Munroe Kirk
"Forward, March": A Tale of the Spanish-American War
At this our young trooper clapped spurs to Señorita, flung himself flat on her back, and dashed away on his chosen road, followed by a scattering volley of pistol-shots, and by four of the best mounted among the guerillas, who, at their captain's command, sprang after him in hot pursuit.
CHAPTER XVIII
DEATH OF SEÑORITA
From the earliest days of Spanish rule in Cuba human life has been held very cheap. Especially of late years, when thousands of men, women, and children have been wantonly murdered, has the killing of a man for any reason been lightly regarded. So in the present instance the guerilla captain instructed those detailed to overtake the escaping prisoner to kill him and bring back all his property. It seemed to him an easy task for his well-mounted beef-riders, familiar with every foot of that region, to overtake and overpower one who had already travelled far that day, and was evidently a stranger to the country. When they had done so he would obtain that coveted rifle. On the whole, he was glad that one of his prisoners had made a foolish dash for liberty, and rather wished the other would do the same thing.
But the other contented himself with denouncing the action of the guerilla captain in bitter terms, and promising to report it the moment they reached the Spanish lines. At all of which the latter only smiled contemptuously.
In the mean time Ridge, lying low on his horse's neck to offer as small a target as possible to the shots fired by his pursuers whenever they sighted him, was uttering words of encouragement in Señorita's ear, and she was responding with such a burst of speed that the beef-riders were quickly left far behind. At length nothing was to be seen or heard of them; and, believing that they had given over the chase as hopeless, the young trooper allowed the panting mare who had borne him so bravely to slacken her heading pace until it was reduced to a walk.
He was still in the broad Cauto valley, where the sabanetas, or open glades of tall grasses, were interspersed with wide tracts of impenetrable jungle and forests of palms. By these his view was limited on every side, but he knew that the mountains among which he hoped to find the insurgent leader lay to the southward. So he determined to leave the road by the first trail leading in that direction, and continue on it until he should meet some one willing to guide him to his destination.
Having formed this crude plan, and believing that Señorita had been allowed sufficient time to recover her breath, he began to urge her to a better speed, but, to his surprise, she failed to respond. Neither words nor spur served to move her from the slow walk into which she had fallen. Such a thing had not happened since the beginning of their acquaintance in far-away San Antonio, and the young trooper dismounted to discover what had gone wrong.
He had not far to look, for, as he touched the ground, a red trickle of blood caught his eye. The plucky little mare had been hit by one of the beef-riders' shots, but had given no sign until now, when her weakness could no longer be overcome. So copious was the flow of blood that it was evident an artery had been severed, and already had the loss been very great. In vain did Ridge strive to stanch the cruel outspurt. He had no proper appliances, and the evil was too serious to be remedied by his simple skill. Even as he made the attempt the gallant beast swayed, staggered, and then sank with a groan to the ground. Almost sobbing with grief and dismay, Ridge flung himself beside her and threw an arm caressingly across her neck.
"Poor old girl! Dear old girl!" he cried. "To think that I should have brought you here just for this. It is too bad! too bad! And what shall I do without you?"
Then with a sudden thought he sprang to his feet and began an eager search on both sides of the road for water, but found none. Disappointed and heavy-hearted, he returned to Señorita. She lay as he had left her, but motionless and with closed eyes. Again he knelt at her side, and at the sound of his voice the loving eyes were once more opened. At the same time, with a mighty effort, the proud head was uplifted, as though the mare were about to struggle to her feet. Just then came a shot from behind them, and, with a bullet intended for her young master buried deep in her brain, the dear horse yielded up her life.
The shot was so instantly followed by a clatter of hoofs, that Ridge had barely time to snatch his rifle and fling himself to the ground behind Señorita's body before the beef-riders appeared charging up the road, yelling and firing, as they came.
With his rifle resting across the mare's side, Ridge took quick aim and fired. One of the advancing horsemen threw up his arms and fell over backward, but the young American did not see him; for, without waiting to note the effect of his shot, he dropped the rifle and seized his revolver. It was a self-cocking weapon, and as rapidly as he could pull the trigger he delivered the contents of all six chambers at the guerillas. Whether or not they fired in return he did not know, but as the smoke from his own fusillade cleared away he saw one man lying motionless in the road, and another dragging himself into the grass at one side. From that direction also came the furious plunging of a horse. Of the others who had pursued him nothing was to be seen. Hastily reloading his revolver, and throwing another cartridge into the chamber of his rifle, Ridge nervously awaited further developments. Would they again charge upon his front, or would they seek to outflank him by crawling through the dense growth on either side? The latter would be the safer move, and could be easily made.
As our young soldier realized this, he decided to forestall the attempt by taking to the grass himself, and in another moment he was cautiously creeping on hands and knees amid the hot brown stalks that grew many feet above his head. Fearing that his movement might attract attention, he did not go far; but, after making his way for a few rods parallel to the road, he again gained its edge and halted at a place where, peering between the grass stems, he could see his dead horse.
Here he lay motionless until he became convinced that his enemies had beaten a retreat and would trouble him no more. Thus thinking, impatient of delay, and painfully cramped by his position, he was about to rise when the long silence was broken by a low cuckoo call close at hand. Was it a signal or the note of some strange bird? As Ridge hesitated, the call was answered from the other side of the road. Again it sounded from the side on which he lay; then, from the opposite side a man's head came slowly into view, low down among the grass stems. After hasty glances both up and down the road it was withdrawn, and the cuckoo notes were again exchanged. Then two of the baffled beef-riders rose boldly to their feet and stepped out in full view, close beside the dead horse. The young trooper could not distinguish their words; but, from their angry gestures, they were discussing his disappearance and the advisability of a further attempt to capture him.
At the same moment his own thoughts were of a most conflicting nature. One of the men was covered by his rifle, and his finger was on its ready trigger, but he hesitated to pull it. They had killed his horse and sought to take his life. Even now they would shoot him down without mercy, and as a pastime, if the opportunity offered. Knowing this, and realizing his danger if those men should discover him, the young American still hesitated to fire from ambush and take human life in cold blood.
That others did not feel as he did about such things was shown while he hesitated, for the two beef-riders had been in sight but a few seconds when there came a flash and a roar of guns from the opposite side of the road, a little beyond where Ridge was hiding. Both the guerillas fell as though struck by a thunder-bolt, and their blue-clad forms lay motionless across Señorita's body. Her death was amply avenged.
At this startling demonstration in his behalf, Ridge sprang to his feet in full view of half a dozen men, ragged and swarthy, who were running down the road with yells of delight. They halted at sight of the stranger, and some raised their weapons; but he, recognizing them as Cubans, called out: "I am Americano, and those Spaniards whom you have so bravely killed sought my life. Viva Cuba libre!"
Upon this they again advanced with shouts and eager questions. They belonged to a detachment of the Cuban army on its way to join General Garcia, and had been attracted by the sound of firing. Coming to discover its cause, they had seen the dead horse, and were stealing cautiously towards it when halted by the familiar cuckoo call of their enemies.
That Ridge had suffered at the hands of the Spaniards, and fought with them, was a sufficient passport to their favor. Thus when he explained his desire to meet their general they consented to guide him to the Cuban rendezvous, which they said was high up in the mountains.
With a heavy heart and tear-dimmed eyes the young American turned from a last look at his beloved horse, and set forth with these new acquaintances on their toilsome march. He carried only his arms, but the Cubans had stripped the dead–both men and horses–of everything valuable, and were thus well laden with trophies.
A short distance from the spot where Señorita had given her own life in saving that of her master, they turned into a barely discernible trail that soon brought them to the foot-hills, where they camped for the night. All the next day they pushed on, with infrequent halts, ever climbing higher over trails so rough and obscure that only experienced eyes could follow them. Here and there they passed food-stations guarded by old men, poorly clad women, and naked children. Each of these consisted of a thatched hut, an open fire, and a sweet-potato patch, and to the marching Cubans they supplied roasted potatoes, sugar-cane, and occasionally a few ripe mangoes.
Ridge and a guide, to whom he had promised money, outstripped the others, and shortly before sunset of the second day reached the summit of a pass lying between the great bulk of El Cobre on the east and Pico Turquino, the tallest mountain in Cuba. From this point was outspread a superb view of densely wooded mountain slopes tumbling steeply down to the boundless blue of the Caribbean Sea. Here the guide departed, promising shortly to return, leaving Ridge to gaze upon the wonderful panorama unfolded on all sides, and thrilled with the thought that he had crossed Cuba.
While he stood thus, forgetful of everything save the marvellous beauty of his surroundings, he was puzzled by a sound as of distant thunder coming from a direction in which no cloud was visible. As he speculated concerning this phenomenon, he was startled by a voice close at hand saying, in English: "That is a welcome sound to Cuban ears, señor, since it is the thunder of American war-ships bombarding the defences of Santiago."
CHAPTER XIX
CALIXTO GARCIA THE CUBAN
"The thunder of American war-ships!" Instantly, as Ridge learned its nature, the mighty sound took on a new significance, and seemed like the voice of his own glorious country demanding freedom for an oppressed people. Filled with this thought, he turned to the man who had suggested it, and found himself in the presence of one wearing the uniform of a Cuban officer. The latter had taken off his hat, and the young American noted a livid bullet scar in the centre of his broad white forehead. The man was elderly, fine-looking, and smooth-shaven except for a heavy white mustache. His picture had been published in every illustrated paper and magazine in the United States.
Promptly giving a military salute, Ridge said, "I believe I have the honor of addressing General Garcia."
"Yes, I am Calixto Garcia. But who are you?"
"An officer of the American army, come to you with a message from its commanding General."
"Have you credentials or despatches by which you may be known?"
"Only this, sir." Here Ridge lowered his voice and gave, for the second time since landing in Cuba, the secret countersign of the Junta.
"It is sufficient," said the General, smiling and holding out his hand. "Now what is your message?"
"That the American army of invasion, having sailed from Tampa, is due within the next two days to arrive off Santiago; and General Shafter, who commands it, is desirous of an interview with you before landing his troops. He asks you to name the place of meeting."
"Thank you, sir, for bringing me this great news, and gladly will I meet your General whenever he may choose to come. Also I will fix the place of meeting down yonder at Aserraderos. From this station I will watch day and night for his ships, and when they come will be ready to receive him."
"Very good, sir. I will so report to my General."
"But how do you expect to communicate with him?" asked Garcia, curiously.
"I propose to go from here to Enramada, to which place I was about to ask you to favor me with a mount and a guide. At that point I have arranged to meet a friend who will give me Spanish protection, and under whose escort I shall visit Santiago. After that I shall be guided by circumstances. But if I live I shall certainly be at Daiquiri in time to meet the American army."
"You have undertaken a difficult task, and I only hope it may be accomplished," replied the General, thoughtfully. "Of course I will furnish you with a horse and an escort to Enramada, which place, as you are doubtless aware, is already occupied by my men."
"By the Cubans?" cried Ridge, in dismay.
"Certainly. We drove out the Spaniards several days ago, and have advanced our lines to within a few miles of Santiago. At present that city is surrounded on three sides by the forces of Generals Castillo and Rabi."
"In that case, sir, I shall ask for protection to the extreme limit of the Cuban lines, both for myself and my friend."
"Is he a Spaniard?" asked Garcia, suspiciously.
"He is an American citizen," replied Ridge, "though at present appearing as a Spaniard, and wearing the uniform of a Spanish officer."
"What is his name?"
"He is travelling under the name of Ramon Navarro."
"Very Spanish indeed, and he could not have done a more reckless or foolish thing than attempt to pass himself off as a Spaniard in this part of the island. If he is discovered near Enramada he will undoubtedly be killed without a chance to explain who he really is. But that is the way with you Americans. Confident in your own ignorance, you are always pushing ahead without stopping to count the cost."
"At the same time we generally get there."
"Get where?" asked the other, sharply.
"To the place we start for."
"Oh yes, you get there, in some shape, though perhaps sorry that you have done so. In the present campaign, for instance, I have no doubt that the very first Americans landed will make a dash for Santiago, without waiting for artillery or even provisions. If they win a victory, it will be by the good fortune that often attends fools; but the chances are that when they enter Santiago it will be as prisoners of war."
"Sir!" cried Ridge, "I am an American, and an officer in the American army."
"Pardon, señor; I forgot," replied the General. "I was allowing myself to utter aloud my thoughts, a thing extremely wrong and ill-advised. I have really no doubt in the world that your gallant countrymen will conduct themselves most admirably. Now if you will come to my poor camp I will make you as comfortable as possible for the night, and in the morning we will decide what is best for you to do."
"Thank you, sir," said our young trooper, "but with your permission I should prefer to make a start at once, with the hope of reaching Enramada before my comrade, and thus preventing a sad mistake on the part of your troops."
"But, my young friend, you have already travelled far to-day and are exhausted."
"I still have some strength left."
"Night is upon us, and the trails are very dangerous."
"There is a young moon, and you will furnish reliable guides," replied Ridge, smiling.
"If I should not furnish them?"
"Then I would set forth alone."
"You are determined, then, to proceed at once?"
"I am, sir, unless detained by force."
"Ah, heavens! These Americans!" cried the General, with an air of resignation. "They will leave nothing for to-morrow that may be squeezed into to-day. They know not the meaning of 'mañana.' Ever impatient, ever careless of consequences, and yet they succeed. Can it be that theirs is the way of wisdom? But no, it is their good fortune, what they call 'luck.' Yes, señor, it shall be as you desire. In an hour all shall be in readiness for your departure."
"Couldn't you make it half an hour, General?" asked Ridge, with an audacity that drew forth only a grunt from the Cuban leader.
So it happened that in something less than an hour from the time of this important interview our young American, well fed, and provided with a pass through the Cuban lines for himself and one friend, was retracing his steps down the northern slope of the Sierra Maestra. He was mounted on a raw-backed but sure-footed Cuban pony, and escorted by half a dozen ragged cavalrymen. They had barely started before he was thankful that he had not attempted to make the journey unguided; nor had they gone a mile before he knew that he could never have accomplished it alone. Often he found himself traversing narrow trails on the brink of black space where a single misstep would have brought his career to a sudden termination. Again he passed through gloomy tunnels of dense foliage, slid down precipitous banks, only to plunge into rushing, bowlder-strewn torrents at the bottom, and scramble up slopes of slippery clay on the farther side, All this was done by the feeble and ever-lessening light of a moon in its first quarter, and as it finally sank out of sight the leader of the escort called a halt, declaring that they could not move another rod before daybreak.
Thus Ridge was forced to take a few hours of rest, and so exhausted was he that his companions had difficulty in rousing him at dawn. Again they pushed forward, shivering in the chill of early morning, and blistered by the sun's fervent heat a few hours later, until ten o'clock found them on the grass-grown highway leading from Santiago to Bayamo, and a few miles west of Enramada. Here, as Ridge believed himself to be well in advance of his comrade, he decided to await his coming. At the same time he sent one of his escort into Enramada to discover if Lieutenant Navarro had by any chance reached that place, and to arrange for fresh mounts. Then he threw himself down in the scant shadow of a thorny bush for a nap.
Apparently his companions, who had promised to keep a close watch of the highway, did the same thing, for when he next awoke it was with a start and the consciousness that a horseman was dashing past at full speed on the road to Enramada.
In less than a minute the shamefaced squad was in hot pursuit, but though they strove to atone for their neglect of duty by furious riding, they did not overtake the horseman until they discovered him halted by an outpost, who allowed him to pass as they came in sight. When they in turn were halted they learned that the man whom they had followed so briskly was a Cuban scout just in from a tour of observation.
So Ridge rode slowly into Enramada, reported to the officer in command, and remained in that wretched village until nightfall in a state of nervous impatience. He was most anxious to push forward, since every minute was now of value, but could not desert the friend whom he had promised to meet at this place. He feared that without his protection Navarro would come to grief among the Cubans, and also he was depending upon the young Spaniard for a safe entry into Santiago.
At length dusk had fallen. The impatient young trooper had eaten a supper of tough bull-beef and "those everlasting yams," as he called them, with his Cuban friends, and was pacing restlessly to and fro a short distance beyond a camp-fire, about which they smoked their cigarettes, when a ragged, slouch-hatted figure approached him.
"Señor Americano."
"Well, what do you want?"
"If Don José Remelios desires the company of Ramon Navarro into Santiago, I am ready."
"Good Heavens, man!"
"Hush! Tell them you can wait no longer. Set forth alone, follow the railroad, and I will meet you."
Then, before Ridge could reply, the figure darted away and was lost in the night shadows.
Fifteen minutes later the young American, despite the polite protests of his entertainers, had left Enramada, dismissed the escort who had passed him through the Cuban pickets, declined further guidance, on the plea that he could not get lost while following the railway, and was watching anxiously for the appearance of his friend.
Suddenly he was confronted by a motionless horseman dimly seen on the embankment ahead of him, and in another minute the comrades were exchanging greetings.
"How did you reach Enramada without my knowledge?" asked Ridge, finally. "I have watched every moving creature in the place since noon."
"Slipped in, disguised by this horrible Cuban costume, after dark," laughed Navarro. "Shouldn't have come at all but for my promise, and a recollection that I was a prisoner of war on parole, since I learned at Jiguani that Enramada was occupied by the insurgents."
"But I have a pass for you from Garcia himself."
"Even had I known it I should not have ventured among those who might have recognized me; for where a Spaniard is concerned, any Cuban will kill him first and examine his pass afterwards."
"I suppose that is so," replied Ridge, with a memory of del Concha. "Anyhow, I am mighty glad everything is turning out so well. Now, hurrah for Santiago, and the American army that is to capture it!"
"Do you believe they can do it?"
"Of course I do," was the confident answer. But a few hours later, when from a wooded hilltop he looked down, upon the widespread city in which were quartered 10,000 veteran troops, protected by strong intrenchments, formidable batteries, and by Admiral Cervera's powerful squadron, he wondered if, after all, his countrymen had not undertaken a task far more difficult than they imagined.
