Every soldier or civilian who has ever been on this island will readily recall the rough, hard-beaten, winding path that led from the summit of the hill, in a south-westerly direction, down over precipices, around clumps of bamboo, to a beautiful fresh water spring which bubbled out of the coral rocks at a point just high enough to prevent it from being inundated or even infiltrated during the season of high tides.
A few feet from this spring and elevated but slightly above it, is a massive, flat rock. Along the north and west sides of this rock is a vertical stone precipice some eight feet high, which from its upper edge inclines back gradually at an angle of about twenty degrees above a horizontal plane, toward the crest of the island.
On this rock Spain firmly bolted one of her most modern cannon—a good seven-inch gun. It was so situated on a revolving casement that its shots could be made to sweep the whole Boca Grande channel, as the large entrance south of the island is called. Marie had often operated this gun. She had done splendid work with it on a floating target two miles distant. Its deadly roar was her delight. Oh! if she could but use it just once on an actual enemy instead of firing it at an indicated one!
When the old guard had been relieved and the sentries were marched back to the guard-house to be dismissed, poor Marie, heavy hearted, marched along. Just as they approached the guard-house, the sergeant motioned to her to fall out and to come toward him. This she did.
Into her ear he whispered the information that was to start her on her eventful military career. “Marie,” said he, “the officer of the Guard informs me that we cannot use you in the infantry service tonight, but that you will be needed with the artillery.”
“Good!” exclaimed Marie, “Where shall I serve?”
“At the new gun on the large rock near the spring,” answered the Sergeant.
“Thank heaven!” said Marie. “Dewey will surely come, and when I put a solid shot through the ’Olympia’ just below the water line—the battle will be half over. Oh! I’m so anxious! May I go down there tonight and take charge of the gun at once?”
The Sergeant told her to report to the headquarters of the artillery department where she would receive instructions.
At last she found herself on actual duty. How her young heart throbbed as her black eyes peered forth into the darkness. Toward midnight, small clouds began to drift oceanward. For a few moments at a time they would obscure the quartered cheek of the young moon. Oh! if Dewey would but come. The hopes of a life-time were poised on that painful “if.” Before her was the dream of glory; behind her, the dreary forgetfulness of the past. Hour after hour whiled away. The tiny lights in the natives’ shacks along the opposite shore began to go out and grow fewer and fewer until the closing day had died safely away into the solemn night. As usual, “taps” were blown at ten o’clock and things on the island grew very quiet. Days—yes, weeks—seemed to crowd themselves into those long hours. Would he ever come?