourteen consecutive hours.
The Americans only returned this fire by an occasional rifle-shot, to
show that they were still on hand, and through the interminable hours
of that blistering day they simply clung by sheer grit to the heights
they had won.
On the previous day the Americans had lost over a thousand men killed
or wounded, and during the present one-sided fight one hundred and
seven more fell victims to Spanish bullets; but the trenches had been
held, and that day's work settled forever the question of their
retention.
In the mean time Lieutenant Norris, who had miraculously escaped unhurt
from the very front of two fierce charges, was curious to know whose
sword he was carrying; and so, after San Juan Heights had been safely
won, he strolled back over the battle-field to try and discover its
owner. After a long search he found the little mound of earth over
which he had stumbled, and was startled to see it was a recently made
grave. Beside it lay an officer in Rough Rider uniform, face down, and
wearing an empty scabbard. His, then, was the sword; but who was he?
A gentle turning of the still body revealed the placidly handsome
features of the young New-Mexican, Arthur Navarro. Near the grave,
across which one of his arms had been flung, as though lovingly, lay a
wooden cross bearing a rudely cut inscription in Spanish. It had
evidently been overthrown by the charging Americans. Now Ridge picked
it up, read the inscription, and stared incredulous. "Captain Ramon
Navarro, Royal Spanish Guards. Died for his country, June 22, 1898."
"My friend Ramon, killed the very day he saved me from capture!"
murmured Ridge. "But how marvellous that they should have buried him
here, that his grave should have saved my life by giving me that fall,
and that the bullets intended for me should have taken the life of the
cousin who was to have been his partner!"
So the two, one from the New World and one from the Old, who loved each
other, but had been separated during life by the calls of duty, were
united in death; for they buried the young New-Mexican close beside his
Spanish cousin, and the grasses of San Juan Hill wave above them both.
Wearing the sword thus intrusted to him, and which he would send to
far-away New Mexico at the earliest opportunity, Lieutenant Norris bore
his full share of the second day's fighting on San Juan Heights. Late
that night, as he was coming in from the trenches, he was called to
General Sumner's tent to act as interpreter. A deserter, apparently a
Spanish sailor, had just been brought in, and was evidently trying to
convey some important information that no one present could understand.
"He says," exclaimed Ridge, after listening intently to the man, "that
Admiral Cervera's ships--coaled, provisioned, and under full head of
steam--are about to make a dash from the harbor. He thinks they will
start soon after sunrise, or when our ships have drawn off to their
accustomed day-time distance."
Although the reliability of this startling news was very doubtful, it
was deemed of sufficient importance to be immediately transmitted to
Admiral Sampson.
"Who is the best rider in your command?" asked the General, turning to
Colonel Roosevelt, who had assisted at the examination of the Spanish
deserter.
"Lieutenant Norris," was the unhesitating answer.
"Then let Mr. Norris take my orderly's horse, make his way with all
speed to Siboney, press into service the first steam craft he comes
across, and carry this fellow's statement, with my compliments, to
Admiral Sampson."
Five minutes later our young trooper, once more on horseback, and in a
blaze of excitement, was galloping for dear life over the rugged road
by which the army had come from the coast.