Advances In Uml And Xmlbased Software Evolution Illustrated Edition Hongji Yang
Advances In Uml And Xmlbased Software Evolution Illustrated Edition Hongji Yang
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6. Advances in
UML and XML-Based
Software Evolution
HongjiYang
DeMontfortUniversity,UK
Hershey • London • Melbourne • Singapore
IDEA GROUP PUBLISHING
TEAM LinG
8. Advances in UML
and XML-Based
Software Evolution
Table of Contents
Preface .......................................................................................................................... vi
Hongji Yang, De Montfort University, England
ChapterI.
DesignRecoveryofWebApplicationTransactions ......................................................1
Scott Tilley, Florida Institute of Technology, USA
Damiano Distante, University of Lecce, Italy
Shihong Huang, Florida Atlantic University, USA
ChapterII.
UsingaGraphTransformationSystemtoImprovetheQualityCharacteristicsof
UML-RTSpecifications............................................................................................... 20
Lars Grunske, University of Potsdam, Germany
ChapterIII.
VersionControlofSoftwareModels........................................................................... 47
Marcus Alanen, Åbo Akademi University, Finland
Ivan Porres, Åbo Akademi University, Finland
ChapterIV.
SupportforCollaborativeComponent-BasedSoftwareEngineering ......................... 71
Cornelia Boldyreff, University of Lincoln, UK
David Nutter, University of Lincoln, UK
Stephen Rank, University of Lincoln, UK
Phyo Kyaw, University of Durham, UK
Janet Lavery, University of Durham, UK
ChapterV.
MigrationofPersistentObjectModelsUsingXMI .................................................... 92
Rainer Frömming, 4Soft GmbH, Germany
Andreas Rausch, Technische Universität Kaiserslautern, Germany
TEAM LinG
9. ChapterVI.
PRAISE:ASoftwareDevelopmentEnvironmenttoSupportSoftwareEvolution ..... 105
William C. Chu, Tunghai University, Taiwan
Chih-Hung Chang, Hsiuping Institute of Technology, Taiwan
Chih-Wei Lu, Hsiuping Institute of Technology, Taiwan
YI-Chun Peng, Tunghai University, Taiwan
Don-Lin Yang, Feng Chia University, Taiwan
ChapterVII.
DevelopingRequirementsUsingUseCaseModelingandtheVolereTemplate:
EstablishingaBaselineforEvolution ....................................................................... 141
Paul Crowther, Sheffield Hallam University, UK
ChapterVIII.
FormalizingandAnalyzingUMLUseCaseViewUsingHierarchicalPredicate
TransitionNets ......................................................................................................... 154
Xudong He, Florida International University, USA
ChapterIX.
FormalSpecificationofSoftwareModelEvolutionUsingContracts ........................ 184
Claudia Pons, Universidad Nacional de La Plata, Argentina
Gabriel Baum, Universidad Nacional de La Plata, Argentina
ChapterX.
VisualisingCOBOLLegacySystemswithUML:AnExperimentalReport ............ 209
Steve McRobb, De Montfort University, UK
Rich Millham, De Montfort University, UK
Jianjun Pu, De Montfort University, UK
Hongji Yang, De Montfort University, UK
ChapterXI.
XML-BasedAnalysisofUMLModelsforCriticalSystemsDevelopment ............... 257
Jan Jürjens, TU München, Germany
Pasha Shabalin, TU München, Germany
ChapterXII.
AugmentingUMLtoSupporttheDesignandEvolutionofUserInterfaces ............. 275
Chris Scogings, Massey University, New Zealand
Chris Phillips, Massey University, New Zealand
ChapterXIII.
AReuseDefinition,Assessment,andAnalysisFrameworkforUML ..................... 286
Donald Needham, United States Naval Academy, USA
Rodrigo Caballero, United Technologies Research Center, USA
Steven Demurjian, The University of Connecticut, USA
Felix Eickhoff, The University of Connecticut, USA
Yi Zhang, The University of Connecticut, USA
TEAM LinG
10. ChapterXIV.
Complexity-BasedEvaluationoftheEvolutionofXMLandUMLSystems............... 308
Ana Isabel Cardoso, University of Madeira, DME, Portugal
Peter Kokol, University of Maribor, FERI, Slovenia
Mitja Lenic, University of Maribor, FERI, Slovenia
Rui Gustavo Crespo, Technical University of Lisbon, DEEC, Portugal
ChapterXV.
VariabilityExpressionwithintheContextofUML:IssuesandComparisons ......... 322
Patrick Tessier, CEA/List Saclay, France
Sébastien Gérard, CEA/List Saclay, France
François Terrier, CEA/List Saclay, France
Jean-Marc Geib, Université des Sciences et Technologies de Lille, France
AbouttheAuthors ..................................................................................................... 350
Index ........................................................................................................................ 360
TEAM LinG
11. Preface
vi
This book continues to provide a forum, which a recent book, Software Evolution with
UML and XML, started, where expert insights are presented on the subject.
In that book, initial efforts were made to link together three current phenomena: soft-
ware evolution, UML, and XML. In this book, focus will be on the practical side of
linking them, that is, how UML and XML and their related methods/tools can assist
software evolution in practice.
Considering that nowadays software starts evolving before it is delivered, an apparent
feature for software evolution is that it happens over all stages and over all aspects.
Therefore, all possible techniques should be explored. This book explores techniques
based on UML/XML and a combination of them with other techniques (i.e., over all
techniques from theory to tools).
Software evolution happens at all stages. Chapters in this book describe that software
evolution issues present at stages of software architecturing, modeling/specifying,
assessing, coding, validating, design recovering, program understanding, and reusing.
Software evolution happens in all aspects. Chapters in this book illustrate that soft-
ware evolution issues are involved in Web application, embedded system, software
repository, component-based development, object model, development environment,
software metrics, UML use case diagram, system model, Legacy system, safety critical
system, user interface, software reuse, evolution management, and variability model-
ing.
Software evolution needs to be facilitated with all possible techniques. Chapters in
this book demonstrate techniques, such as formal methods, program transformation,
empirical study, tool development, standardisation, visualisation, to control system
changes to meet organisational and business objectives in a cost-effective way.
On the journey of the grand challenge posed by software evolution, the journey that
we have to make, the contributory authors of this book have already made further
advances.
TEAM LinG
12. Organisation of the Book
The book is organised into 15 chapters and a brief description of each chapter is as
follows.
Chapter I, Design Recovery of Web Application Transactions, is by Scott Tilley, Damiano
Distante, and Shihong Huang. Modern Web sites provide applications that are increas-
ingly built to support the execution of business processes. In such a transaction-
oriented Web site, poor transaction design may result in a system with unpredictable
workflow and a lower-quality user experience. This chapter presents an example of the
recovery of the “as-is” design model of a Web application transaction. The recovered
design is modeled using extensions to the transaction design portion of the UML-
based Ubiquitous Web Applications (UWA) framework. Recovery facilitates future
evolution of the Web site.
Chapter II, Using a Graph Transformation System to Improve the Quality Characteris-
tics of UML-RT Specifications, is by Lars Grunske. Architectural transformations are an
appropriate technique for the development and improvement of architectural specifica-
tions. This chapter presents the concept of graph-based architecture evolution and
how this concept can be applied to improve the quality characteristics of a software
system, where the UML-RT used as an architectural specification language is mapped
to a hypergraph-based datastructure, so that transformation operators can be specified
as hypergraph transformation rules.
Chapter III, Version Control of Software Models, is by Marcus Alanen and Ivan Porres.
Through reviewing main concepts and algorithms behind a software repository with
version control capabilities for UML and other MOF-based models, this chapter dis-
cusses why source code- and XML-based repositories cannot be used to manage
models and present alternative solutions that take into account specific details of MOF
languages.
Chapter IV, Support for Collaborative Component-Based Software Engineering, is by
Cornelia Boldyreff, David Nutter, Stephen Rank, Phyo Kyaw, and Janet Lavery. Col-
laborative system composition during design has been poorly supported by traditional
CASE tools and almost exclusively focused on static composition. This chapter dis-
cusses the collaborative determination, elaboration, and evolution of design spaces
that describe both static and dynamic compositions of software components from
sources such as component libraries, software service directories, and reuse reposito-
ries. It also discusses the provision of cross-project global views of large software
collections and historical views of individual artefacts within a collection.
Chapter V, Migration of Persistent Object Models Using XMI, is by Rainer Frömming
and Andreas Rausch. Change is a constant reality of software development. With ever-
changing customer requirements, modifications to the object model are required during
software development as well as after product distribution. This chapter presents the
conceptualisation and implementation of a tool for the automated migration of persis-
tent object models. The migration is controlled by an XMI-based description of the
difference between the old and the new object model.
Chapter VI, PRAISE: A Software Development Environment to Support Software Evo-
lution, is by Chih-Hung Chang, William C. Chu, Chih-Wei Lu, YI-Chun Peng, and Don-
vii
TEAM LinG
13. Lin Yang. This chapter first reviews current activities and studies in software stan-
dards, processes, CASE toolsets, and environments, and then proposes a process and
an environment for evolution-oriented software development, known as PRocess and
Agent-based Integrated Software development Environment (PRAISE). PRAISE uses
an XML-based mechanism to unify various software paradigms, aiming to integrate
processes, roles, toolsets, and work products to make software development more
efficient.
Chapter VII, Developing Requirements Using Use Case Modeling and the Volere Tem-
plate: Establishing a Baseline for Evolution, is by Paul Crowther. The development of
a quality software product depends on a complete, consistent, and detailed require-
ment specification but the specification will evolve as the requirements and the envi-
ronment change. This chapter provides a method of establishing the baseline in terms
of the requirements of a system from which evolution metrics can be effectively ap-
plied. UML provides a series of models that can be used to develop a specification
which will provide the basis of the baseline system.
Chapter VIII, Formalizing and Analyzing UML Use Case View Using Hierarchical
Predicate Transition Nets, is by Xudong He. UML use case diagrams are used during
requirements analysis to define a use case view that constitutes a system’s functional
model. Each use case describes a system’s functionality from a user’s perspective, but
these use case descriptions are often informal, which are error-prone and cannot be
formally analysed to detect problems in user requirements or errors introduced in sys-
tem functional model. This chapter presents an approach to formally translate a use
case view into a formal model in hierarchical predicate transition nets that support
formal analysis.
Chapter IX, Formal Specification of Software Model Evolution Using Contracts, is by
Claudia Pons and Gabriel Baum. During the object-oriented software development pro-
cess, a variety of models of the system is built, but these models may semantically
overlap. This chapter presents a classification of relationships between models along
three different dimensions, proposing a formal description of them in terms of math-
ematical contracts.
Chapter X, Visualising COBOL Legacy Systems with UML: An Experimental Report, is
by Steve McRobb, Richard Millham, Jianjun Pu, and Hongji Yang. This chapter pre-
sents a report of an experimental approach that uses WSL as an intermediate language
for the visualisation of COBOL legacy systems in UML. Visualisation will help a soft-
ware maintainer who must be able to understand the business processes being mod-
eled by the system along with the system’s functionality, structure, events, and inter-
actions with external entities. Key UML techniques are identified that can be used for
visualisation. The chapter concludes by demonstrating how this approach can be used
to build a software tool that automates the visualisation task.
Chapter XI, XML-Based Analysis of UML Models for Critical Systems Development, is
by Jan Jürjens and Pasha Shabalin. High quality development of critical systems poses
serious challenges. Formal methods have not yet been used in industry as they were
originally hoped. This chapter proposes to use the Unified Modeling Language (UML)
as a notation together with a formally based tool-support for critical systems develop-
ment. The chapter extends the UML notation with new constructs for describing criti-
viii
TEAM LinG
14. cality requirements and relevant system properties, and introduces their formalisation
in the context of the UML executable semantics.
Chapter XII, Augmenting UML to Support the Design and Evolution of User Inter-
faces, is by Chris Scogings and Chris Phillips. The primary focus in UML has been on
support for the design and implementation of the software comprising the underlying
system. Very little support is provided for the design or evolution of the user interface.
This chapter first reviews UML and its support for user interface modeling, then de-
scribes Lean Cuisine+, a notation capable of modeling both dialogue structure and
high-level user tasks. A case study shows that Lean Cuisine+ can be used to augment
UML and provide the user interface support.
Chapter XIII, A Reuse Definition, Assessment, and Analysis Framework for UML, is by
Donald Needham, Rodrigo Caballero, Steven Demurjian, Felix Eickhoff, and Yi Zhang.
This chapter examines a formal framework for reusability assessment of development-
time components and classes via metrics, refactoring guidelines, and algorithms. It
argues that software engineers seeking to improve design reusability stand to benefit
from tools that precisely measure the potential and actual reuse of software artefacts to
achieve domain-specific reuse for an organisation’s current and future products. The
authors consider the reuse definition, assessment, and analysis of a UML design prior
to the existence of source code, and include dependency tracking for use case and
class diagrams in support of reusability analysis and refactoring for UML.
Chapter XIV, Complexity-Based Evaluation of the Evolution of XML and UML Sys-
tems, is by Ana Isabel Cardoso, Peter Kokol, Mitja Lenic, and Rui Gustavo Crespo. This
chapter analyses current problems in the management of software evolution and ar-
gues the need to use the Chaos Theory to model software systems. Several correlation
metrics are described, and the authors conclude the long-range correlation can be the
most promising metrics. An industrial test case is used to illustrate that the behaviours
of software evolution are represented in the Verhulst model.
Chapter XV, Variability Expression within the Context of UML: Issues and Compari-
sons, is by Patrick Tessier, Sébastien Gérard, François Terrier, and Jean-Marc Geib.
Time-to-market is one severe constraint imposed on today’s software engineers. This
chapter presents a product line paradigm as an effective solution for managing both the
variability of products and their evolutions. The product line approach calls for design-
ing a generic and parameterised model that specifies a family of products. It is then
possible to instantiate a member of that family by specialising the “parent” model or
“framework,” where designers explicitly model variability and commonality points among
applications.
ix
TEAM LinG
15. x
Acknowledgments
Sincerely, I would like to thank all the people who have helped with the publication of
this book.
First, I would like to acknowledge the authors for their academic insights and the
patience to go through the whole proposing-writing-revising-finalising process to get
their chapters ready, and also for serving as reviewers to provide constructive and
comprehensive reviews for chapters written by other authors.
Special thanks go to the publishing team at Idea Group Inc.; in particular, to Mehdi
Khosrow-Pour whose support encouraged me to finish this continuation book in the
area of software evolution with UML and XML which provides me a wonderful oppor-
tunity to work with more leading scholars in the world; to Jan Travers for her continu-
ous support in logistics of the project; to Michele Rossi and Amanda Appicello for
copyediting and typesetting the book; and to Megan Kurtz for designing the one-page
promotion brochure.
Finally, I would like to thank my wife, Xiaodong, and my son, Tianxiu, for their support
throughout this project.
Hongji Yang, PhD
Loughborough, UK
January 2005
TEAM LinG
56. Now behold the solitary Perkins adrift in the storm of fighting, even
as a champagne jacket of straw is lost in a great surf. He found it
out quickly. Four seconds elapsed before he discovered that he was
an almshouse idiot plunging through hot, crackling thickets on a
June morning in Cuba. Sss-s-swing-sing-ing-pop went the lightning-
swift metal grasshoppers over him and beside him. The beauties of
rural Minnesota illuminated his conscience with the gold of lazy corn,
with the sleeping green of meadows, with the cathedral gloom of
pine forests. Sshsh-swing-pop! Perkins decided that if he cared to
extract himself from a tangle of imbecility he must shoot. The entire
situation was that he must shoot. It was necessary that he should
shoot. Nothing would save him but shooting. It is a law that men
thus decide when the waters of battle close over their minds. So
with a prayer that the Americans would not hit him in the back nor
the left side, and that the Spaniards would not hit him in the front,
he knelt like a supplicant alone in the desert of chaparral, and
emptied his magazine at his Spaniard before he discovered that his
Spaniard was a bit of dried palm branch.
Then Perkins flurried like a fish. His reason for being was a Spaniard
in the bush. When the Spaniard turned into a dried palm branch, he
could no longer furnish himself with one adequate reason.
Then did he dream frantically of some anthracite hiding-place, some
profound dungeon of peace where blind mules live placidly chewing
the far-gathered hay.
"Sss-swing-win-pop! Prut-prut-prrrut!" Then a field-gun spoke.
"Boom-ra-swow-ow-ow-ow-pum." Then a Colt automatic began to
bark. "Crack-crk-crk-crk-crk-crk" endlessly. Raked, enfiladed, flanked,
surrounded, and overwhelmed, what hope was there for William B.
Perkins of the "Minnesota Herald?"
But war is a spirit. War provides for those that it loves. It provides
sometimes death and sometimes a singular and incredible safety.
57. There were few ways in which it was possible to preserve Perkins.
One way was by means of a steam-boiler.
Perkins espied near him an old, rusty steam-boiler lying in the
bushes. War only knows how it was there, but there it was, a temple
shining resplendent with safety. With a moan of haste, Perkins flung
himself through that hole which expressed the absence of the
steam-pipe.
Then ensconced in his boiler, Perkins comfortably listened to the ring
of a fight which seemed to be in the air above him. Sometimes
bullets struck their strong, swift blow against the boiler's sides, but
none entered to interfere with Perkins's rest.
Time passed. The fight, short anyhow, dwindled to prut … prut …
prut-prut … prut. And when the silence came, Perkins might have
been seen cautiously protruding from the boiler. Presently he strolled
back toward the marine lines with his hat not able to fit his head for
the new bumps of wisdom that were on it.
The marines, with an annoyed air, were settling down again when an
apparitional figure came from the bushes. There was great
excitement.
"It's that crazy man," they shouted, and as he drew near they
gathered tumultuously about him and demanded to know how he
had accomplished it.
Perkins made a gesture, the gesture of a man escaping from an
unintentional mud-bath, the gesture of a man coming out of battle,
and then he told them.
The incredulity was immediate and general. "Yes, you did! What? In
an old boiler? An old boiler? Out in that brush? Well, we guess not."
They did not believe him until two days later, when a patrol
happened to find the rusty boiler, relic of some curious transaction in
58. the ruin of the Cuban sugar industry. The patrol then marvelled at
the truthfulness of war-correspondents until they were almost blind.
Soon after his adventure Perkins boarded the tug, wearing a
countenance of poignant thoughtfulness.
59. THE CLAN OF NO-NAME
Unwind my riddle.
Cruel as hawks the hours fly;
Wounded men seldom come home to die;
The hard waves see an arm flung high;
Scorn hits strong because of a lie;
Yet there exists a mystic tie.
Unwind my riddle.
She was out in the garden. Her mother came to her rapidly.
"Margharita! Margharita, Mister Smith is here! Come!" Her mother
was fat and commercially excited. Mister Smith was a matter of
some importance to all Tampa people, and since he was really in
love with Margharita he was distinctly of more importance to this
particular household.
Palm trees tossed their sprays over the fence toward the rutted sand
of the street. A little foolish fish-pond in the centre of the garden
emitted a sound of red-fins flipping, flipping. "No, mamma," said the
girl, "let Mr. Smith wait. I like the garden in the moonlight."
Her mother threw herself into that state of virtuous astonishment
which is the weapon of her kind. "Margharita!"
The girl evidently considered herself to be a privileged belle, for she
answered quite carelessly, "Oh, let him wait."
The mother threw abroad her arms with a semblance of great high-
minded suffering and withdrew. Margharita walked alone in the
moonlit garden. Also an electric light threw its shivering gleam over
part of her parade.
60. There was peace for a time. Then suddenly through the faint brown
palings was struck an envelope white and square. Margharita
approached this envelope with an indifferent stride. She hummed a
silly air, she bore herself casually, but there was something that
made her grasp it hard, a peculiar muscular exhibition, not
discernible to indifferent eyes. She did not clutch it, but she took it—
simply took it in a way that meant everything, and, to measure it by
vision, it was a picture of the most complete disregard.
She stood straight for a moment; then she drew from her bosom a
photograph and thrust it through the palings. She walked rapidly
into the house.
II
A man in garb of blue and white—something relating to what we call
bed-ticking—was seated in a curious little cupola on the top of a
Spanish blockhouse. The blockhouse sided a white military road that
curved away from the man's sight into a blur of trees. On all sides of
him were fields of tall grass, studded with palms and lined with
fences of barbed wire. The sun beat aslant through the trees and
the man sped his eyes deep into the dark tropical shadows that
seemed velvet with coolness. These tranquil vistas resembled
painted scenery in a theatre, and, moreover, a hot, heavy silence lay
upon the land.
The soldier in the watching place leaned an unclean Mauser rifle in a
corner, and, reaching down, took a glowing coal on a bit of palm
bark handed up to him by a comrade. The men below were mainly
asleep. The sergeant in command drowsed near the open door, the
arm above his head, showing his long keen-angled chevrons
attached carelessly with safety-pins. The sentry lit his cigarette and
puffed languorously.
61. Suddenly he heard from the air around him the querulous, deadly-
swift spit of rifle-bullets, and, an instant later, the poppety-pop of a
small volley sounded in his face, close, as if it were fired only ten
feet away. Involuntarily he threw back his head quickly as if he were
protecting his nose from a falling tile. He screamed an alarm and fell
into the blockhouse. In the gloom of it, men with their breaths
coming sharply between their teeth, were tumbling wildly for
positions at the loop-holes. The door had been slammed, but the
sergeant lay just within, propped up as when he drowsed, but now
with blood flowing steadily over the hand that he pressed flatly to
his chest. His face was in stark yellow agony; he chokingly repeated:
"Fuego! Por Dios, hombres!"
The men's ill-conditioned weapons were jammed through the loop-
holes and they began to fire from all four sides of the blockhouse
from the simple data, apparently, that the enemy were in the
vicinity. The fumes of burnt powder grew stronger and stronger in
the little square fortress. The rattling of the magazine locks was
incessant, and the interior might have been that of a gloomy
manufactory if it were not for the sergeant down under the feet of
the men, coughing out: "Por Dios, hombres! Por Dios! Fuego!"
III
A string of five Cubans, in linen that had turned earthy brown in
colour, slid through the woods at a pace that was neither a walk nor
a run. It was a kind of rack. In fact the whole manner of the men, as
they thus moved, bore a rather comic resemblance to the American
pacing horse. But they had come many miles since sun-up over
mountainous and half-marked paths, and were plainly still fresh. The
men were all practicos—guides. They made no sound in their swift
travel, but moved their half-shod feet with the skill of cats. The
woods lay around them in a deep silence, such as one might find at
the bottom of a lake.
62. Suddenly the leading practico raised his hand. The others pulled up
short and dropped the butts of their weapons calmly and noiselessly
to the ground. The leader whistled a low note and immediately
another practico appeared from the bushes. He moved close to the
leader without a word, and then they spoke in whispers.
"There are twenty men and a sergeant in the blockhouse."
"And the road?"
"One company of cavalry passed to the east this morning at seven
o'clock. They were escorting four carts. An hour later, one horseman
rode swiftly to the westward. About noon, ten infantry soldiers with
a corporal were taken from the big fort and put in the first
blockhouse, to the east of the fort. There were already twelve men
there. We saw a Spanish column moving off toward Mariel."
"No more?"
"No more."
"Good. But the cavalry?"
"It is all right. They were going a long march."
"The expedition is a half league behind. Go and tell the general."
The scout disappeared. The five other men lifted their guns and
resumed their rapid and noiseless progress. A moment later no
sound broke the stillness save the thump of a mango, as it dropped
lazily from its tree to the grass. So strange had been the apparition
of these men, their dress had been so allied in colour to the soil,
their passing had so little disturbed the solemn rumination of the
forest, and their going had been so like a spectral dissolution, that a
witness could have wondered if he dreamed.
63. IV
A small expedition had landed with arms from the United States, and
had now come out of the hills and to the edge of a wood. Before
them was a long-grassed rolling prairie marked with palms. A half-
mile away was the military road, and they could see the top of a
blockhouse. The insurgent scouts were moving somewhere off in the
grass. The general sat comfortably under a tree, while his staff of
three young officers stood about him chatting. Their linen clothing
was notable from being distinctly whiter than those of the men who,
one hundred and fifty in number, lay on the ground in a long brown
fringe, ragged—indeed, bare in many places—but singularly
reposeful, unworried, veteran-like.
The general, however, was thoughtful. He pulled continually at his
little thin moustache. As far as the heavily patrolled and guarded
military road was concerned, the insurgents had been in the habit of
dashing across it in small bodies whenever they pleased, but to
safely scoot over it with a valuable convoy of arms, was decidedly a
more important thing. So the general awaited the return of his
practicos with anxiety. The still pampas betrayed no sign of their
existence.
The general gave some orders and an officer counted off twenty
men to go with him, and delay any attempt of the troop of cavalry to
return from the eastward. It was not an easy task, but it was a
familiar task—checking the advance of a greatly superior force by a
very hard fire from concealment. A few rifles had often bayed a
strong column for sufficient length of time for all strategic purposes.
The twenty men pulled themselves together tranquilly. They looked
quite indifferent. Indeed, they had the supremely casual manner of
old soldiers, hardened to battle as a condition of existence.
64. Thirty men were then told off, whose function it was to worry and
rag at the blockhouse, and check any advance from the westward. A
hundred men, carrying precious burdens—besides their own
equipment—were to pass in as much of a rush as possible between
these two wings, cross the road and skip for the hills, their retreat
being covered by a combination of the two firing parties. It was a
trick that needed both luck and neat arrangement. Spanish columns
were for ever prowling through this province in all directions and at
all times. Insurgent bands—the lightest of light infantry—were kept
on the jump, even when they were not incommoded by fifty boxes,
each one large enough for the coffin of a little man, and heavier
than if the little man were in it; and fifty small but formidable boxes
of ammunition.
The carriers stood to their boxes and the firing parties leaned on
their rifles. The general arose and strolled to and fro, his hands
behind him. Two of his staff were jesting at the third, a young man
with a face less bronzed, and with very new accoutrements. On the
strap of his cartouche were a gold star and a silver star, placed in a
horizontal line, denoting that he was a second lieutenant. He
seemed very happy; he laughed at all their jests, although his eye
roved continually over the sunny grass-lands, where was going to
happen his first fight. One of his stars was bright, like his hopes, the
other was pale, like death.
Two practicos came racking out of the grass. They spoke rapidly to
the general; he turned and nodded to his officers. The two firing
parties filed out and diverged toward their positions. The general
watched them through his glasses. It was strange to note how soon
they were dim to the unaided eye. The little patches of brown in the
green grass did not look like men at all.
Practicos continually ambled up to the general. Finally he turned and
made a sign to the bearers. The first twenty men in line picked up
their boxes, and this movement rapidly spread to the tail of the line.
65. The weighted procession moved painfully out upon the sunny
prairie. The general, marching at the head of it, glanced continually
back as if he were compelled to drag behind him some ponderous
iron chain. Besides the obvious mental worry, his face bore an
expression of intense physical strain, and he even bent his
shoulders, unconsciously tugging at the chain to hurry it through this
enemy-crowded valley.
V
The fight was opened by eight men who, snuggling in the grass,
within three hundred yards of the blockhouse, suddenly blazed away
at the bed-ticking figure in the cupola and at the open door where
they could see vague outlines. Then they laughed and yelled
insulting language, for they knew that as far as the Spaniards were
concerned, the surprise was as much as having a diamond bracelet
turn to soap. It was this volley that smote the sergeant and caused
the man in the cupola to scream and tumble from his perch.
The eight men, as well as all other insurgents within fair range, had
chosen good positions for lying close, and for a time they let the
blockhouse rage, although the soldiers therein could occasionally
hear, above the clamour of their weapons, shrill and almost wolfish
calls, coming from men whose lips were laid against the ground. But
it is not in the nature of them of Spanish blood, and armed with
rifles, to long endure the sight of anything so tangible as an enemy's
blockhouse without shooting at it—other conditions being partly
favourable. Presently the steaming soldiers in the little fort could
hear the sping and shiver of bullets striking the wood that guarded
their bodies.
A perfectly white smoke floated up over each firing Cuban, the
penalty of the Remington rifle, but about the blockhouse there was
only the lightest gossamer of blue. The blockhouse stood always for
66. some big, clumsy and rather incompetent animal, while the
insurgents, scattered on two sides of it, were little enterprising
creatures of another species, too wise to come too near, but joyously
raging at its easiest flanks and drilling the lead into its sides in a way
to make it fume, and spit and rave like the tom-cat when the glad,
free-band fox-hound pups catch him in the lane.
The men, outlying in the grass, chuckled deliriously at the fury of the
Spanish fire. They howled opprobrium to encourage the Spaniards to
fire more ill-used, incapable bullets. Whenever an insurgent was
about to fire, he ordinarily prefixed the affair with a speech. "Do you
want something to eat? Yes? All right." Bang! "Eat that." The more
common expressions of the incredibly foul Spanish tongue were
trifles light as air in this badinage, which was shrieked out from the
grass during the spin of bullets, and the dull rattle of the shooting.
But at some time there came a series of sounds from the east that
began in a few disconnected pruts and ended as if an amateur was
trying to play the long roll upon a muffled drum. Those of the
insurgents in the blockhouse attacking party, who had neighbours in
the grass, turned and looked at them seriously. They knew what the
new sound meant. It meant that the twenty men who had gone to
the eastward were now engaged. A column of some kind was
approaching from that direction, and they knew by the clatter that it
was a solemn occasion.
In the first place, they were now on the wrong side of the road.
They were obliged to cross it to rejoin the main body, provided of
course that the main body succeeded itself in crossing it. To
accomplish this, the party at the blockhouse would have to move to
the eastward, until out of sight or good range of the maddened little
fort. But judging from the heaviness of the firing, the party of twenty
who protected the east were almost sure to be driven immediately
back. Hence travel in that direction would become exceedingly
hazardous. Hence a man looked seriously at his neighbour. It might
67. easily be that in a moment they were to become an isolated force
and woefully on the wrong side of the road.
Any retreat to the westward was absurd, since primarily they would
have to widely circle the blockhouse, and more than that, they could
hear, even now in that direction, Spanish bugle calling to Spanish
bugle, far and near, until one would think that every man in Cuba
was a trumpeter, and had come forth to parade his talent.
VI
The insurgent general stood in the middle of the road gnawing his
lips. Occasionally, he stamped a foot and beat his hands passionately
together. The carriers were streaming past him, patient, sweating
fellows, bowed under their burdens, but they could not move fast
enough for him when others of his men were engaged both to the
east and to the west, and he, too, knew from the sound that those
to the east were in a sore way. Moreover, he could hear that
accursed bugling, bugling, bugling in the west.
He turned suddenly to the new lieutenant who stood behind him,
pale and quiet. "Did you ever think a hundred men were so many?"
he cried, incensed to the point of beating them. Then he said
longingly: "Oh, for a half an hour! Or even twenty minutes!"
A practico racked violently up from the east. It is characteristic of
these men that, although they take a certain roadster gait and hold
it for ever, they cannot really run, sprint, race. "Captain Rodriguez is
attacked by two hundred men, señor, and the cavalry is behind
them. He wishes to know——"
The general was furious; he pointed. "Go! Tell Rodriguez to hold his
place for twenty minutes, even if he leaves every man dead."
The practico shambled hastily off.
68. The last of the carriers were swarming across the road. The rifle-
drumming in the east was swelling out and out, evidently coming
slowly nearer. The general bit his nails. He wheeled suddenly upon
the young lieutenant. "Go to Bas at the blockhouse. Tell him to hold
the devil himself for ten minutes and then bring his men out of that
place."
The long line of bearers was crawling like a dun worm toward the
safety of the foot-hills. High bullets sang a faint song over the aide
as he saluted. The bugles had in the west ceased, and that was
more ominous than bugling. It meant that the Spanish troops were
about to march, or perhaps that they had marched.
The young lieutenant ran along the road until he came to the bend
which marked the range of sight from the blockhouse. He drew his
machete, his stunning new machete, and hacked feverishly at the
barbed wire fence which lined the north side of the road at that
point. The first wire was obdurate, because it was too high for his
stroke, but two more cut like candy, and he stepped over the
remaining one, tearing his trousers in passing on the lively
serpentine ends of the severed wires. Once out in the field and
bullets seemed to know him and call for him and speak their wish to
kill him. But he ran on, because it was his duty, and because he
would be shamed before men if he did not do his duty, and because
he was desolate out there all alone in the fields with death.
A man running in this manner from the rear was in immensely
greater danger than those who lay snug and close. But he did not
know it. He thought because he was five hundred—four hundred
and fifty—four hundred yards away from the enemy and the others
were only three hundred yards away that they were in far more
peril. He ran to join them because of his opinion. He did not care to
do it, but he thought that was what men of his kind would do in
such a case. There was a standard and he must follow it, obey it,
because it was a monarch, the Prince of Conduct.
69. A bewildered and alarmed face raised itself from the grass and a
voice cried to him: "Drop, Manolo! Drop! Drop!" He recognised Bas
and flung himself to the earth beside him.
"Why," he said panting, "what's the matter?"
"Matter?" said Bas. "You are one of the most desperate and careless
officers I know. When I saw you coming I wouldn't have given a
peseta for your life."
"Oh, no," said the young aide. Then he repeated his orders rapidly.
But he was hugely delighted. He knew Bas well; Bas was a pupil of
Maceo; Bas invariably led his men; he never was a mere spectator of
their battle; he was known for it throughout the western end of the
island. The new officer had early achieved a part of his ambition—to
be called a brave man by established brave men.
"Well, if we get away from here quickly it will be better for us," said
Bas, bitterly. "I've lost six men killed, and more wounded. Rodriguez
can't hold his position there, and in a little time more than a
thousand men will come from the other direction."
He hissed a low call, and later the young aide saw some of the men
sneaking off with the wounded, lugging them on their backs as
porters carry sacks. The fire from the blockhouse had become a-
weary, and as the insurgent fire also slackened, Bas and the young
lieutenant lay in the weeds listening to the approach of the eastern
fight, which was sliding toward them like a door to shut them off.
Bas groaned. "I leave my dead. Look there." He swung his hand in a
gesture and the lieutenant looking saw a corpse. He was not stricken
as he expected; there was very little blood; it was a mere thing.
"Time to travel," said Bas suddenly. His imperative hissing brought
his men near him; there were a few hurried questions and answers;
then, characteristically, the men turned in the grass, lifted their
rifles, and fired a last volley into the blockhouse, accompanying it
70. with their shrill cries. Scrambling low to the ground, they were off in
a winding line for safety. Breathing hard, the lieutenant stumbled his
way forward. Behind him he could hear the men calling each to
each: "Segue! Segue! Segue! Go on! Get out! Git!" Everybody
understood that the peril of crossing the road was compounding
from minute to minute.
VII
When they reached the gap through which the expedition had
passed, they fled out upon the road like scared wild-fowl tracking
along a sea-beach. A cloud of blue figures far up this dignified
shaded avenue, fired at once. The men already had begun to laugh
as they shied one by one across the road. "Segue! Segue!" The hard
part for the nerves had been the lack of information of the amount
of danger. Now that they could see it, they accounted it all the more
lightly for their previous anxiety.
Over in the other field, Bas and the young lieutenant found
Rodriguez, his machete in one hand, his revolver in the other, smoky,
dirty, sweating. He shrugged his shoulders when he saw them and
pointed disconsolately to the brown thread of carriers moving toward
the foot-hills. His own men were crouched in line just in front of him
blazing like a prairie fire.
Now began the fight of a scant rear-guard to hold back the pressing
Spaniards until the carriers could reach the top of the ridge, a mile
away. This ridge by the way was more steep than any roof; it
conformed, more, to the sides of a French war-ship. Trees grew
vertically from it, however, and a man burdened only with his rifle
usually pulled himself wheezingly up in a sort of ladder-climbing
process, grabbing the slim trunks above him. How the loaded
carriers were to conquer it in a hurry, no one knew. Rodriguez
71. shrugged his shoulders as one who would say with philosophy,
smiles, tears, courage: "Isn't this a mess!"
At an order, the men scattered back for four hundred yards with the
rapidity and mystery of a handful of pebbles flung in the night. They
left one behind who cried out, but it was now a game in which some
were sure to be left behind to cry out.
The Spaniards deployed on the road and for twenty minutes
remained there pouring into the field such a fire from their
magazines as was hardly heard at Gettysburg. As a matter of truth
the insurgents were at this time doing very little shooting, being
chary of ammunition. But it is possible for the soldier to confuse
himself with his own noise and undoubtedly the Spanish troops
thought throughout their din that they were being fiercely engaged.
Moreover, a firing-line—particularly at night or when opposed to a
hidden foe—is nothing less than an emotional chord, a chord of a
harp that sings because a puff of air arrives or when a bit of down
touches it. This is always true of new troops or stupid troops and
these troops were rather stupid troops. But, the way in which they
mowed the verdure in the distance was a sight for a farmer.
Presently the insurgents slunk back to another position where they
fired enough shots to stir again the Spaniards into an opinion that
they were in a heavy fight. But such a misconception could only
endure for a number of minutes. Presently it was plain that the
Spaniards were about to advance and, moreover, word was brought
to Rodriguez that a small band of guerillas were already making an
attempt to worm around the right flank. Rodriguez cursed
despairingly; he sent both Bas and the young lieutenant to that end
of the line to hold the men to their work as long as possible.
In reality the men barely needed the presence of their officers. The
kind of fighting left practically everything to the discretion of the
individual and they arrived at concert of action mainly because of
the equality of experience, in the wisdoms of bushwhacking.
72. The yells of the guerillas could plainly be heard and the insurgents
answered in kind. The young lieutenant found desperate work on
the right flank. The men were raving mad with it, babbling, tearful,
almost frothing at the mouth. Two terrible bloody creatures passed
him, creeping on all fours, and one in a whimper was calling upon
God, his mother, and a saint. The guerillas, as effectually concealed
as the insurgents, were driving their bullets low through the smoke
at sight of a flame, a movement of the grass or sight of a patch of
dirty brown coat. They were no column-o'-four soldiers; they were
as slinky and snaky and quick as so many Indians. They were,
moreover, native Cubans and because of their treachery to the one-
star flag, they never by any chance received quarter if they fell into
the hands of the insurgents. Nor, if the case was reversed, did they
ever give quarter. It was life and life, death and death; there was no
middle ground, no compromise. If a man's crowd was rapidly
retreating and he was tumbled over by a slight hit, he should curse
the sacred graves that the wound was not through the precise
centre of his heart. The machete is a fine broad blade but it is not so
nice as a drilled hole in the chest; no man wants his death-bed to be
a shambles. The men fighting on the insurgents' right knew that if
they fell they were lost.
On the extreme right, the young lieutenant found five men in a little
saucer-like hollow. Two were dead, one was wounded and staring
blankly at the sky and two were emptying hot rifles furiously. Some
of the guerillas had snaked into positions only a hundred yards away.
The young man rolled in among the men in the saucer. He could
hear the barking of the guerillas and the screams of the two
insurgents. The rifles were popping and spitting in his face, it
seemed, while the whole land was alive with a noise of rolling and
drumming. Men could have gone drunken in all this flashing and
flying and snarling and din, but at this time he was very deliberate.
He knew that he was thrusting himself into a trap whose door, once
closed, opened only when the black hand knocked and every part of
73. him seemed to be in panic-stricken revolt. But something controlled
him; something moved him inexorably in one direction; he perfectly
understood but he was only sad, sad with a serene dignity, with the
countenance of a mournful young prince. He was of a kind—that
seemed to be it—and the men of his kind, on peak or plain, from the
dark northern ice-fields to the hot wet jungles, through all wine and
want, through all lies and unfamiliar truth, dark or light, the men of
his kind were governed by their gods, and each man knew the law
and yet could not give tongue to it, but it was the law and if the
spirits of the men of his kind were all sitting in critical judgment
upon him even then in the sky, he could not have bettered his
conduct; he needs must obey the law and always with the law there
is only one way. But from peak and plain, from dark northern ice-
fields and hot wet jungles, through wine and want, through all lies
and unfamiliar truth, dark or light, he heard breathed to him the
approval and the benediction of his brethren.
He stooped and gently took a dead man's rifle and some cartridges.
The battle was hurrying, hurrying, hurrying, but he was in no haste.
His glance caught the staring eye of the wounded soldier, and he
smiled at him quietly. The man—simple doomed peasant—was not of
his kind, but the law on fidelity was clear.
He thrust a cartridge into the Remington and crept up beside the
two unhurt men. Even as he did so, three or four bullets cut so close
to him that all his flesh tingled. He fired carefully into the smoke.
The guerillas were certainly not now more than fifty yards away.
He raised him coolly for his second shot, and almost instantly it was
as if some giant had struck him in the chest with a beam. It whirled
him in a great spasm back into the saucer. As he put his two hands
to his breast, he could hear the guerillas screeching exultantly, every
throat vomiting forth all the infamy of a language prolific in the
phrasing of infamy.
74. One of the other men came rolling slowly down the slope, while his
rifle followed him, and, striking another rifle, clanged out. Almost
immediately the survivor howled and fled wildly. A whole volley
missed him and then one or more shots caught him as a bird is
caught on the wing.
The young lieutenant's body seemed galvanised from head to foot.
He concluded that he was not hurt very badly, but when he tried to
move he found that he could not lift his hands from his breast. He
had turned to lead. He had had a plan of taking a photograph from
his pocket and looking at it.
There was a stir in the grass at the edge of the saucer, and a man
appeared there, looking where lay the four insurgents. His negro
face was not an eminently ferocious one in its lines, but now it was
lit with an illimitable blood-greed. He and the young lieutenant
exchanged a singular glance; then he came stepping eagerly down.
The young lieutenant closed his eyes, for he did not want to see the
flash of the machete.
VIII
The Spanish colonel was in a rage, and yet immensely proud;
immensely proud, and yet in a rage of disappointment. There had
been a fight and the insurgents had retreated leaving their dead, but
still a valuable expedition had broken through his lines and escaped
to the mountains. As a matter of truth, he was not sure whether to
be wholly delighted or wholly angry, for well he knew that the
importance lay not so much in the truthful account of the action as it
did in the heroic prose of the official report, and in the fight itself lay
material for a purple splendid poem. The insurgents had run away;
no one could deny it; it was plain even to whatever privates had
fired with their eyes shut. This was worth a loud blow and splutter.
However, when all was said and done, he could not help but reflect
75. that if he had captured this expedition, he would have been a
brigadier-general, if not more.
He was a short, heavy man with a beard, who walked in a manner
common to all elderly Spanish officers, and to many young ones;
that is to say, he walked as if his spine was a stick and a little longer
than his body; as if he suffered from some disease of the backbone,
which allowed him but scant use of his legs. He toddled along the
road, gesticulating disdainfully and muttering: "Ca! Ca! Ca!"
He berated some soldiers for an immaterial thing, and as he
approached the men stepped precipitately back as if he were a fire-
engine. They were most of them young fellows, who displayed,
when under orders, the manner of so many faithful dogs. At present,
they were black, tongue-hanging, thirsty boys, bathed in the
nervous weariness of the after-battle time.
Whatever he may truly have been in character, the colonel closely
resembled a gluttonous and libidinous old pig, filled from head to
foot with the pollution of a sinful life. "Ca!" he snarled, as he
toddled. "Ca! Ca!" The soldiers saluted as they backed to the side of
the road. The air was full of the odour of burnt rags. Over on the
prairie guerillas and regulars were rummaging the grass. A few
unimportant shots sounded from near the base of the hills.
A guerilla, glad with plunder, came to a Spanish captain. He held in
his hand a photograph. "Mira, señor. I took this from the body of an
officer whom I killed machete to machete."
The captain shot from the corner of his eye a cynical glance at the
guerilla, a glance which commented upon the last part of the
statement. "M-m-m," he said. He took the photograph and gazed
with a slow faint smile, the smile of a man who knows bloodshed
and homes and love, at the face of a girl. He turned the photograph
presently, and on the back of it was written: "One lesson in English I
76. will give you—this: I love you, Margharita." The photograph had
been taken in Tampa.
The officer was silent for a half-minute, while his face still wore the
slow faint smile. "Pobrecetto," he murmured finally, with a
philosophic sigh, which was brother to a shrug. Without deigning a
word to the guerilla he thrust the photograph in his pocket and
walked away.
High over the green earth, in the dizzy blue heights, some great
birds were slowly circling with down-turned beaks.
IX
Margharita was in the gardens. The blue electric rays shone through
the plumes of the palm and shivered in feathery images on the walk.
In the little foolish fish-pond some stalwart fish was apparently
bullying the others, for often there sounded a frantic splashing.
Her mother came to her rapidly. "Margharita! Mister Smith is here!
Come!"
"Oh, is he?" cried the girl. She followed her mother to the house.
She swept into the little parlor with a grand air, the egotism of a
savage. Smith had heard the whirl of her skirts in the hall, and his
heart, as usual, thumped hard enough to make him gasp. Every time
he called, he would sit waiting with the dull fear in his breast that
her mother would enter and indifferently announce that she had
gone up to heaven or off to New York, with one of his dream-rivals,
and he would never see her again in this wide world. And he would
conjure up tricks to then escape from the house without any one
observing his face break up into furrows. It was part of his love to
believe in the absolute treachery of his adored one. So whenever he
heard the whirl of her skirts in the hall he felt that he had again
leased happiness from a dark fate.
77. She was rosily beaming and all in white. "Why, Mister Smith," she
exclaimed, as if he was the last man in the world she expected to
see.
"Good-evenin'," he said, shaking hands nervously. He was always
awkward and unlike himself, at the beginning of one of these calls. It
took him some time to get into form.
She posed her figure in operatic style on a chair before him, and
immediately galloped off a mile of questions, information of herself,
gossip and general outcries which left him no obligation, but to look
beamingly intelligent and from time to time say: "Yes?" His personal
joy, however, was to stare at her beauty.
When she stopped and wandered as if uncertain which way to talk,
there was a minute of silence, which each of them had been
educated to feel was very incorrect; very incorrect indeed. Polite
people always babbled at each other like two brooks.
He knew that the responsibility was upon him, and, although his
mind was mainly upon the form of the proposal of marriage which
he intended to make later, it was necessary that he should maintain
his reputation as a well-bred man by saying something at once. It
flashed upon him to ask: "Won't you please play?" But the time for
the piano ruse was not yet; it was too early. So he said the first
thing that came into his head: "Too bad about young Manolo Prat
being killed over there in Cuba, wasn't it?"
"Wasn't it a pity?" she answered.
"They say his mother is heart-broken," he continued. "They're afraid
she's goin' to die."
"And wasn't it queer that we didn't hear about it for almost two
months?"
"Well, it's no use tryin' to git quick news from there."
78. Presently they advanced to matters more personal, and she used
upon him a series of star-like glances which rumpled him at once to
squalid slavery. He gloated upon her, afraid, afraid, yet more
avaricious than a thousand misers. She fully comprehended; she
laughed and taunted him with her eyes. She impressed upon him
that she was like a will-o'-the-wisp, beautiful beyond compare but
impossible, almost impossible, at least very difficult; then again,
suddenly, impossible—impossible—impossible. He was glum; he
would never dare propose to this radiance; it was like asking to be
pope.
A moment later, there chimed into the room something that he knew
to be a more tender note. The girl became dreamy as she looked at
him; her voice lowered to a delicious intimacy of tone. He leaned
forward; he was about to outpour his bully-ragged soul in fine
words, when—presto—she was the most casual person he had ever
laid eyes upon, and was asking him about the route of the proposed
trolley line.
But nothing short of a fire could stop him now. He grabbed her
hand. "Margharita," he murmured gutturally, "I want you to marry
me."
She glared at him in the most perfect lie of astonishment. "What do
you say?"
He arose, and she thereupon arose also and fled back a step. He
could only stammer out her name. And thus they stood, defying the
principles of the dramatic art.
"I love you," he said at last.
"How—how do I know you really—truly love me?" she said, raising
her eyes timorously to his face and this timorous glance, this one
timorous glance, made him the superior person in an instant. He
79. went forward as confident as a grenadier, and, taking both her
hands, kissed her.
That night she took a stained photograph from her dressing-table
and holding it over the candle burned it to nothing, her red lips
meanwhile parted with the intentness of her occupation. On the
back of the photograph was written: "One lesson in English I will
give you—this: I love you."
For the word is clear only to the kind who on peak or plain, from
dark northern ice-fields to the hot wet jungles, through all wine and
want, through lies and unfamiliar truth, dark or light, are governed
by the unknown gods, and though each man knows the law, no man
may give tongue to it.
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