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Page 75
And others came out from the beleaguered city; for an exchange of
prisoners had been effected, and just before sunset on the third day of
the truce three horsemen rode towards the American lines along the
palm-shaded highway leading from Santiago. Two of them were Spanish
officers, but one wore the white duck uniform of the American navy, and
behind him clattered an ambulance in which were seven of the proudest,
happiest sailormen ever turned loose from an enemy's prison. They were
Hobson and his men, the heroes of the _Merrimac_, free at last to
return to their own people. And never did heroes receive a more royal
welcome than that accorded this handful of blue-jackets by their
comrades of the army. From the outermost trenches all the way to
Siboney, where a launch awaited them, their progress was an ovation of
wildest enthusiasm. Every soldier of the thousands whom they
encountered first saluted and then cheered until he was hoarse, while
one regimental band after another crashed forth its most inspiring
music in their honor. Out on the star-lit sea lay the great flag-ship
from which these men had departed on their desperate mission more than
a month before, and when, late that evening, they again reached it,
they were once more safe at home with their work well done, and their
fame established forever.
For a week the truce continued, and while the Spaniards strengthened
their defences, the Americans lengthened their lines, built roads over
which to bring up their artillery, provided their camps with bomb-proof
shelters, and received reinforcements. Knowing all this, General Toral
still refused to surrender, and during the afternoon of Sunday, July
10th, the white flags were taken down and a bombardment of the city was
begun. For two hours, or until the coming of darkness, a heavy
cannonade with brisk rifle-fire was kept up by both sides, but with
little damage to either. With sunrise of the following morning it was
resumed.
"I wonder what it is all for?" asked Rollo Van Kyp, as he crouched in
the hot trench, industriously firing his carbine at the flashes from
the Spanish rifle-pits. "We don't seem to hit them, and they certainly
don't hit us. Now if Teddy would only order a charge, it would be
something sensible. But this play-fighting is disgusting!"
Just then a Spanish shell burst close above the heads of this
particular group of Rough Riders, and a fragment from it cut the staff
of the troop guidon, planted in the soft earth, so that the silken flag
fell outward. In an instant Rollo had leaped over the protecting
embankment, picked up the fallen flag, and, amid yells of approbation
from his comrades, restored it to its former position. Then,
half-turning and swinging his hat defiantly above his head, the daring
young trooper sprang back to his place of safety. As he did so,
something seemed to go wrong, and instead of landing on his feet he
pitched awkwardly, and then lay motionless in the bottom of the trench.
At the same moment trumpet and bugle along the whole line sounded the
order "cease firing," and once more the white flags of truce fluttered
in the sunlight. Santiago was again summoned to surrender; and this
time the summons was so seriously considered that, two days later, it
was obeyed. Although no one knew it at the time, the last shot of the
campaign had been fired and the war was virtually ended.
But the last shot had stricken down brave, generous, light-hearted
Rollo Van Kyp just as he had covered himself with glory and was within
a hair's-breadth of safety; for, as Lieutenant Norris knelt anxiously
beside his friend, the gallant young trooper lay as though dead, with
blood streaming over his face.
CHAPTER XXIX
TWO INVALID HEROES
Rollo Van Kyp, carefully lifted from the bloody trench in which he had
fought and suffered so cheerfully, was borne to the rear, and the
assistant surgeon of his regiment accompanied him to the hospital at
Siboney. Ridge Norris wanted to do this, but his duties would not
permit of his absence, for officers were becoming scarce, and as yet no
one knew but that the fighting might be resumed at any moment. So he
watched the departure of the ambulance with a heavy heart, and the
whole troop shared his sorrow at the loss of their well-loved comrade.
The next day the assistant surgeon returned and reported Rollo's wound
apparently so serious that there was little hope for him. "There was
just one chance," he added, in answer to Lieutenant Norris's anxious
inquiry for details, "and, by good luck, I secured it for him at the
last moment. He would surely have died in Siboney, but if he can get
home and into a Northern hospital he may pull through. By the greatest
good fortune a Red Cross ship was about to start for the States with a
number of the worst cases; and, just as she was sailing, I managed to
get Van Kyp aboard. She was so crowded that they weren't going to take
him, until her skipper--as big-hearted a Yankee sailorman as ever trod
a deck--said he would give up his own cabin rather than have a Rough
Rider left behind to die."
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