Forward, March, Kirk Munroe [some good books to read .txt] 📗

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!"

CHAPTER XXIII 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