Kirk Munroe - Forward, March

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All at once a sound of shouting was borne faintly to their ears from
the distant rear. What had happened? Had they been outflanked by the
Spaniards and attacked from that direction? No, for a band was playing
on El Poso Hill, and the sound of shouting was advancing, like a roar
of the sea. No one looked towards Santiago now, but all eyes, turned
to the rear, were fixed on the point where the Sevilla road left the
timber. At this place they gazed in eager but silent anticipation.
Suddenly a horseman emerged from it and dashed at full speed across the
valley, waving his hat and yelling as he came.

Up the slope of San Juan Hill he charged and through the terraced
camps, that broke into a jubilant roar as he reached them. But he did
not pause until he had gained the very trenches, where among the
wondering Rough Riders he slipped wearily from his foam-flecked horse,
shouting huskily but exultantly as he did so:

"Sampson has destroyed the Spanish fleet! Not a ship escaped! I know,
for I saw the whole fight!"

"Hurrah!" "Hooray!" "Whoop-ee!" "Wow, wow, wow!" howled the Riders,
as in their wild jubilation they danced, hugged each other, and flung
things in the air. Then they raised Ridge high on their shoulders and
bore him as proudly aloft as though he alone had achieved the wonderful
victory of which he brought the news. Indeed, they seemed to believe
that but for his presence with the American ships things might perhaps
have gone differently, and Rollo Van Kyp only voiced the general
sentiment when he said:

"Lucky thing for Sampson that he had at least one 'Terror' along to see
that the scrap was conducted according to rules. How I wish, though,
that the _Nun_ had got here in time to take part in that fight, for she
can outfoot the old _Corsair_--_Gloucester_, I mean--almost two to one.
If she had only been on hand I believe she would have captured one of
these little fellows alive, before he had a chance to make the beach."

"The who?" asked Ridge, in perplexity, for the latter part of this
remark had been addressed to him alone.

"The _Nun_. _Gray Nun_ is her whole name. My yacht--used to be the
_Royal Flush_, you know. I offered her to the government as a gift, to
be converted into a war-ship. But they wouldn't accept her. So I
changed her name, and turned her over to the Red Cross people, to use
as long as they had need of her. Don't know, though, as they took me
up, for we left about that time, and I haven't heard since."

"But they did!" exclaimed Ridge. "And she reached Siboney to-day, for
I saw her there not more than two hours ago, flying a Red Cross flag,
and crowded with nurses."

"Good enough!" cried Rollo. "That is almost as fine news as the other.
The old _Flush_ must feel funny, though, all cluttered up with nurses,
for that isn't exactly the kind of a crowd she has been used to. Same
time, if my steward carried out the orders I wired him, she must be
loaded to the muzzle with good things to eat and drink, for I told him
to fill her up with the best to be had in New York City. So if any of
the fellows are hankering for a change of grub, all they've got to do
is to catch a fever or a Mauser bullet, and apply for a berth on the
Nun. For my own part I prefer hardtack, bacon, and good health; but
then tastes differ, you know."

"It was a splendid thing to do!" exclaimed Ridge; "and I don't believe
there is another in the command would have thought of it. The boys
will be prouder than ever of the old regiment to know that it contains
a fellow not only able but willing to do such a thing."

"Oh, pshaw!" replied Rollo, flushing. "There isn't one but would do as
much and more, only some of them don't happen to have yachts lying
idle. And you mustn't tell them, old man. I wouldn't for anything
have it get out that the _Nun_ is my boat. That's the reason I changed
her name. Some of them might think I was putting on airs, you know, if
it should get out that I kept my yacht here at Siboney."

"But you'll get leave to run down and see her, won't you?"

"Not much, I won't. The dear old skipper would be sure to give me
away, though his orders are not to mention my name in connection with
her."

So the bountiful supply of delicacies and comforts of every kind
provided by Rollo Van Kyp were distributed among the sick and wounded
in the Siboney hospitals, and many a fever-stricken patient owed his
life to the devoted care of the "gray nuns," as the nurses brought by
the yacht were generally called; but only Ridge Norris knew whose was
the generous forethought that had provided all these things.

In the mean time the truce, first declared on that memorable Sunday,
was extended from day to day, for one reason or another, for a week.
General Linares had been wounded early in the fighting, General Vara
del Rey had been killed at Caney, and the command of Santiago had
finally devolved upon General Toral. To him, then, was sent the
summons to surrender. This he refused to do, but begged for time in
which to remove women, children, and other non-combatants from the city
before it should be bombarded. This was allowed, and nearly 20,000 of
these helpless ones, frightened, bewildered, and half famished, were
driven from Santiago to seek such refuge as the surrounding country
might afford. War-wrecked and devastated as it was, its resources in
the way of food and shelter were so slender that hundreds of them died
from exposure, starvation, or disease, and but for the generosity of
the Americans, who fed them to the full extent of their ability,
thousands more must have perished.

And others came out from the beleaguered city; for an exchange of
prisoners had been effected, and just before sunset on the third day of
the truce three horsemen rode towards the American lines along the
palm-shaded highway leading from Santiago. Two of them were Spanish
officers, but one wore the white duck uniform of the American navy, and
behind him clattered an ambulance in which were seven of the proudest,
happiest sailormen ever turned loose from an enemy's prison. They were
Hobson and his men, the heroes of the _Merrimac_, free at last to
return to their own people. And never did heroes receive a more royal
welcome than that accorded this handful of blue-jackets by their
comrades of the army. From the outermost trenches all the way to
Siboney, where a launch awaited them, their progress was an ovation of
wildest enthusiasm. Every soldier of the thousands whom they
encountered first saluted and then cheered until he was hoarse, while
one regimental band after another crashed forth its most inspiring
music in their honor. Out on the star-lit sea lay the great flag-ship
from which these men had departed on their desperate mission more than
a month before, and when, late that evening, they again reached it,
they were once more safe at home with their work well done, and their
fame established forever.

For a week the truce continued, and while the Spaniards strengthened
their defences, the Americans lengthened their lines, built roads over
which to bring up their artillery, provided their camps with bomb-proof
shelters, and received reinforcements. Knowing all this, General Toral
still refused to surrender, and during the afternoon of Sunday, July
10th, the white flags were taken down and a bombardment of the city was
begun. For two hours, or until the coming of darkness, a heavy
cannonade with brisk rifle-fire was kept up by both sides, but with
little damage to either. With sunrise of the following morning it was
resumed.

"I wonder what it is all for?" asked Rollo Van Kyp, as he crouched in
the hot trench, industriously firing his carbine at the flashes from
the Spanish rifle-pits. "We don't seem to hit them, and they certainly
don't hit us. Now if Teddy would only order a charge, it would be
something sensible. But this play-fighting is disgusting!"

Just then a Spanish shell burst close above the heads of this
particular group of Rough Riders, and a fragment from it cut the staff
of the troop guidon, planted in the soft earth, so that the silken flag
fell outward. In an instant Rollo had leaped over the protecting
embankment, picked up the fallen flag, and, amid yells of approbation
from his comrades, restored it to its former position. Then,
half-turning and swinging his hat defiantly above his head, the daring
young trooper sprang back to his place of safety. As he did so,
something seemed to go wrong, and instead of landing on his feet he
pitched awkwardly, and then lay motionless in the bottom of the trench.

At the same moment trumpet and bugle along the whole line sounded the
order "cease firing," and once more the white flags of truce fluttered
in the sunlight. Santiago was again summoned to surrender; and this
time the summons was so seriously considered that, two days later, it
was obeyed. Although no one knew it at the time, the last shot of the
campaign had been fired and the war was virtually ended.

But the last shot had stricken down brave, generous, light-hearted
Rollo Van Kyp just as he had covered himself with glory and was within
a hair's-breadth of safety; for, as Lieutenant Norris knelt anxiously
beside his friend, the gallant young trooper lay as though dead, with
blood streaming over his face.

CHAPTER XXIX

TWO INVALID HEROES

Rollo Van Kyp, carefully lifted from the bloody trench in which he had
fought and suffered so cheerfully, was borne to the rear, and the
assistant surgeon of his regiment accompanied him to the hospital at
Siboney. Ridge Norris wanted to do this, but his duties would not
permit of his absence, for officers were becoming scarce, and as yet no
one knew but that the fighting might be resumed at any moment. So he
watched the departure of the ambulance with a heavy heart, and the
whole troop shared his sorrow at the loss of their well-loved comrade.

The next day the assistant surgeon returned and reported Rollo's wound
apparently so serious that there was little hope for him. "There was
just one chance," he added, in answer to Lieutenant Norris's anxious
inquiry for details, "and, by good luck, I secured it for him at the
last moment. He would surely have died in Siboney, but if he can get
home and into a Northern hospital he may pull through. By the greatest
good fortune a Red Cross ship was about to start for the States with a
number of the worst cases; and, just as she was sailing, I managed to
get Van Kyp aboard. She was so crowded that they weren't going to take
him, until her skipper--as big-hearted a Yankee sailorman as ever trod
a deck--said he would give up his own cabin rather than have a Rough
Rider left behind to die."

"What was his name?" asked Ridge.

"Haven't an idea."

"Do you know the name of the ship?"

"Yes, of course. She is the _Gray Nun_, a converted yacht."

"Rollo Van Kyp's own boat!" cried Ridge.

"You don't mean it?"

"I do." And then Ridge told all that he knew of his friend's splendid
contribution to the service that was doing more than the government
itself towards alleviating the sufferings of the American troops before
Santiago. When he finished, he said, "Of course the skipper recognized
Van Kyp?"

"No, he didn't," replied the other--"at least, not then, for the poor
chap's face was covered to protect it from the sun, and I didn't
mention his name until after he had been taken aboard, when I gave it
to the surgeon in charge. At first I only described him as a Rough
Rider wounded in recovering his troop flag, and the skipper said that
was all he wanted to know about him."

Besides his news of Rollo, the surgeon had brought from Siboney a
number of letters recently arrived there for the Rough Riders, and one
of these was handed to Ridge. Opening it curiously, for he did not
recognize the handwriting of its address, the latter read as follows:

"DEAR MR. NORRIS,--I have just been made very happy by learning from a
friend of yours, a Mr. Comly, who is in the navy, that you are not only
alive and well, but still with your regiment, and have done all sorts
of splendid things. This is news that will cause great rejoicing among
all your friends, including your own family, who have been very anxious
and unhappy concerning you. Major Dodley reported in New Orleans that
you had been placed under arrest for desertion--of course no one who
knew you believed that for a moment--but had escaped and run away.
Your father was so furious that he gave the Major a horse-whipping in
front of the St. Charles, and made him take back every word. Then he
telegraphed and wrote to Tampa; but half of your regiment had left, and
those who remained behind could tell nothing except that you had
disappeared in a very mysterious manner. You may imagine the distress
of your father.

"I had returned to my own home, but Dulce wrote me all about it, and I
received her letter when on the point of starting for New York to offer
my services as a Red Cross nurse, for I didn't feel that I could let
the war go on a day longer without having some share in it. I was
accepted, and immediately assigned to duty aboard the society's ship
_Gray Nun_, to which I am still attached. That is how I happen to be
here, and I am so glad I came, for I don't believe even you can imagine
how much we were needed. I have also discovered you, and shall write
to Dulce at once. Hoping that we may meet before long, I remain,

"Very sincerely your friend,

"SPENCE CUTHBERT.

"On board _Gray Nun_, off Siboney, _July_ 8, 1898."

"Whew!" whistled Ridge, softly, as he finished reading this letter.
"If that isn't a budget of news! Spence Cuthbert here in Cuba nursing
wounded soldiers! But it is just like the dear girl to do such a
thing. If I had only known of it sooner, though, I might have found a
chance to run down to Siboney and see her. Now it is too late, for the
_Nun_ has gone again. She will discover Rollo, though, and take care
of him. Lucky fellow! Wish I was in his place! And Comly, too! He
must have made that call and scraped an acquaintance. What cheek those
navy chaps have, anyway! So Dodley reports me as a deserter, does he?
And the dear old dad horsewhipped him. Oh, if I had only been there!
It is a shame that I haven't managed to write home, and I'll do so this
very minute."

In pursuance of this resolve, Ridge did write a long letter to his
mother, in which he told of his great disappointment at not seeing
Spence Cuthbert before she left Cuba, and sent it to Siboney to be
forwarded at the first opportunity.

After that, other exciting events in connection with his duty occupied
our young Lieutenant's attention; for at a meeting of Generals Shafter
and Toral, under a great tree midway between the American and Spanish
lines, the latter finally agreed to surrender the entire province of
Santiago, with all the troops within its limits. On this occasion each
General was accompanied by members of his staff, and to Ridge again
fell the honor of acting as official interpreter. Thus for days he was
kept so continually busy that he hardly found time for sleep. Then, on
Sunday, the 17th of July, one week after the firing of the last shot,
and two weeks after the destruction of Cervera's ships, at precisely
noon, the red and yellow banner of Spain was lowered forever from over
Santiago's municipal palace, and the glorious stars and stripes proudly
flung to the breeze in its place. The impressive ceremony was
witnessed by the Ninth Regiment of United States Infantry, two mounted
troops of the Second Regular Cavalry, and by the brilliant staff who
surrounded General Shafter. Besides these, Spanish officers and
citizens of Santiago crowded every window, doorway, and portico of the
cathedral, the San Carlos Club, the Venus restaurant, and other
buildings facing the Plaza de Armas, and watched the proceedings in
silence.

As the starry flag of the United States ran slowly to the top of the
tall staff the Ninth Regiment band crashed forth the inspiring strains
of "The Star-spangled Banner," and every American present, excepting,
of course, the troops on duty, bared his head. At the same moment the
thunder of distant artillery firing a national salute of twenty-one
guns and exultant cheering from the trenches a mile beyond the city
told that the glorious news had reached the waiting army.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, General Leonard Wood, formerly
Colonel of the Rough Riders, was installed as Military Governor of the
conquered city, and one of the first to congratulate him upon this new
honor was the young Lieutenant of his old command, who had been
permitted to do so much towards bringing the Santiago campaign to its
happy conclusion. For Ridge Norris, in appreciation of his recent
services, had been one of the very few guests invited to witness the
change of flags.

Shortly after it was all over, as Ridge was slowly making his way back
to camp, no longer upheld by excitement and utterly weary from his
recent labors, he encountered a forlorn little group of natives, who
aroused his instant sympathy. A young woman, gaunt and hollow-cheeked,
with three children, trying to make her way back to the city, had sunk
exhausted by the road-side. One of the children was a babe held
tightly pressed to her bosom. Of the others, one was a small boy, who
stood manfully by his mother's side; while a little girl, burning with
fever, lay tossing and moaning on the ground.

As Ridge reached this group the woman cried, imploringly, "Help, Senor
Americano! For love of the good God help me reach the city before my
little ones perish!"

Ridge could understand and could talk to her in her own tongue. So in
a few minutes he had learned her pitiful story. It was that of many
another--a tale of starvation, sickness, death of her husband, and of
homeless wandering for days. Now her one desire and hope was to return
to her home in Santiago. Even before she had concluded her sad
narration our young trooper had picked up the fever-stricken child,
and, with the others following him, was retracing his steps towards the
city. He did not leave them until they were safe in the wretched hovel
they called home, and he had procured for them a supply of food. Then,
followed by fervent blessings, he again started for the American lines.

[Illustration: Ridge escorts a Cuban family into Santiago.]

That evening he could not eat the coarse camp fare of his mess, and the
next morning found him raving in the delirium of fever. When, a little
later, the Rough Riders were removed to a more healthful camp-ground, a
few miles back in the hills, Lieutenant Norris, with several other
fever-stricken members of the command, was taken to one of the Spanish
hospitals in Santiago, where, three days later, Spence Cuthbert found
him.

CHAPTER XXX

ROLLO MAKES PROPOSITIONS

The month of August was drawing to its close when an expectant throng
of people gathered about the wharf of the great military camp recently
established for the home-returning American army at Montauk Point, on
the extreme eastern end of Long Island. Most of the throng were
soldiers, but among them was a little group of civilians accompanied by
a young trooper wearing a brand-new uniform, but looking very pale and
weak, as though recovering from a severe illness. He was Rollo Van
Kyp, only just out from the New York hospital to which he had been
taken more than a month before. With him, and anticipating his every
need, were Mr. and Mrs. Norris and Dulce. Their Long Island summer
home had not been sold, and now there was no need that it should be,
since Mr. Norris's affairs had taken a decided turn for the better. As
soon, therefore, as they learned that the army was to be sent to
Montauk, they went to this cottage and fitted it up as a convalescent
hospital, for any of their boy's wounded comrades to whom he might
desire to show particular attention. Thus Dulce, though not enrolled
in the Red Cross service, wore a nurse's costume, and Rollo Van Kyp,
who had insisted on coming down to welcome his home-returning comrades,
was one of her patients. Now they were looking for Ridge, of whose
illness they had not yet learned.

Those Rough Riders left behind at Tampa had already been transferred to
Montauk, together with all the horses of the regiment, and these hearty
young troopers formed the greater part of the throng now assembled to
greet the heroes of Las Guasimas, of San Juan, and of the Santiago
trenches, for Colonel Roosevelt and his men were coming home, and the
_Miami_, on which they were embarked, was nearing the wharf. Her decks
were crowded with men, worn and weary, clad in battle-stained uniforms,
and filled with a great joy at once more breathing the air of their
native land. Already was Rollo recognizing familiar faces, and eagerly
pointing them out.

"But where is my boy?" cried Mrs. Morris. "I cannot see him."

The others did not answer, for they too were greatly disappointed at
not discovering the face they most longed to see.

At length the slow-moving ship was made fast, its gang-plank was run
out, and the eager troopers began to swarm ashore. Some were so weak
that comrades were obliged to support their feeble steps; but all were
radiant with the joy of home-coming. Cheer after cheer greeted each
troop, as with silken guidons fluttering above them they marched from
the ship, and finally a perfect roar of welcome announced the
appearance of their Colonel.

"There's Teddy!" cried Rollo, with a feeble attempt at waving his hat.
"Oh, how good it is to see him again!"

"But my boy! Where is my boy?" cried the distracted mother, crowding
her way to the very front rank of spectators. As she did so, Colonel
Roosevelt passed close to her, and she clutched his arm.

"Oh, sir, my boy! Where is my boy? Do not tell me he is dead!"

"It is Mrs. Norris, Colonel," explained Rollo Van Kyp, pressing
forward, "and she is disappointed at not seeing the Lieutenant."

"Thank God, my dear fellow, that you are alive!" exclaimed the Colonel,
grasping Van Kyp's hand. Then, in a lower tone, he added, "We had to
leave poor Norris behind. He was too ill to be brought on a transport,
but he may come at any time on a hospital-ship. Here is a note for his
family from one of the hospital nurses. My dear madam," he added,
turning to Mrs. Norris, "your son is alive, but detained for a time at
Santiago. If you will excuse me now, I will see you again very
shortly, and tell you of all the fine things he has done."

With this the embarrassed Colonel passed on, thankful at having thus
concluded one of the interviews with anxious parents that he so dreaded.

For a moment Mrs. Norris stared after him in speechless agony; for the
mother's keen ear had overheard his low-spoken words to Rollo Van Kyp,
and she knew that her boy had been left in Cuba too ill to be moved.
Then she uttered a moan, and fainted in her husband's arms.

A little later, when the saddened group had been driven back to the
cottage that had been so happily prepared for the reception of their
soldier, they read Spence Cuthbert's note, hastily written as the Rough
Riders were embarking at Santiago. It told of the terrible suffering
that had impelled her to remain behind when the _Gray Nun_ went north,
of her disappointment at not hearing anything from Ridge, and how she
had at last discovered him in the Santiago hospital, to which she had
been transferred immediately after the surrender.

"I did not dare write sooner," she continued, "for we had no hope that
he could live; but now he is again conscious, and has recognized me.
The doctors talk of sending him north as soon as he can be moved; but,
remembering the horrors of the _Seneca_ and the _Concho_, I dread the
voyage for him even more than I do the pestilent air of this awful
hospital. In fact, I am in despair, and know not what is best to be
done."

"I know!" exclaimed Rollo Van Kyp, as Dulce, with tear-filled eyes,
finished reading this pitiful note. "He must be brought back on the
_Nun_. Mr. Norris, she leaves New York to-morrow with a fresh lot of
nurses for Santiago, and if you will only take the run down on her you
can bring the dear old chap back in comfort."

Mr. Norris hesitated a moment. "Do you realize," he asked, "that if
your yacht brings back a single yellow-fever patient it may never be
safe to use her again?"

"My dear sir!" cried Rollo, "if she were all that I had in the world
she would still be at the service of my dearest friend."

So Mr. Norris thankfully accepted the young millionaire's offer, and
sailed the very next day for Santiago.

A week later a Red Cross nurse, worn and wearied almost to the point of
exhaustion by her days and nights of caring for sick and dying
soldiers, sat in a Santiago hospital beside one of her patients, gently
fanning him. His eyes were closed, and she hoped that he slept. As
she watched him her own eyes slowly filled with tears; for she did not
believe he would ever gain sufficient strength to bear removal from
that house of sorrow. The air of the ward was hot, damp, and lifeless.
Sickening odors rising from the streets of the filthy city drifted in
through its open windows. The whole atmosphere of the place was
depressing, and suggestive of suffering that could only end with death.

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