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Page 60
"Couldn't you let me begin that supper with a hardtack right now?"
pleaded our hungry young trooper, as soon as he could make himself
heard. "It's a day and a half since my last meal, which was only a
small ration of boiled rice, and it seems as though a hardtack at this
minute would do me more good than the promise of a hundred Waldorf
suppers."
The hunger that demanded even a despised hard-tack was at that time so
incredible to the well-fed Riders, that at first they could not believe
his request to be made in earnest. When, however, they saw the
eagerness with which he began to devour one of the iron-clad biscuits,
hesitatingly offered by Rollo Van Kyp, they were convinced that he was
indeed on the verge of starvation. They were also reminded of their
own keen appetites, for, amid the excitement of that day's landing and
their forced march from Daiquiri, they had eaten nothing since a
daylight breakfast. But each man carried three days' rations, and
camp-fires were quickly ablaze in every direction. From these
delicious odors of boiling coffee and frizzling bacon so stimulated
their hunger, that when, tin cup and plate in hand, they sat down to
that first meal on Cuban soil, they pronounced it equal to any ever
served in New York City.
While Ridge, sharing his chum's cup and plate, was striving between
mouthfuls of this thoroughly enjoyable supper to answer a few of the
innumerable questions showered upon him, he suddenly became aware of an
officer standing on the edge of the fire-light and regarding him with
interest. As our young trooper sprang to his feet with a salute, he
was covered with confusion to recognize in the motionless figure his
own Lieutenant-Colonel, and to remember that in all this time he had
neglected to report his return to the regiment. He began a confused
apology, but the other interrupted him, laughing.
"It is all right, Sergeant," he said. "We heard of you from General
Wheeler, who, by-the-way, is much pleased with the results of your
expedition. So I came to find you, with a reprimand for not having
reported at once to Colonel Wood, but when I saw you devouring
hardtack, I was quite willing to accept starvation as your excuse.
Now, however, the Colonel would be pleased to see you."
After an hour spent at headquarters, where he was honored with an
invitation to eat a second supper, during which his apparently
unappeasable appetite for hardtack and bacon caused much amusement.
Ridge was allowed to return to his comrades. A throng of these
gathered about the camp-fire of Rollo Van Kyp's mess, and, unmindful of
the showers that fell at short intervals, listened for hours with
breathless interest and undisguised envy to the story of his recent
adventures. They were happily reassured by his description of the
strength of Santiago's fortifications, and his assertion that the
Spaniards would put up a good fight before surrendering them; for they
had been inclined to think and speak contemptuously of the enemy who
they feared would yield without a struggle.
So the greater part of the night was passed. They ought to have been
asleep, storing up strength against the morrow; but who could sleep
amid the uproar and excitement of that first night at Siboney? Not the
Rough Riders, at any rate. Half a dozen transports had come into the
little bay; and from them scores of boat-loads of troops and supplies
were being landed through the roaring surf on the open beach. A
thousand naked figures, screaming, ducking, and splashing one another
like so many schoolboys on a frolic, assisted and impeded the landing
of their comrades, who, crowded into pontoons and small boats, were
pitched, howling with delight, from the crest of each in-rolling
breaker. A half-moon and the powerful search-lights of two war-ships
flooded the whole extraordinary scene with brightness. On shore the
dripping arrivals crowded about the red camp-fires drying their soaking
uniforms, cooking, eating, singing, laughing, and filled with
irrepressible happiness at having escaped from their "prison hulks" and
reached Cuba at last.
Thus, at dead of night, was an army landed on a hostile shore, and by
two o'clock in the morning five thousand American troops were crowded
in and about the village of Siboney.
Acting on the reports brought him by Ridge Norris and by certain Cubans
whom the Spanish rear-guard had driven back the day before, as well as
upon the knowledge gained by his own reconnoissance, General Wheeler
had determined to attack the enemy, who were strongly posted at the
forking of two roads leading from Siboney to Sevilla. The broader of
these roads bore to the right through a narrow valley, while the other,
merely a rough trail, climbed the hill back of the village and followed
the crest of a ridge to the place of intersection. Both passed through
an almost impenetrable growth of small trees and underbrush, thickly
set with palms, bamboos, Spanish-bayonets, thorn bushes, and cactus,
all bound together by a tangle of tough vines, and interspersed with
little glades of rank grasses. To the right-hand trail, miscalled the
wagon-road, were assigned eight troops from two regiments of dismounted
regular cavalry, the First and Tenth (colored), under General Young.
With these Colonel Wood and his Rough Riders, advancing over the
hill-trail, were to form a junction at the forks, locally known as Las
Guasimas, three miles away.
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