But by now the Porto Rican ponies had decided that this was the race of
their lives, and each had made up his mind that, Mexican bit or no
Mexican bit, until he had carried his rider first into the town of Coamo,
he would not be halted. As I tugged helplessly at my Mexican bit, I saw
how I had made my mistake. The volunteers, on finding the bridge
destroyed, instead of marching upon Coamo had turned to the ford, the
same ford which we had crossed half an hour before they reached it. They
now were behind us. Instead of a town which had surrendered to a
thousand American soldiers, we, seven unarmed men and Jimmy, were being
swept into a hostile city as fast as the enemy's ponies could take us
there.
Breckenridge and Titus hastily put the blame upon me.
"If we get into trouble with the General for this," they shouted, "it
will be your fault. You told us Ernst was in the town with a thousand
men."
I shouted back that no one regretted the fact that he was not more keenly
than I did myself.
Titus and Breckenridge each glanced at a new, full-dress sword.
"We might as well go in," they shouted, "and take it anyway!" I decided
that Titus and Breckenridge were wasted in the Commissariat Department.
The three correspondents looked more comfortable.
"If you officers go in," they cried, "the General can't blame us," and
they dug their spurs into the ponies.
"Wait!" shouted Her Majesty's representative. "That's all very well for
you chaps, but what protects me if the Admiralty finds out I have led a
charge on a Spanish garrison?"
But Paget's pony refused to consider the feelings of the Lords of the
Admiralty. As successfully Paget might have tried to pull back a
row-boat from the edge of Niagara. And, moreover, Millard, in order that
Jimmy might be the first to reach Ponce with despatches, had mounted him
on the fastest pony in the bunch, and he already was far in the lead.
His sporting instincts, nursed in the pool-rooms of the Tenderloin and at
Guttenburg, had sent him three lengths to the good. It never would do to
have a newsboy tell in New York that he had beaten the correspondents of
the papers he sold in the streets; nor to permit commissioned officers to
take the dust of one who never before had ridden on anything but a cable
car. So we all raced forward and, bunched together, swept into the main
street of Coamo. It was gratefully empty. There were no American
soldiers, but, then, neither were there any Spanish soldiers. Across the
street stretched more rifle-pits and barricades of iron pipes, but in
sight there was neither friend nor foe. On the stones of the deserted
street the galloping hoofs sounded like the advance of a whole regiment
of cavalry. Their clatter gave us a most comfortable feeling. We almost
could imagine the townspeople believing us to be the Rough Riders
themselves and fleeing before us.
And then, the empty street seemed to threaten an ambush. We thought
hastily of sunken mines, of soldiers crouching behind the barriers,
behind the houses at the next corner, of Mausers covering us from the
latticed balconies overhead. Until at last, when the silence had become
alert and menacing, a lonely man dashed into the middle of the street,
hurled a white flag in front of us, and then dived headlong under the
porch of a house. The next instant, as though at a signal, a hundred
citizens, each with a white flag in both hands, ran from cover, waving
their banners, and gasping in weak and terror-shaken tones, "Vivan los
Americanos."
We tried to pull up, but the ponies had not yet settled among themselves
which of us had won, and carried us to the extreme edge of the town,
where a precipice seemed to invite them to stop, and we fell off into the
arms of the Porto Ricans. They brought us wine in tin cans, cigars,
borne in the aprons and mantillas of their women-folk, and demijohns of
native rum. They were abject, trembling, tearful. They made one
instantly forget that the moment before he had been extremely frightened.
One of them spoke to me the few words of Spanish with which I had an
acquaintance. He told me he was the Alcalde, and that he begged to
surrender into my hands the town of Coamo. I led him instantly to one
side. I was afraid that if I did not take him up he would surrender to
Paget or to Jimmy. I bade him conduct me to his official residence. He
did so, and gave me the key to the _cartel_, a staff of office of gold
and ebony, and the flag of the town, which he had hidden behind his
writing-desk. It was a fine Spanish flag with the coat of arms
embroidered in gold. I decided that, with whatever else I might part,
that flag would always be mine, that the chance of my again receiving the
surrender of a town of five thousand people was slender, and that this
token would be wrapped around me in my coffin. I accordingly hid it in
my poncho and strapped it to my saddle. Then I appointed a hotel-keeper,
who spoke a little English, as my official interpreter, and told the
Alcalde that I was now Military Governor, Mayor, and Chief of Police, and
that I wanted the seals of the town. He gave me a rubber stamp with a
coat of arms cut in it, and I wrote myself three letters, which, to
insure their safe arrival, I addressed to three different places, and
stamped them with the rubber seals. In time all three reached me, and I
now have them as documentary proof of the fact that for twenty minutes I
was Military Governor and Mayor of Coamo.
During that brief administration I detailed Titus and Breckenridge to
wigwag the Sixteenth Pennsylvania that we had taken the town, and that it
was now safe for them to enter. In order to compromise Paget they used
his red silk handkerchief. Root I detailed to conciliate the inhabitants
by drinking with every one of them. He tells me he carried out my
instructions to the letter. I also settled one assault and battery case,
and put the chief offender under arrest. At least, I told the official
interpreter to inform him that he was under arrest, but as I had no one
to guard him he grew tired of being under arrest and went off to
celebrate his emancipation from the rule of Spain.
My administration came to an end in twenty minutes, when General Wilson
rode into Coamo at the head of his staff and three thousand men. He wore
a white helmet, and he looked the part of the conquering hero so
satisfactorily that I forgot I was Mayor and ran out into the street to
snap a picture of him. He looked greatly surprised and asked me what I
was doing in his town. The tone in which he spoke caused me to decide
that, after all, I would not keep the flag of Coamo. I pulled it off my
saddle and said: "General, it's too long a story to tell you now, but
here is the flag of the town. It's the first Spanish flag"--and it
was--"that has been captured in Porto Rico."
General Wilson smiled again and accepted the flag. He and about four
thousand other soldiers think it belongs to them. But the truth will
out. Some day the bestowal on the proper persons of a vote of thanks
from Congress, a pension, or any other trifle, like prize-money, will
show the American people to whom that flag really belongs.
I know that in time the glorious deed of the seven heroes of Coamo, or
eight, if you include "Jimmy," will be told in song and story. Some one
else will write the song. This is the story.