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Page 67
While the commanding officers discussed the situation, arguing hotly
for and against retreat, their men dug trenches along the farther crest
of the San Juan hills. All night long they worked by the light of a
full moon, excavating the gravelly soil with bayonet and meat-tin,
filling hundreds of bags with sand, and laying them in front of the
shallow pits, with little spaces between them, through which
rifle-barrels might be thrust. At the same time they scooped out
terraces on the slope up which they had charged, and there pitched
their camps, a long way from drinking-water, but close to the
firing-line. Thus by daylight they were ready for any movement the
enemy might make. Nor were they prepared any too quickly, for with
earliest dawn the Spaniards opened a heavy fire, both artillery and
rifle, on the American position. In places the opposing lines were not
three hundred yards apart, and across this narrow space the Spanish
fire was poured with unremitting fury for fourteen consecutive hours.
The Americans only returned this fire by an occasional rifle-shot, to
show that they were still on hand, and through the interminable hours
of that blistering day they simply clung by sheer grit to the heights
they had won.
On the previous day the Americans had lost over a thousand men killed
or wounded, and during the present one-sided fight one hundred and
seven more fell victims to Spanish bullets; but the trenches had been
held, and that day's work settled forever the question of their
retention.
In the mean time Lieutenant Norris, who had miraculously escaped unhurt
from the very front of two fierce charges, was curious to know whose
sword he was carrying; and so, after San Juan Heights had been safely
won, he strolled back over the battle-field to try and discover its
owner. After a long search he found the little mound of earth over
which he had stumbled, and was startled to see it was a recently made
grave. Beside it lay an officer in Rough Rider uniform, face down, and
wearing an empty scabbard. His, then, was the sword; but who was he?
A gentle turning of the still body revealed the placidly handsome
features of the young New-Mexican, Arthur Navarro. Near the grave,
across which one of his arms had been flung, as though lovingly, lay a
wooden cross bearing a rudely cut inscription in Spanish. It had
evidently been overthrown by the charging Americans. Now Ridge picked
it up, read the inscription, and stared incredulous. "Captain Ramon
Navarro, Royal Spanish Guards. Died for his country, June 22, 1898."
"My friend Ramon, killed the very day he saved me from capture!"
murmured Ridge. "But how marvellous that they should have buried him
here, that his grave should have saved my life by giving me that fall,
and that the bullets intended for me should have taken the life of the
cousin who was to have been his partner!"
So the two, one from the New World and one from the Old, who loved each
other, but had been separated during life by the calls of duty, were
united in death; for they buried the young New-Mexican close beside his
Spanish cousin, and the grasses of San Juan Hill wave above them both.
Wearing the sword thus intrusted to him, and which he would send to
far-away New Mexico at the earliest opportunity, Lieutenant Norris bore
his full share of the second day's fighting on San Juan Heights. Late
that night, as he was coming in from the trenches, he was called to
General Sumner's tent to act as interpreter. A deserter, apparently a
Spanish sailor, had just been brought in, and was evidently trying to
convey some important information that no one present could understand.
"He says," exclaimed Ridge, after listening intently to the man, "that
Admiral Cervera's ships--coaled, provisioned, and under full head of
steam--are about to make a dash from the harbor. He thinks they will
start soon after sunrise, or when our ships have drawn off to their
accustomed day-time distance."
Although the reliability of this startling news was very doubtful, it
was deemed of sufficient importance to be immediately transmitted to
Admiral Sampson.
"Who is the best rider in your command?" asked the General, turning to
Colonel Roosevelt, who had assisted at the examination of the Spanish
deserter.
"Lieutenant Norris," was the unhesitating answer.
"Then let Mr. Norris take my orderly's horse, make his way with all
speed to Siboney, press into service the first steam craft he comes
across, and carry this fellow's statement, with my compliments, to
Admiral Sampson."
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