Kirk Munroe - Forward, March

K >> Kirk Munroe >> Forward, March

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

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?"

CHAPTER XXIV

FACING SAN JUAN HEIGHTS

The fight of Las Guasimas, in which Rough Riders and colored regulars
covered themselves with glory, was only a first brisk skirmish between
the advanced outposts of opposing armies, but its influence on both
sides was equal to that of a pitched battle. It furnished a notable
example of the steadiness and bull-dog tenacity of the American
regular, as well as the absolute fearlessness and determination to win,
at any cost, of the dudes and cowboys banded under the name of Rough
Riders. It afforded striking proof that it is not the guns, but the
men behind them, who win battles, since an inferior force, unsupported
by artillery, and unprovided with bayonets, had charged and driven from
strong intrenchments nearly four times their own number of an enemy
armed with vastly superior weapons. It inspired the Americans with
confidence in themselves and their leaders, while it weakened that of
the Spaniards in both. To the Rough Riders it was a glorious and
splendidly won victory, and as they swarmed over the intrenchments,
from which the fire of death had been so fiercely hurled at them that
morning, they yelled themselves hoarse with jubilant cheers.

Then came the reaction. They were exhausted with the strain of
excitement and their tremendous exertions under the pitiless tropical
sun. Strong men who had fought with tireless energy all at once found
themselves trembling with weakness, and the entire command welcomed the
order to make camp on the grassy banks of a clear stream shaded by
great trees.

In their baptism of fire eight of the Riders had been killed outright,
thirty-four more were seriously wounded, and fully half of the
remainder could show the scars of grazing bullets or tiny clean-cut
holes through their clothing, telling of escapes from death by the
fraction of an inch. Ridge Norris, for instance, found a livid welt
across his chest, looking as though traced by a live coal, and marking
the course of a bullet that, with a hair's deflection, would have ended
his life, while Rollo Van Kyp's hat seemed to have been an especial
target for Spanish rifles.

After regaining their breath, and receiving assurance that the enemy
had retreated beyond their present reach, these two, in company with
many others, went back over the battle-field to look up the wounded,
and bring forward the packs flung aside at the beginning of the fight.

At sunset that evening the Riders buried their dead, in a long single
grave lined with palm-leaves, on a breezy hill-side overlooking the
scene of their victory. The laying to rest of these comrades, who only
a few hours before, had been so full of life with all its hopes and
ambitions, was the most impressive ceremony in which any of the
survivors had ever engaged. It strengthened their loyalty and devotion
to each other and to their cause as nothing else could have done, and
as the entire command gathered close about the open grave to sing
"Nearer my God to Thee," many a voice was choked with feelings too
solemn for expression, and many a sun-tanned cheek was wet with tears.
The camp of the Rough Riders was very quiet that night, and the events
of the day just closed were discussed in low tones, as though in fear
of awakening the sleepers on the near-by hill-side.

After the fight of Las Guasimas, its heroes rested and waited for six
days, while the remainder of the army effected its landing and made its
slow way to the position they had won over the narrow trails they had
cleared. These days of waiting were also days of vast discomfort, and
the patient endurance of drenching tropical rains and steaming heat,
the wearing of the same battle-soiled clothing day after day and night
after night, and, above all, of an ever-present hunger, that sapped
both strength and spirits. They had started out with but three days'
rations, and four days passed before a scanty supply of hard-tack,
bacon, and coffee began to dribble into camp. The road to Siboney,
flooded by constant rains, bowlder-strewn, and inches deep in mud, was
for a long time impassable to wagons; and during those six days such
supplies of food and ammunition as reached the idle army were brought
to it by three trains of pack-mules that toiled ceaselessly back and
forth between the coast and the front, bringing the barest necessities
of life, but nothing more.

So the American army suffered and prayed to be led forward, while the
Spaniards between them and Santiago strengthened their own position
with every hour, and confidently awaited their coming. The invaders
now occupied the Sevilla plateau, and were within five miles of the
city they sought to capture. In their front lay a broad wooded valley,
to them an unknown region, and on its farther side rose a range of
hills, that Ridge Norris told them were the San Juan Heights, strongly
protected by block-houses, rifle-pits, and bewildering entanglements of
barbed wire, a feature of modern warfare now appearing for the first
time in history. With their glasses, from the commanding eminence of
El Poso Hill, crowned with the ruined buildings of an abandoned
plantation, the American officers could distinctly see the Spaniards at
work on their intrenchments a mile and a half away, and note the
ever-lengthening lines of freshly excavated earth.

But for six days the army waited, and its artillery, which was expected
to seriously impair, if not utterly destroy the effectiveness of those
ever-growing earthworks, still reposed peacefully on board the ships
that had brought it to Cuba. Only two light batteries had been landed,
and on the sixth day after Las Guasimas these reached the front. At
the same time came word that General Pando with 5000 Spanish
reinforcements was nearing the besieged city from the north. In that
direction, and only three miles from Santiago, lay the fortified
village of Caney, held by a strong force of Spanish troops. If it were
captured, Pando's advance might be cut off. So General Shafter, coming
ashore for the first time a week after the landing of his troops,
planned a forward movement with this object in view. Lawton's division
was to capture Caney, and then swing round so as to sever all outside
communication with Santiago. While he was doing this, demonstrations
that should deter the Spaniards from sending an additional force in
that direction were to be made against San Juan and Aguadores. These
movements were to occupy one day, and on the next the reunited army was
to attack the entire line of the San Juan ridge. In the mean time no
one knew anything of the valley lying between this strongly protected
ridge and those who proposed to capture it.

So the order was issued, and late in the afternoon of June 30th, in a
pouring rain, the camps were broken, and the drenched army eagerly
began its forward movement. Lawton's division marching off to the
right slipped and stumbled through the mud along a narrow, almost
impassable, trail over the densely wooded hills until eight o'clock
that evening, when, within a mile of Caney, it lay down for the night
in the wet grass without tents or fire, and amid a silence strictly
enjoined, for fear lest the Spaniards should discover its presence, and
run away before morning.

At the same time Wheeler's division of dismounted cavalry, including
the Rough Riders and Kent's infantry division, advanced as best it
could over the horrible Santiago road, ankle-deep in mud and water, to
El Poso Hill, on and about which it passed a wretchedly uncomfortable
night. Seven thousand heavily equipped men, mingled with horses,
artillery, pack-mules, and army wagons, all huddled into a narrow gully
slippery with mud, advance so slowly, however eager they may be to push
forward, that although the movement was begun at four o'clock, midnight
found the rearmost regiment still plodding wearily forward.

With the coming of daylight, on July 1st, the army lay beneath a dense
blanket of mist that spread its wet folds over the entire region they
were to traverse. It was eight o'clock before Grimes's battery of four
light field-pieces, posted on El Poso Hill, opened an ineffective fire
upon the heights across the broad valley. For twenty minutes the
Spaniards paid no attention to the harmless barking of the little guns;
then the smoke cloud hanging over them proved so admirable and
attractive a target that they could no longer resist firing at it. So
shells began to fall about the battery with such startling accuracy
that a score of Americans and Cubans gathered near it were killed or
wounded before they could seek shelter. Among these first victims of
the San Juan fight were several of the Rough Riders.

About this time General Sumner, temporarily in command of the cavalry,
was ordered to advance his troops into the valley as far as the edge of
the wooded belt, and within half a mile of the San Juan batteries.

"What shall I do when I get there?" asked General Sumner.

"Await further orders," was the curt reply.

There were other changes in commands that morning; for
Brigadier-General Young, being prostrated by a fever, the Colonel of
the Rough Riders was assigned to his duties, and became "General" Wood
from that hour. At the same time his Lieutenant-Colonel stepped into
the vacancy thus created, and as "Colonel" Roosevelt was destined to
win for himself and his dashing command immortal fame before the
setting of that day's sun.

So the Rough Riders, together with five other regiments of dismounted
cavalry, started down the deep-cut road, which in places was not over
ten feet wide, and was everywhere sticky with mud, while an entire
infantry division was crowded into it behind them. Like all other
roads in that country, this one, now densely packed with human beings
advancing at a snail's pace along nearly three miles of its length, was
bordered on both sides by an impenetrable tropical jungle.

The Spaniards were advised of the forward movement, and though they
could not see it, were already directing a hot fire at this road, of
whose location they were, of course, well aware, and from the outset
dead and wounded men marked the line of American progress. After a
mile of marching under these conditions, the foremost troops came to a
place where the San Juan River crossed the road. A short distance
beyond it crossed again, thus forming the ox-bow to be known ever after
that memorable day as the "Bloody Bend." A little farther on was open
country, and here General Sumner obeyed instructions by deploying his
troopers to the right in a long skirmish line on the edge of the
timber. In this position they lay down, sheltering themselves as best
they could behind bushes or in the tall hot grass, and anxiously
awaited further orders from headquarters. The Spanish fire, which they
might not return, was ceaseless and pitiless, though because of absence
of smoke none could see whence it came.

Already the loss in killed and wounded was assuming alarming
proportions, and still on-coming troops were pouring into that Bloody
Bend, where they must accept, with what fortitude they could command,
their awful baptism of fire. Fifty feet above their heads floated the
observation balloon of the engineers, betraying their exact position
and forming an admirable focus for the enemy's fire, which, after
awhile, to the vast relief of every one, shot the balloon to pieces so
that it dropped from sight among the trees.

For hours the troops waited thus in the frightful tropical heat,
monuments of patient endurance. The dead and the living lay side by
side, though such of the wounded as could be reached were dragged back
to dressing-stations on the river-banks. Even here they were not safe,
for the dense foliage that afforded a grateful shade also concealed
scores of Spanish sharp-shooters. These maintained a cowardly and
deadly fire, the source of which could rarely be discovered, upon all
coming within range, regardless of whether they were wounded men,
surgeons in discharge of their duties, hospital stewards, or Red Cross
assistants, thus adding a fresh horror to warfare.

It was a terrible position, and the American army was being cut to
pieces without a chance to fire a gun in self-defence. To advance
appeared suicidal, to attempt a retreat meant utter destruction. No
orders could come over the blockaded road from the Commander-in-Chief,
miles in the rear, nor could word of the awful situation be sent back
to him in time. The men thus trapped gazed at one another with the
desperate look of hunted animals brought to bay. Must they all die,
and was there no salvation?

Suddenly a mounted officer dashed into the open, pointing with his
sword to the nearest hill crowned by a block-house. Then through a
storm of bullets he spurred towards it, and, with a mighty yell ringing
high above the crash of battle, his men sprang after him.

CHAPTER XXV

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."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14