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Page 58
"Loyal and brave even unto death," he murmured. "For this last
faithful service to Spain you shall rank as Captain." Then, as the
closed eyes of the wounded man were opened with a look of recognition,
the General turned to those who had brought him, and said:
"He is too valuable to our cause, and too brave a Spaniard to die if we
can save his life. Therefore carry Captain Navarro to the hospital in
Santiago, and deliver my orders that he receive the best of care."
So the painful journey was resumed, but on the crest of San Juan
Heights, overlooking the city, the litter-bearers found that they were
carrying a dead man. It was useless to convey him farther, and a
little later they buried him, with full military honors, on the sunny
slope that was shortly destined to become the scene of one of the
world's decisive battles.
In the mean time Ridge Norris, snatched from the very jaws of
destruction by the prompt devotion of his prisoner-friend, had emerged
from his concealment, and hastened down the hill in a direction
opposite to that taken by those who sought his life.
After awhile, believing that he had gained a safe distance from them,
he paused to consider his situation. A minute later, when he had just
planned to make a great circuit that should outflank the Spaniards in
the ravine, and bring him to where the Americans were landing, a rush
of approaching feet and a medley of voices caused him to plunge into
the dense growth bordering the trail. Then catching a glimpse of the
retreating Spaniards, whom he imagined to be searching for him, he
forced his way still deeper into the tangle, until they were lost to
hearing as well as to sight.
Half an hour afterwards, reassured by the unbroken silence of his
surroundings, our young American attempted to regain the trail he had
left, but, to his dismay, had failed to do so when darkness overtook
him. The idea of spending a night in that Cuban jungle was decidedly
unpleasant; but as there was nothing else to be done, Ridge quickly
made such preparations for it as his limited resources would allow.
His knowledge of Cuban woodcraft was much greater now than it had been
two weeks earlier, and within fifteen minutes he had constructed a rude
hammock of tough vines, over which was laid a great palm-leaf. This
would at least swing him clear of the ground, with its pestilent
dampness and swarming land-crabs. Although he knew that he should
suffer from cold before morning, he dared not light a fire, for it
would be almost certain to attract unwelcome attention. So he lined
his swinging-bed with such dried grasses as he could find, and nestling
in it tried to sleep. For hours this was impossible. The forest about
him was filled with strange rattlings, dashings, and other
indescribable sounds. He was also cold and hungry. But at length he
lost consciousness of his unhappy position, and drifted into troubled
dreams.
When next he awoke the sun was shining, and there was a confusion of
voices close at hand. He could not catch the drift of conversation;
but, as the tongue spoken was Spanish, he lay motionless and listened,
expecting each moment to be discovered by some straggler. For several
hours his unseen neighbors cooked, ate, smoked cigarettes, laughed, and
talked without suspecting his presence within a few yards of them;
while he, desperately hungry, cramped, and filled with impatience at
this aggravating detention, wondered if they were going to stay there
forever.
When, after what seemed an eternity of suspense, those who had
unwittingly kept him prisoner took their departure, the sun had passed
its meridian, and Ridge, parched with thirst, was suffering as much
from the breathless heat as he had with cold a few hours earlier. As
he cautiously approached the scene of the recent bivouac he found it to
be where a small stream crossed a narrow trail, and, after quenching
his thirst, he followed the latter in what he believed to be the
direction of Daiquiri. At any rate, it was the opposite one from that
taken by his recent unwelcome neighbors. Up hill and down the dim
trail led him, across streams and through dark ravines, but always
buried in dense foliage, through which he could gain no outlook.
After our young trooper had followed the devious course of this rough
pathway for several miles, he suddenly came to a halt, and stood
spellbound. From directly ahead of him came a burst of music swelling
grandly through the solemn stillness of the forest. A regimental band
was playing "The Star-spangled Banner," and never before had such
glorious notes been borne to his ears. Tears started to his eyes; but
without pausing to brush them away he dashed forward. A minute later
he stood on the brow of a declivity looking down upon the sea-coast
village of Siboney, which he instantly recognized, though its
transformation from what it was when he had last seen it was wonderful.
Then it had been a stronghold of Spanish troops. Now the
fortifications crowning its encircling hills, abandoned by those who
had erected them, stood empty and harmless; while in the village, and
on the narrow plain surrounding it, an advance-guard of the American
army was pitching its tents. Over a building on a hill-side opposite
to where Ridge stood, which he remembered as headquarters of the
Spanish Commandant, floated an American flag, evidently just raised,
and from that quarter also came the inspiring music that had so
quickened his pulses.
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