Kirk Munroe - Forward, March

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"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.

CHAPTER XXVI

MUTINY ON A TRANSPORT

On the memorable morning of July 3d the sun had risen from the fog-bank
that promised a hot day before our young trooper, wearied and
mud-bespattered with his journey, and his face still powder-grimed with
the smoke of the day's fighting, rode into the village of Siboney. It
no longer presented the scenes of excited bustle and eager enthusiasm
that had marked it on the eve of Las Guasimas, for the army had
departed long since, and only its shattered wrecks of humanity had
drifted back. Now Siboney was a place of suffering and death; for here
had been established the hospitals to which wounded men limped
painfully from the distant front, or were brought in heavily jolting
army wagons.

On this peaceful Sunday morning--for it was Sunday, though Ridge did
not know it at the time--a great stillness brooded over Siboney, and
almost the only persons visible were medical attendants, who moved
quietly about the big hospital tents or the fever-infested buildings
that had been pressed into the same service.

In the little harbor lay but a single steam-vessel, a transport, though
others could be dimly seen far out at sea, where they spent most of
their time, which fact largely accounted for the woful lack of supplies
at the front. A boat from the single ship that had ventured into the
harbor lay on the beach discharging freight. To it Ridge hurried, and,
addressing himself to the man who appeared to be in charge, said:

"I have an important communication for the Captain of your ship. Will
you take me off to her?"

With a contemptuous glance at the disreputable-looking young trooper,
the man answered:

"See about it when I get ready to go."

"Please make haste, then, for my business is very important, and I am
in a great hurry."

"Oh, you be. Reckon you'd better swim out, then, for I've been hurried
by you landlubbers 'bout as much as I propose to be on this v'y'ge."

Ridge's face flushed, and he wanted to make an angry retort; but there
was no other boat available, and he could not afford to throw away this
chance. So he bit his lips and silently watched the deliberate
movements of the men, who seemed to find a pleasure in aggravating him
by their slowness.

The boat could have been unloaded in five minutes, but the operation
was made to consume a half-hour, during which time Ridge stood silent,
though with finger-nails digging into the palms of his clinched hands.
All at once, without a word of warning, the boat's crew began to shove
their craft from the beach.

"Hold on!" cried Ridge, springing forward. "I am going with you."

"Why aren't you aboard, then?" asked the mate, with a grin, as his men
gave another shove that launched the boat into deep water.

Leaping into the sea, Ridge barely succeeded in clutching a gunwale and
pulling himself aboard, amid chuckles of laughter from the crew. His
ducking had not improved his personal appearance, and as he now sat in
the bow of the boat dripping water from every point, he formed an
object for so much rude wit and coarse merriment, that upon reaching
the transport he was furious with pent-up wrath.

On gaining the deck of the ship he hurried forward, and found her
Captain smoking an after-breakfast cigar in his comfortably appointed
cabin.

"Well, sir, who are you? and what do you want?" demanded this
individual, as Ridge presented himself at the door.

"I am an army officer bearing a message of the utmost importance from
General Sumner to Admiral Sampson; and as this is the only steam-vessel
in the harbor, I have come to ask that you will carry me to the
flag-ship."

"If you haven't got cheek!" ejaculated the Captain. "So you are an
army officer, are you?"

"That is what I said."

"You don't look it. Are you the Quartermaster-General?"

"Certainly not."

"Thought not. Didn't know but what you'd claim to be, though, since
he's the only army officer that I take orders from."

"But I am not giving an order. I am making a request that any American
should be glad to grant, seeing that my message concerns the safety of
the United States fleet, and may alter the whole course of the war."

"What is it?" demanded the Captain, bluntly.

"You have no business to ask," replied Ridge. "At the same time I will
tell you, that you may be induced to get your ship under way the more
quickly. The Spanish squadron is about to make a dash from Santiago
Harbor with the hope of taking our fleet by surprise and escaping."

"What is that to me?" asked the Captain, coolly.

"What is that to you!" cried Ridge. "Why, some of our ships may be
destroyed if they are not warned in time."

"That is their lookout, not mine. Besides, Uncle Sam can afford to pay
for them; while if this ship should be injured the loss would fall on
the owners, and I should lose my job."

"Do you mean that you refuse to take me out to the flag-ship?"

"Of course I do," responded the Captain; "and not one foot nearer to
it, or to any other warship, does my vessel move this day than she is
at present."

"Then, sir," said Ridge, still struggling to maintain his calmness, "I
will thank you to set me ashore again, as speedily as possible."

"Why should I set you ashore?" asked the Captain, with exasperating
indifference. "You came on board without an invitation, and now you
may stay here until the next boat is ready to run in, which will be in
the course of an hour or two."

"By which time half the American fleet may have been destroyed for lack
of warning," groaned Ridge. Then he added, his face blazing with
anger: "I hope you are not an American, and I don't believe you can be,
for you are a traitor, a coward, and a contemptible cur. I only hope I
may meet you again some time when I am off duty, and can give you the
thrashing you deserve."

"All right, my young mud-lark," replied the Captain. "I'll give you a
dose of medicine whenever you want it. Now clear out of here, and
don't let me catch sight of you again!"

Ridge did not hear these last words, for he was already walking rapidly
aft, filled with a tumult of rage and perplexity. What ought he to do?
What could he do? Was ever any one so utterly helpless in a crisis of
such importance? Not until he reached the extreme after part of the
ship did a ray of light break upon the situation. Then he caught sight
of a yacht steaming swiftly into the harbor. She might be a
despatch-boat, or a destroyer, or any one of half a dozen things; but
whatever she was, she could help him if she only would.

Close at hand was a jack-staff upholding an American ensign. Acting
upon the impulse of his despair. Ridge hauled down this flag, and then
half-masted it, union down, thus making a signal of distress that
called for prompt aid from any vessel sighting it. Then he gazed
eagerly at the swiftly approaching yacht. She must have noticed his
signal, for she was now headed directly for the transport, and Ridge,
clinging with one hand to an awning stanchion as he stood on the rail,
frantically waved his hat.

Suddenly a bellow of rage close at hand caused him to look in-board.
The Captain of the transport, his face purple with passion, was rushing
towards the jack-staff.

"How dare you hoist the signal of a mutiny?" he howled. "I'll show--"

"Because there is one on board," shouted Ridge, springing in front of
the infuriated man, and at the same moment whipping out his revolver.
"Halt where you are!" he added, fiercely. "For if you dare touch that
flag before I am through with it I will blow out your traitorous
brains!"

The Captain, cowed by the steadily levelled muzzle of that pistol,
obeyed this order and stood still; but at the same time he yelled for
any of the transport's crew who might be within hearing to tumble aft
in a hurry.

In another minute they came--mates, deck-hands, engineers, stewards,
and stokers--blocking the narrow gangways on either side of the
deck-house. But beyond this they dared not go; for they too were
confronted by that levelled pistol, and its holder's assurance that he
would fire at the first man who advanced another step.

Thus the single figure with a cocked revolver and the unarmed mob that
it held at bay faced each other for a full minute, during which time
the purple-faced Captain raved, foamed at the mouth, and, with bitter
curses, ordered his men to make a rush at the young pirate. That they
did not obey was because of the unflinching steadiness of the young
pirate's gaze, which they realized would detect their slightest forward
movement.

All at once Ridge caught a glimpse of a man on the roof of the
deck-house, just as he dodged from sight behind the life-raft. He
thought he had also seen a gun in the man's hand. The next instant he
sprang over the ship's rail into the sea, and as he did so a shot rang
out behind him. It was not repeated when he came to the surface, for
the very good reason that an armed boat from the steam-yacht was so
close at hand, that ere the young trooper had cleared his eyes of salt
water, its occupants were hauling him aboard.

"Sergeant Norris!" cried an amazed voice from the stern sheets. "Can
it be possible?"

"Lieutenant Norris, if you please," answered our dripping hero, with
what dignity he could command. "But oh, Comly! get me aboard your ship
as quick as you can. It is a matter of life or death!"

"But I am ordered to investigate the mutiny on that transport" replied
the bewildered Ensign.

"I am the mutiny, and in capturing me you have got the whole of it,"
declared Ridge. "So, as you value your future prospects, get me aboard
the _Speedy_, before it shall be too late."

"All right," answered the young naval officer. "I'll risk it for your
sake. So here goes."

Once on board the despatch-boat our young trooper placed the whole
situation in a few words before Captain Boldwood, who no sooner
comprehended it than he ordered his little ship headed up the coast
with all speed.

"It will be almighty rough on the Admiral," he said to Ridge, "if
Cervera comes out while he is away, after all his careful planning and
weeks of weary waiting."

"What do you mean?"

"Only that Admiral Sampson has chosen to-day, of all days, to come down
here for an interview with General Shafter, and we were sent ahead to
make things ready for him at Siboney. He was to have followed us
within half an hour; but perhaps we can turn him back in time. At any
rate, we'll do our best."

So the little _Speedy_ flew back over the way she had just come,
displaying from her masthead as she went a string of gay bunting that
read:

"The enemy's ships are escaping."

CHAPTER XXVII

DESTRUCTION OF THE SPANISH SHIPS

As the _Speedy_ rounded the first headland those on board saw the great
war-ship they were to intercept coming leisurely down the coast, not
more than a mile away. The yacht fired a gun to call attention to her
momentous signal, and within a few seconds an answer, showing that it
was seen and understood, was displayed from the _New York_. At the
same time the latter began to turn, so as to retrace her course. She
had hardly begun the movement before the _Speedy_ slipped up under her
quarter.

"Where did you get your information?" called out Captain Chadwick
through a megaphone.

"Messenger from the Commanding General," was the answer.

"All right. Keep on, and warn the fleet, if you reach them before we
do."

"Ay, ay, sir!" and then the swift yacht had moved beyond range even of
a megaphone.

All at once the little group of officers gathered on the _Speedy's_
bridge, of course including Lieutenant Ridge Norris, knew that they
were not to have the honor of warning the fleet; for a line of smoke,
evidently moving seaward, appeared above the hills from the direction
of Santiago Bay.

"They are coming out!" cried the _Speedy's_ Captain; "and, if they have
the pluck to keep on, we are about to witness one of the greatest
sea-fights of the century."

If the entire American blockading fleet had been on hand the coming
contest would have been too unequal to be interesting. As it was, the
_Massachusetts_, _New Orleans_, and _Newark_ had gone to Guantanamo
after coal, while the _New York_ was too far away to take any active
part in the fighting. This left only the _Brooklyn_, _Oregon_, _Iowa_,
_Indiana_, and _Texas_ on guard, with the converted yachts _Gloucester_
and _Vixen_ acting as picket-boats.

The American ships lay some three miles off shore under low steam, and
their crews were preparing for Sunday morning inspection. Two of the
battle-ships were overhauling their forward turrets, and repairing
damages received during a bombardment of the forts on the previous day.
The _Brooklyn_ lay farthest to the westward, and the _Indiana_ at the
eastern end of the line, with the _Texas_, _Iowa_, and _Oregon_ between
them. Inshore of these were the two yachts.

In Santiago Bay, about to rush out on these unsuspecting ships, were
four of the finest cruisers in the world, possessed of greater speed
than any of the Americans except the _Brooklyn_, and under a full head
of steam: with them were two torpedo-boat destroyers, ranking among the
most powerful and swiftest of their class.

At half-past nine o'clock of that peaceful Sunday morning, as the
_Speedy_ was still some five miles to the eastward of Santiago Bay,
with the _New York_ just completing her turn, two miles farther down
the coast, a shot from the _Iowa_ drew attention to her fluttering
signal, "The enemy is escaping."

Almost at the same moment the same startling signal broke out from a
masthead of the _Texas_, which opened the battle with the mighty roar
of a twelve-inch shell. The _Brooklyn_ was also flying signal
250--"The enemy is escaping"--and within three minutes from the
discovery of that moving smoke behind the Morro her forward eight-inch
battery was in full play against the _Maria Teresa_, first of the
Spaniards to show her glistening hull around the point.

Dashing at full speed from the harbor-mouth, outlined by the smokeless
flames of her forward turret and port batteries, Admiral Cervera's
flag-ship was quickly headed to the westward, and for the most open
point of the blockade. Behind her steamed the _Vizcaya_, _Colon_,
_Oquendo_, and the torpedo-boats _Furor_ and _Pluton_.

During the whole long blockade, the one standing order given by Admiral
Sampson to cover an emergency like the present had been, "Should the
enemy come out, close in and engage."

Now the ships that he had left on guard did close in with what speed
they could command, while their sweating stokers toiled like demons in
the hideous heat of the fire-rooms to produce still greater heat and
more steam. As the on-rushing Spaniards cleared the harbor's mouth,
every American ship was moving towards them and delivering a fire so
incredibly terrific and of such deadly accuracy that its like was never
known in the whole history of naval warfare.

At the outset the little _Gloucester_, commanded by
Lieutenant-Commander Richard Wainwright, who had been navigating
officer of the _Maine_ at the time of her destruction, made a dash for
her legitimate opponents, the two torpedo-boats. They in turn sought
shelter behind the _Oquendo_, and for a minute it looked as though the
yacht were about to attack the big cruiser. Then the _Texas_ began to
pay particular attention to the _Oquendo_; and, seemingly content to
leave her in such good hands, the Gloucester again started after the
destroyers. Suddenly a great shell from the _Indiana_, hurled over the
yacht, struck one of them fairly amidships, and, with a roar heard high
above the din of firing, the unfortunate boat plunged to the bottom,
carrying with her all on board.

The _Gloucester_ now directed her energies against the remaining
destroyer, running well within range of the shore batteries to get at
her, and within ten minutes had so riddled her with a storm of small
projectiles that she lowered her colors, turned in towards the beach,
struck on a reef, and in another moment was being helplessly pounded to
pieces by the surf. At the same time small boats from the plucky yacht
that had placed her in this sad plight were busily engaged in rescuing
such of her crew as could be reached.

In the mean time both the _Teresa_ and _Oquendo_ had received so
frightful a fire from the _Indiana_, _Iowa_, and _Texas_, that within
six miles of Santiago Harbor the former, enveloped in flames, and no
longer capable of defending herself, was also headed for the beach,
where the gallant little _Gloucester_ soon afterwards came to her
assistance and rescued hundreds of her perishing crew, including brave
old Admiral Cervera.

A few minutes later the _Almirante Oquendo_, with colors lowered and
flames pouring from her open ports, also turned slowly inshore, and was
beached within half a mile of the Spanish flag-ship. It was only forty
minutes since the fight began; but in that short space four of the
Spanish squadron had been destroyed, without loss of life to the
Americans, and but slight damage to their ships. With the burning
_Teresa_ and _Oquendo_ stayed the battle-ship _Indiana_, her men
working in eager emulation with those of the _Gloucester_ to save the
lives of their recent enemies.

The next victim to succumb beneath the terrible American fire was the
superb _Vizcaya_, which, pounded to death by the _Brooklyn_, _Oregon_,
and _Texas_, was run on the beach at Aserraderos, seventeen miles west
of Santiago Bay, a few minutes after eleven o'clock. Like her
unfortunate consorts, she also was a mass of flame, and had no sooner
struck than scores of her people leaped overboard to escape being
roasted alive. Among these swimmers a body of Cuban troops poured a
cowardly fire from the beach; but Captain Evans of the _Iowa_ quickly
put a stop to that, and stood by the blazing wreck so long as there was
a Spaniard left to be rescued from flame or flood.

Of all Cervera's powerful squadron only a single ship was now left, the
swift _Cristobal Colon_, which, by keeping behind the others, had as
yet come to little harm. When the _Vizcaya_ was run ashore, the
_Colon_ was more than four miles ahead of her leading pursuer, the
_Brooklyn_. Close on the heels of the latter came the wonderful
battle-ship _Oregon_, which had unexpectedly developed such
extraordinary speed that, although starting next to the last of the
American ships, she now very nearly led the chase. Next behind her
came the _Texas_, while the superb _New York_, though still far in the
rear, was overhauling all three, and had the race been long enough
would eventually have exchanged broadsides with the _Colon_.

But she was not to be granted that satisfaction; for shortly after one
o'clock, when the chase had lasted two hours, the _Oregon_ threw a
couple of great thirteen-inch shells, at a range of five miles, so
close to the flying Spaniard that they deluged her with tons of water.
Upon this, to the surprise of every one, and without making any sort of
a fight, the finest ship of the Spanish navy lowered her flag and was
headed in for the beach. After she had thus surrendered, and before
the Americans could board, she was wrecked by her own crew, who opened
sea-valves, smashed out dead lights, threw overboard the breech-blocks
of their great guns, and in many other ways worked what destruction
they could in the time allotted. As a result of this vandalism, the
fine ship rolled over on her side soon after striking, and would have
slipped off into deep water had not the _New York_ rammed her to a
better position higher up the beach.

Thus was destroyed the fine squadron that had been a menace to the
Americans ever since the war began. Spain's loss was 600 human lives,
1200 prisoners, and six ships, valued at $12,000,000; while that of the
Americans was one man killed and three wounded, all on the _Brooklyn_,
together with a few trifling injuries to the _Brooklyn_, _Iowa_, and
_Texas_.

And Ridge Norris, from the deck of the little _Speedy_, had been a
spectator of the whole affair from beginning to end. Thrilled with
such excitement as he had never before known, he had seen ship after
ship wearing the proud colors of Spain driven helplessly to the beach
by the withering blasts of Yankee gunnery, until all were destroyed.
Never before had our young American been so proud of his country and
his countrymen. Now his wonderful day was to be crowned with a great
honor; for, no sooner was it certain that the _Colon_ had surrendered,
than a message from the flag-ship bade the _Speedy_ return with all
haste to Siboney and land the army officer whom she had brought out,
that he might convey the glorious news to General Shafter and the men
in the trenches before Santiago.

"That's you, old man!" cried Ensign Comly, "And I envy you your present
job a heap more than I did the one you were undertaking the last time
we set you ashore."

So back past the blazing wrecks of Cervera's squadron and on to Siboney
dashed the despatch-boat. The transport from which Ridge had been
rescued that morning still lay in the harbor, and her Captain, hailing
the _Speedy_, eagerly asked for news; but none was given him, and he
was treated to a contemptuous silence that caused him to grow more
purple-faced than ever.

As Ridge was rowed ashore he directed Ensign Comly's attention to a
large steam-yacht painted lead-color in imitation of the war-ships, but
flying a Red Cross flag, that had evidently just arrived.

"She looks a little like Rollo Van Kyp's _Royal Flush_," he said; "but
what is her name? G-r-a-y--Gray man? Gray mare? Oh no, _Gray Nun_.
Queer name for a yacht, isn't it?"

"Yes; and those nurses on her deck don't look a bit like nuns," replied
Ensign Comly. "Believe I'll make a call if we lie here this evening,
for I understand that some of the nicest girls in the country have
enlisted under the Red Cross since you chaps were sent to Santiago."

"Wish I could join you," sighed Ridge; "only I haven't spoken to a girl
in so long that I shouldn't know what to say."

CHAPTER XXVIII

LAST SHOT OF THE CAMPAIGN

The American army occupying the muddy trenches before Santiago had been
rendered very unhappy that morning by a rumor that Cervera's ships had
made a dash from the harbor, evaded the blockade, and escaped almost
unharmed. How this rumor started no one knew, but it spread like
wildfire, and was generally believed. There was ample opportunity for
discussing it, since all firing had ceased, while under a flag of truce
an envoy from General Shafter demanded the surrender of Santiago. So
the men in the trenches were free to stand erect and stretch
themselves, to wander about, leaving their rifles in position between
the sand-bags, and even to make little fires, over which to boil cups
of coffee, all without drawing the fire of a single Spanish
sharp-shooter. It was a very novel sensation, and they enjoyed it. At
the same time they were not happy, for Cervera's ships had escaped.
What could the Yankee sailors have been about to let such a thing
happen? What a disgrace it was, and how the whole world would jeer!
Even Santiago seemed hardly worth capturing now.

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