"Forward, March" Part 24

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 sh.e.l.l. 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.

Das.h.i.+ng at full speed from the harbor-mouth, outlined by the smokeless flames of her forward turret and port batteries, Admiral Cervera's flag-s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+ps 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-rus.h.i.+ng Spaniards cleared the harbor's mouth, every American s.h.i.+p 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 sh.e.l.l from the _Indiana_, hurled over the yacht, struck one of them fairly amids.h.i.+ps, 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 sh.o.r.e 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 a.s.sistance and rescued hundreds of her peris.h.i.+ng 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 insh.o.r.e, and was beached within half a mile of the Spanish flag-s.h.i.+p. It was only forty minutes since the fight began; but in that short s.p.a.ce four of the Spanish squadron had been destroyed, without loss of life to the Americans, and but slight damage to their s.h.i.+ps. With the burning _Teresa_ and _Oquendo_ stayed the battle-s.h.i.+p _Indiana_, her men working in eager emulation with those of the _Gloucester_ to save the lives of their recent enemies.

The next victim to succ.u.mb 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 ma.s.s 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 s.h.i.+p 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 ash.o.r.e, 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-s.h.i.+p _Oregon_, which had unexpectedly developed such extraordinary speed that, although starting next to the last of the American s.h.i.+ps, 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 sh.e.l.ls, 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+ps, 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 s.h.i.+p after s.h.i.+p 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-s.h.i.+p 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 ash.o.r.e."

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 ash.o.r.e he directed Ensign Comly's attention to a large steam-yacht painted lead-color in imitation of the war-s.h.i.+ps, 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 s.h.i.+ps 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 s.h.i.+ps 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.

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 antic.i.p.ation.

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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+ps 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 sc.r.a.p 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-s.h.i.+p. 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, flus.h.i.+ng. "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 hors.e.m.e.n 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 hoa.r.s.e, 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-s.h.i.+p 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 sh.e.l.l 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.