scrub growth. From here General Alcantara, dismounting, went forward
alone on hands and knees. He stopped while yet in the shelter of the
dense underbrush and stood up. To his left lay a town--tile-roofed,
low houses, three rows of them, two rows having their back yards to
the sea. Beyond these was a gently shelving beach strewn with the
unpainted, dugout canoes of fishermen. Still farther, dotted here and
there with a dingy sail, was the blue of the Caribbean, its outermost
edge moving up and down upon the paler blue of the sky. To his right,
some two hundred yards away, was the curving line of a railroad, then
beach and boats, then sea again. And in the very foreground, seated
on the sand, under a sagging telegraph wire, was a man in khaki, fast
asleep, with his gun, muzzle end down, in a land-crab hole.
Alcantara now lowered himself again to creep on, and a moment later the
sentry awoke and found himself a prisoner.
Presently, from the south, there sounded a faint rumble. And soon,
far down the rusty rails, appeared a train. Alcantara gave a signal
to those who had come up from behind, and at once the Revolutionists
in khaki gathered the officers’ mounts and, taking the captured
sentry with them, went back along the road to the shelter of the sand
hummocks. The padre turned his gaited mule and single-footed after
them, concern written large on his round, florid face. The rest of the
company displayed their agitation. The soldiers craned and gestured,
or examined their arms. La Negrita and the other woman chattered under
their breath. The two _capitanes_ ran to and fro between Alcantara and
the black general, taking and bringing messages. The men with the pack
animals proceeded slowly toward the road gap in the shielding shrub.
Only one of them all was giving the hour a solemn beginning. This was
Manuelita, kneeling, bareheaded, in the sand, her hands clasped, her
eyes closed, her face upturned.
“_Santa María!_” she whispered, for once more she was praying.
When the train was less than half a mile away Alcantara drew a small
blue flag from his breast. It was of flimsy muslin, and showed at its
centre a cross of yellow, blue, and red. The general, having unfolded
it, held it in his right hand, so low that it could not be seen from
the town. Instantly similar colours were waved from the engine cab.
Again Alcantara signalled those behind, and the black general led them
forward. At their front was borne a large flag of the cause, fastened
to a bamboo pole.
When the train had crawled abreast of the Tacarigua force, its antique,
ramshackle coaches came to a stop. Out of them tumbled some sixty
soldiers, the heavy-set Pablo Montilla commanding. Alcantara saluted
silently and made off with two-thirds of his own men straight along the
track toward a railroad bridge in the town. As quietly, Tovar took the
remaining third, joined Montilla, and started toward a second bridge,
which crossed the Rio Curiepe at the main street. The train backed.
The ammunition-mules and -burros were held close to the track, where
stayed Maria and the other woman. But Manuelita, marking which way the
men of Rio Chico had gone, ran after, and fell in behind them.
That advance was made in two lines, the soldiers trotting single
file. Those on the track were heard from first. A shot rang out--then
another. Then the battered bugle sounded a few clear notes, which the
Mausers obeyed with a spatter of shots.
Now Tovar turned to his men with a cry: “_Adelante, muchachos!_”
The soldiers broke into a run, firing willy-nilly, and bunching
together at the bridge end.
“_Viva Montilla!_” they shouted. “_Viva Tovar!_”
Then came answering cries from across the bridge, where khaki uniforms
were swarming in a hasty rally, where shots were plentiful now, and a
drum was keeping up a steady _thump! thump!_
Behind the cluster of men on that bridge was Manuelita. She had no
thought of danger for herself, though the bullets were flying about
her. She did not even watch the khaki figures hurrying to oppose, or
those others spreading out between the bridges, lining the Curiepe
to prevent a crossing. Her gaze was upon the men of Rio Chico. Her
dust-rimmed eyes searched for one figure.
But now Tovar was leading _Los Salvadores_ across the stone-flagged
bridge. Officered by red-sashed men in blue, the front ranks of the
government received them with bayonets. Those in the background sent
upon them a hail of lead.
“Ah!”
The piercing cry that broke from Manuelita was heard above the
clashing of steel, the singing of bullets, the curses and _vivas_,
the shrieks of agony. There he was, _there_--in the very front of the
fight, laying about him with his _machete_. Her whole body trembled,
her heart fluttered, her breath came in gasps, she choked.
“_Madre de Dios!_” She clutched the spear-shaped knife. “Let me but get
at him first!”
But now she was rudely driven back. The government was gaining--it was
_machete_ to bayonet, and the latter’s deal was the more deadly. _Los
Salvadores_ retreated, one against another, clubbing their Mausers,
filling the air with their yells. Maria’s _coronel_ raced up, bringing
a futile order. For Pedro Tovar was out of earshot, in the front of
them all, still facing the enemy, but backing from the fierce onslaught
of the men in yellow.
But where was Ricardo? Manuelita could not see. Forgetful of personal
safety, she sprang upon the nearer iron rail of the bridge. And from
there, looking beyond the line of hand-to-hand combat, beyond the
van of the government, she saw him--lying flat upon the flags, arms
stretched out, face downward. At his curly head was a growing pool.
Like a flash, she was down and standing on the bridge. She flattened
herself against the hand rail to keep from being knocked off her feet.
Men of the Revolution struggled by her, bravely contesting each step of
the way. And now Pedro Tovar was beside her--losing his ground. And now
the khaki of the government was on every side.
“_Viva el Gobierno! Viva Domingo Morales!_”
_Los Salvadores_ were losing!
She saw more khaki-clad men running up from the tumbled-down church
in the _Plaza_--running straight toward the bridge, toward Ricardo,
helpless, but moving feebly now, turning his head from side to side as
if in pain. They would cut at him as they passed!
Another cry, and she made her way back along the hand rail to where
Tovar was swinging his black arms. Then on, beyond him, to where showed
the top of the Revolution’s colours. A moment, and she had seized the
bamboo pole, had unfurled the blue flag with its tricoloured cross.
Then, facing about, with cries again, she pushed her way toward the
black general.
“_Viva la Revolución!_” she cried.
Spent with their night march and with fighting, disheartened by
retreat, the motley forces of Montilla and Tovar now beheld a girl at
their front, waving aloft the flag of their cause. They hesitated;
then, spurred by the sight, stood fast.
And now, with cheers from Alcantara’s men to announce a victory at the
railroad bridge, there came the change of balance in that fight at the
other. A moment and the government was retreating, not foot by foot,
but quickly, up the gentle slope.
“_Viva la Revolución!_” was the whole shout now. And with a fearful
grin on his black face, Pedro Tovar cried on the men, cursed them into
fiercer fighting, struck them with the flat of his sabre.
And now the wavering blue flag was at the middle of the bridge, was on
the farther slope, was almost to the man lying face downward on the
approach--then, beside him.
Another hand caught the bamboo pole there, saving the riddled colours
from fluttering to the ground. Still the government fell backward,
still the Revolution pressed on. The bridge was cleared, except where
wounded or dead lay stretched upon the stone; the clash of weapons grew
less and less. The retreat of the government was a rout.
But back at the bridge, unmindful of victory, exhausted, yet not
realising that, sat Manuelita, a soldier’s head pillowed against her
breast, a wet cheek rested against a paler one.
“_Santa María!_” she sobbed, “he is alive--_alive_! _Madre de Dios_, I
thank thee!”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.