efore 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 ove