During the mobilization of the Army at Tampa, Fla., at the outbreak of
the Spanish-American War, an orthodox minister enlisted as a private in
one of the infantry regiments. On the 6th of June came orders to break
camp and prepare to go aboard transports for the invasion of Cuba.
The railroad facilities from Tampa to Port Tampa, where the transports
were waiting, were not equal to the emergency. Traffic became more
or less clogged, and it was early the next morning when the regiment
to which the preacher belonged was entrained. During the early part
of the night the men were gathered in groups, some playing "shuffle
the brogan," others busy at "nosey poker," while the greater part of
them were smoking their pipes and telling yarns, or stretching their
weary limbs on rolls of canvas, or on the bare ground asleep.
The orthodox minister appeared worried. He was walking to and fro in an
aimless manner like a headless chicken. After having paced backward
and forward past a pile of mess-chests several times, each time
sizing it up, he suddenly began to mount it, planted himself on the
very pinnacle, and with a fog-horn voice began a patriotic harangue.
Long, hair-raising, and Spanish-scalping sentences rolled from his
lips like crude petroleum from a five-inch pipe. Each inflammatory
oratorical flight was dramatically climaxed with the words, "For it
is sweet to die for one's country."
The sleeping ones restlessly turned over, rubbed their eyes, and opened
their ears to this wonderful address. The entire regiment, officers
included, soon became his audience, and all were inspired with the
oft-repeated words, "For it is sweet to die for one's country."
This regiment was one of the first to land in Cuba, and took a
prominent part in the attack on El Caney. Its position during this
fight, for many hours, was within a few hundred paces of the famous
"stone block-house," in a sunken road, and was suffering heavily.
Along about two o'clock in the afternoon matters began to look
blue--even a general officer who had fought in many hard battles of the
Civil War, and spent the best years of his life combating the Indians
on the frontier, was overheard to mutter to his adjutant that he was
"afraid we've bitten off more'n we can chew."
There was not a cheerful face to be seen. Men with grinding teeth
were soberly looking Death in the face. Sir Orthodox was burrowing
his face into Mother Earth in a wild effort to shield himself from
Mauser bullets. A German corporal was doing the same thing about
fifty feet further down the road.
As the corporal, better known as "Dutch," was burrowing his face
in the mud, an idea struck him, and, like all Teutons, he must
make it known. He raised his head and looked up and down the line
of prostrate soldiers till his eye fell on the flattened figure of
the minister. In a voice that could be heard the full length of the
regiment, he bleated out: "Say, dere, Sky Pilots, id aind so schveet
to died for vonce countries, aind id?"
The effect was magical. Amid this scene of carnage and death a wild
yell of merriment went up that brought courage to many weakening
hearts, and Caney had fallen before the men had ceased to laugh at
the joke on the preacher.