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Page 52
This was Santiago. This the peaceful scene that was soon to be
transformed into a battle-field. Here, within a few days, victory and
defeat would meet face to face. Which side would claim the former?
Until this moment Ridge had never doubted. He had often heard the
boast that his own regiment could drive every Spaniard out of Cuba, and
had believed it. Now he knew that here alone was work cut out for an
army.
These reflections of our young trooper were interrupted by his
companion, who said, "It is a wonderful picture; but I am too hungry to
gaze on it any longer; so let us hasten into the city, with the hope of
finding a breakfast."
Both the young men wore Spanish uniforms that Navarro had brought with
him, and, protected by these, they rode boldly down to the nearest
outpost. Here the lieutenant demanded that they be conducted to
headquarters, to which they were accordingly sent under guard.
Many of the narrow streets through which they passed were indescribably
filthy, but these became cleaner as they neared the Casa Municipal.
Here they were graciously received by General Linares, to whom they
were presented by one of his staff, who recognized Navarro as a friend.
The General complimented them on having eluded the Cubans, and was much
gratified to learn that Pando's army was on its way from Holguin to
reinforce him. After a few minutes of conversation, during which he
promised to give both of them details for field duty, he dismissed
them, and they were at liberty to accept an invitation to breakfast at
the San Carlos Club.
In the cool club-house, which faces the Plaza de Armas, where the band
plays in the evening and fountains plash softly amid blossoming
shrubbery, Ridge and his companion were introduced to many officers, a
number of whom were from the warships.
Santiago was very dull just then; its communication with the outside
world was cut off. No ships could enter its beautiful harbor, business
was almost at a standstill, and there was little to talk about. So the
advent of two strangers into the club was hailed with joy, and they
were plied with questions. No one seemed to suspect that our young
American was other than what he professed to be, though his answers to
many of their questions were necessarily vague and unsatisfactory. In
order to entertain them, the resident officers proposed various trips
to places of near-by interest, such as the fortifications, the barracks
where Lieutenant Hobson of the American navy was confined, the Morro,
from which a view of the blockading squadron could be had, or to the
Spanish war-ships lying in the harbor, the last of which was accepted
for that morning.
As soon, therefore, as breakfast was over, the new-comers were escorted
to the water-front, where lay several steam-launches. As they reached
the landing-place a fine-looking man, white bearded, with twinkling
eyes and kindly features, drove up in a carriage, and alighting with
springy step, was instantly saluted by every officer present. He
acknowledged the courtesy by lifting his hat and speaking to several of
them, whom he called by name. Emboldened by his kindness, these
ventured to present the new arrivals and mention their desire to visit
the Spanish ships; whereupon Admiral Cervera, bravest and most
chivalrous of Spain's commanders, promptly invited them to accompany
him to the flag-ship.
As they steamed down the bay in the superbly appointed launch flying an
Admiral's flag and manned by a picked crew in snowy duck, Ridge sat
silent, in a very confused frame of mind, and paying scant attention to
the gay conversation carried on by the other members of the party. He
had been overcome by the courtesy of his reception in Santiago, and was
feeling keenly the meanness of his position.
"I'll be shot for disobedience of orders before I ever again undertake
to act the low-down part of a spy," he reflected, bitterly. At the
same time he was wondering how he should manage to escape the kindly
but embarrassing attentions of these new-found friends, and reach
Daiquiri in time to communicate with General Shafter upon his arrival.
In spite of these thoughts, he did not fail to admire the beauty and
massive symmetry of the ships they were approaching. There lay the
_Cristobal Colon_, latest product of Italian skill; the splendid
_Vizcaya_, that had recently attracted the admiration of all who saw
her in New York Harbor; the _Almirante Oquendo_, that had been received
with such wild enthusiasm in Havana; the _Maria Teresa_, famed for the
richness of her interior fittings; the _Reina Mercedes_, used as a
hospital-ship; the _Pluton_ and the _Furor_, low, black, and ugly to
look upon, both holding records for enormous speed, and more dreaded as
engines of destruction than all the others put together. Stripped to
fighting trim, these ships were the very embodiment of modern
sea-power, and in his ignorance Ridge wondered if anything afloat could
resist them. From them his attention was at length attracted to the
Admiral, who was saying:
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