This is the inside story of the surrender, during the Spanish War, of the
town of Coamo. It is written by the man to whom the town surrendered.
Immediately after the surrender this same man became Military Governor of
Coamo. He held office for fully twenty minutes.
Before beginning this story the reader must forget all he may happen to
know of this particular triumph of the Porto Rican Expedition. He must
forget that the taking of Coamo has always been credited to Major-General
James H. Wilson, who on that occasion commanded Captain Anderson's
Battery, the Sixteenth Pennsylvania, Troop C of Brooklyn, and under
General Ernst, the Second and Third Wisconsin Volunteers. He must forget
that in the records of the War Department all the praise, and it is of
the highest, for this victory is bestowed upon General Wilson and his
four thousand soldiers. Even the writer of this, when he cabled an
account of the event to his paper, gave, with every one else, the entire
credit to General Wilson. And ever since his conscience has upbraided
him. His only claim for tolerance as a war correspondent has been that
he always has stuck to the facts, and now he feels that in the sacred
cause of history his friendship and admiration for General Wilson, that
veteran of the Civil, Philippine, and Chinese Wars, must no longer stand
in the way of his duty as an accurate reporter. He no longer can tell a
lie. He must at last own up that he himself captured Coamo.
[Picture: Officers watching the artillery play on Coamo. Drawn by F. C.
Yohn from a photograph by the Author]
On the morning of the 9th of August, 1898, the Sixteenth Pennsylvania
Volunteers arrived on the outskirts of that town. In order to get there
they had spent the night in crawling over mountain trails and scrambling
through streams and ravines. It was General Wilson's plan that by this
flanking night march the Sixteenth Pennsylvania would reach the road
leading from Coamo to San Juan in time to cut off the retreat of the
Spanish garrison, when General Wilson, with the main body, attacked it
from the opposite side.
At seven o'clock in the morning General Wilson began the frontal attack
by turning loose the artillery on a block-house, which threatened his
approach, and by advancing the Wisconsin Volunteers. The cavalry he sent
to the right to capture Los Banos. At eight o'clock, from where the main
body rested, two miles from Coamo, we could hear the Sixteenth
Pennsylvania open its attack and instantly become hotly engaged. The
enemy returned the fire fiercely, and the firing from both sides at once
became so severe that it was evident the Pennsylvania Volunteers either
would take the town without the main body, or that they would greatly
need its assistance. The artillery was accordingly advanced one thousand
yards and the infantry was hurried forward. The Second Wisconsin
approached Coamo along the main road from Ponce, the Third Wisconsin
through fields of grass to the right of the road, until the two regiments
met at the ford by which the Banos road crosses the Coamo River. But
before they met, from a position near the artillery, I had watched
through my glasses the Second Wisconsin with General Ernst at its head
advancing along the main road, and as, when I saw them, they were near
the river, I guessed they would continue across the bridge and that they
soon would be in the town.
As the firing from the Sixteenth still continued, it seemed obvious that
General Ernst would be the first general officer to enter Coamo, and to
receive its surrender. I had never seen five thousand people surrender
to one man, and it seemed that, if I were to witness that ceremony, my
best plan was to abandon the artillery and, as quickly as possible,
pursue the Second Wisconsin. I did not want to share the spectacle of
the surrender with my brother correspondents, so I tried to steal away
from the three who were present. They were Thomas F. Millard, Walstein
Root of the _Sun_, and Horace Thompson. By dodging through a coffee
_central_ I came out a half mile from them and in advance of the Third
Wisconsin. There I encountered two "boy officers," Captain John C.
Breckenridge and Lieutenant Fred. S. Titus, who had temporarily abandoned
their thankless duties in the Commissariat Department in order to seek
death or glory in the skirmish-line. They wanted to know where I was
going, and when I explained, they declared that when Coamo surrendered
they also were going to be among those present.
So we slipped away from the main body and rode off as an independent
organization. But from the bald ridge, where the artillery was still
hammering the town, the three correspondents and Captain Alfred Paget,
Her Majesty's naval attache, observed our attempt to steal a march on
General Wilson's forces, and pursued us and soon overtook us.
We now were seven, or to be exact, eight, for with Mr. Millard was
"Jimmy," who in times of peace sells papers in Herald Square, and in
times of war carries Mr. Millard's copy to the press post. We were much
nearer the ford than the bridge, so we waded the "drift" and started on a
gallop along the mile of military road that lay between us and Coamo.
The firing from the Sixteenth Pennsylvania had slackened, but as we
advanced it became sharper, more insistent, and seemed to urge us to
greater speed. Across the road were dug rough rifle-pits which had the
look of having been but that moment abandoned. What had been intended
for the breakfast of the enemy was burning in pots over tiny fires,
little heaps of cartridges lay in readiness upon the edges of each pit,
and an arm-chair, in which a sentry had kept a comfortable lookout, lay
sprawling in the middle of the road. The huts that faced it were empty.
The only living things we saw were the chickens and pigs in the
kitchen-gardens. On either hand was every evidence of hasty and
panic-stricken flight. We rejoiced at these evidences of the fact that
the Wisconsin Volunteers had swept all before them. Our rejoicings were
not entirely unselfish. It was so quiet ahead that some one suggested
the town had already surrendered. But that would have been too bitter a
disappointment, and as the firing from the further side of Coamo still
continued, we refused to believe it, and whipped the ponies into greater
haste. We were now only a quarter of a mile distant from the built-up
portion of Coamo, where the road turned sharply into the main street of
the town.
Captain Paget, who in the absence of the British military attache on
account of sickness, accompanied the army as a guest of General Wilson,
gave way to thoughts of etiquette.
"Will General Wilson think I should have waited for him?" he shouted.
The words were jolted out of him as he rose in the saddle. The noise of
the ponies' hoofs made conversation difficult. I shouted back that the
presence of General Ernst in the town made it quite proper for a foreign
attache to enter it.
"It must have surrendered by now," I shouted. "It's been half an hour
since Ernst crossed the bridge."
At these innocent words, all my companions tugged violently at their
bridles and shouted "Whoa!"
"Crossed the bridge?" they yelled. "There is no bridge! The bridge is
blown up! If he hasn't crossed by the ford, he isn't in the town!"