The white flag went up at one o’clock on the 11th, and this was the end
of the fighting at Santiago. The Rough Riders had been moved from the
hill at Fort Roosevelt to a position west of the El Caney road, and one
of the Gatling guns had been sent with them. This gun was brought back
on the 17th after the surrender. Various other movements of troops
occurred before the 17th, which had been decided upon by the generals
as the last day of grace. Gen. Toral had been notified that one o’clock
on the 17th was the time for either the surrender or the signal for the
assault. The hour approached, and still the Spaniard attempted to
delay. The orders for the assault were issued. The troops lay in the
trenches with their fingers on the triggers. Gen. Randolph had come and
pushed the artillery into better positions. The pieces were loaded and
the gunners stood with their lanyards in their hands. The
ammunition-boxes were opened. The nervous tension of the line was
terrific. The troops on the extreme right and left, designated for the
assault, were only waiting the word to dash forward upon the
intrenchments of the enemy. Then suddenly from Gen. Wheeler’s
headquarters a mounted officer was seen spurring eastward along the
crest. He was waving his hat over his head. His horse gathered speed,
and the foam began to fly from his flanks and nostrils, and as Capt.
McKittrick passed he called, “No cheering, please; the city and
province of Santiago have surrendered.”
The members of the Gatling Gun Detachment walked to the top of the
hill, and, facing toward the gallant enemy who had so valiantly
defended the foredoomed city, silently took off their hats.
All along the line the reception of the glorious news was marked by
comments upon the gallant defense which had been made. There was no
demonstration which could have hurt the feelings of so magnificent a
foe. Five minutes after the surrender the American trench was lined by
American troops on our side and Spanish troops on the other. The
Spanish troops brought bottles of mescal, aguardiente, and wine. Our
troops carried hardtack and canned roast beef. These recent foes began
at once to exchange the necessaries of life and souvenirs of the siege
of Santiago. They fraternized as all brave men do after the battle. A
few Cubans skulked around the rear of our line, despised by both sides.
The next day witnessed the formal surrender of the city. At twelve
o’clock, the preliminary formalities having been complied with, the 9th
Infantry and a battalion of the 13th Infantry, the two regiments which
had been adjudged first honors in the assault, were ready as an escort
to raise the flag in the heart of the city. All of the other regiments
were formed upon the ground which they occupied during the siege. As
the second-hands of our watches showed the minute of twelve, noon, a
field-piece burst upon the stillness of the sultry day, and the band
began the strains of “The Star-spangled Banner.” Every hat was taken
off, and an instant later, efforts to restrain it being ineffectual,
six miles of solid cheering encompassed the latest American city.
Cuban Cart used by Gatling Gun Detachment, Priv. J. Shiffer Driving.
Grizzled old soldiers, scarred with wounds from Indian wars, and gay
recruits who had arrived too late to join in the fighting, gray-haired
generals and athletic young subalterns, all forgot propriety and the
silence usually enjoined in ranks and joined in that tremendous yell.
From over on the right of the El Caney road we could hear the “Rah!
rah! rah!” of Harvard and the “Rah! rah! rah!” of Yale, mingled with
the cowboy yell of the Indian Territory. From the ranks of the Regulars
came the old Southern yell, mingled with the Northern cheer. The most
thrilling and dramatic moment of the Spanish-American War had passed
into history.
The troops settled themselves down to wait for developments, and while
they waited, opportunities were presented for the first time to make
observations of the personnel of this heterogeneous army.
The American Regular is a type of his own, and no description of him is
necessary. He was the fighting strength of the 5th Corps. Only three
Volunteer regiments participated in the charges of July 1st-the 71st
New York, the 2d Massachusetts, and the 1st Volunteer Cavalry.
The Volunteers presented many different types: some good, some
otherwise. There should be no sympathy with that servile truckling to
popular sentiment which speaks of our brave Volunteers
indiscriminately, as if they were all good and all equally well
instructed. There were Volunteers who were the equals of the Regulars
in fighting and in leadership. And there were some who should have been
at home pulling on a nursing-bottle or attending a kindergarten. To
praise them indiscriminately creates a false impression on the public,
and works a rank injustice toward those who were really good and
efficient in the service. It does even worse than that: it fosters the
popular idea that all there is to do to make soldiers is to take so
many laborers, clerks, hod-carriers, or farmers, and put on them
uniforms, arm them with rifles, and call them “gallant Volunteers”! Out
upon such an insane delusion!
Fighting is a scientific trade. It would be no more absurd to give an
idiot a tambourine and call him a musician—he would be an idiot all the
same. So with the clerk, the laborer, the hod-carrier, the teacher; he
remains the same in spite of all the polished arms, resplendent
uniforms, and pompous titles bestowed upon him. He remains just what he
was before, until he learns his new trade and becomes a soldier by the
acquisition of the necessary knowledge and experience to practice his
new calling.
It is one of the duties of trained officers to tell these homely truths
to the people who have not made a study of the matter, in order that
they who foot the bills may understand what they pay for and why they
do it. And it is equally the duty of the citizen who has no knowledge
of the subject to give a fair hearing to such statements, and, if he
finds them correct after due investigation, to translate the
information thus imparted into such laws as will in future supply an
army composed of soldiers who can fight, instead of a herd of ignorant
incompetents who die like rotten sheep within half an hour’s ride by
rail of their own homes.
These remarks can be illustrated by observations in Cuba.
For example, the 34th Michigan pitched its camp on the hill at Fort
Roosevelt on the 2d of August. They were in an awful condition. A man
had died in one company the day before, and there had not been enough
able-bodied men in the company to bury him. A detail had to be made
from another company to dig the grave. More than fifty per cent of the
regiment were sick, and the remainder were far from well. At this time,
more than two weeks after the surrender, they were still cooking
individually. Within fifteen minutes after their arrival they were
overrunning the Gatling gun camp, picking up the firewood which had
been gathered by the detachment for cooking purposes. An attempt to
stop this marauding was received with jeers. A green-looking Wolverine
at once began to make catcalls, and was ably seconded by his comrades.
Sentinels were then posted over the Gatling gun camp, with orders to
keep the Michiganders out; they abused the sentinels in the same
manner, and their officers made no effort to restrain them. It became
necessary to make a personal matter of it, which was promptly done, and
one Wolverine was thereafter respectful—so respectful, in fact, that he
jumped to attention and took off his hat to even the privates of the
detachment.
The regiment took a delicate revenge. They had dug neither latrines nor
sinks. Up to this time they used the surface of the camp-ground over
their own camp for this purpose. They now took possession of a trench
within twenty yards of the battery’s tents. The nuisance was
intolerable, and was reported to their brigade headquarters. No
attention was paid to the report. Twelve hours later it was again
reported, with the same result. Twelve hours after this it was a third
time reported, with the same result. In the meantime not a single
shovelful of dirt had been thrown on the trench and an odor arose from
it which was not exactly like the perfume of “Araby the blest.”
Tiffany at his Gun in the Trench.
Forty-five hours after the arrival of the regiment notice was served
upon the brigade commander thereof that, unless the nuisance was abated
immediately, a sentinel would be placed over the offending ditch and
notice would be given to General Bates, the division commander,
requesting the action of an inspector; notice was further served that
if any resistance were made, four Gatling guns would be turned loose
upon the 34th Michigan and the regiment swept off the face of the hill
and into Santiago Bay for a much-needed bath. It was enough. Officers
and men ran instantly for spades and proceeded to fill up the trench.
Report was then made to Gen. Bates, the division commander, of the
offense and action had thereon, with the information that the Gatling
gun commander awaited to answer any complaints. An investigation was
immediately made, with the result that such action was sustained.
There were some ignorant Volunteers at Santiago, but of all the willful
violation of all the laws of sanitation, camp hygiene, and health ever
seen, these particular Volunteers did the most outrageous things. They
threw their kitchen refuse out on the ground anywhere; half of the time
they did not visit the sink at all, but used the surface of the ground
anywhere instead; and they continued these offenses at Montauk Point.
They raked over an abandoned camp of the Spanish prisoners on their
arrival at Fort Roosevelt, and appropriated all the cast-off articles
they could find, using the _débris_ for bedding. This surgeon, a
“family doctor” from the pine woods in northern Michigan, did not seem
to regard these matters as of any importance. His attention was called
to them, but he took no action. In short, there was no law of health
which these people did not utterly ignore, no excess dangerous to
health which they did not commit. Three-fourths of them were too sick
for duty, and the rest looked like living skeletons. They fairly
wallowed in their own filth—and cursed the climate of Cuba on account
of their sickness.
In sharp contrast to the 34th Michigan was the 1st U. S. Volunteer
Cavalry, the Rough Riders. This was an organization the peer of any in
the Regular Army in morale, in fighting, and in every quality that goes
to make up a fine body of soldiers. They were picked men; all classes
were shown in that organization. The tennis champion was a private, the
champion oarsman of Harvard a corporal. On the 2d of July a
stock-broker of Wall Street who can sign his check for $3,000,000 was
seen haggling with a cow-puncher from the Indian Territory over a piece
of hardtack. Both were privates and both were fine soldiers. The whole
regiment was just such a medley, but fought like Regulars, and endured
like Spartans. They hung on like bull-dogs, and charged like demons.
They were as strict about the camp police as Regular Army surgeons, and
as punctilious about saluting as a K. O. on “official relations.”
Withal, they were a clean-mouthed, clean-clad, clean-camped lot of
gentlemen, each in his way, from the “Hello, pard!” of the cowboy to
the frozen stare of the monocled dude from Broadway. And they
fought—like Regulars; there is no other just comparison. Roosevelt
said: “They are the 11th Cavalry.” He found enthusiastic endorsers of
this remark in every Regular who saw them fight. They were the finest
body of Volunteers who ever wore uniform, and they were stamped
indelibly with the personality of Theodore Roosevelt. Pushing,
aggressive, resolute, tenacious, but self-contained, cool, and
restrained, they represented the very best type of what the Volunteer
ought to be—but often was not.
Relics of the Battle. 1. Range Table of 16-cm. Gun in Spanish Fort,
Silenced by Gatlings July 1, ’98. 2. Rear Sight of same Gun. 3. Fuse
picked up by J. Shiffer July 1. 4. Remington Cartridge used by the
Spanish Volunteers, the so-called “Explosive” Brass-covered Bullet. 5.
Piece of Coral dug up in the Trenches. 6. Spanish Spurs.
Above them all, however, shone out three types.
Theodore Roosevelt. He needs no eulogy from my pen. He has done
everything, and in each occupation has been conspicuously successful.
He is, however, a born soldier. His virile frame contains the vigorous
mind, the keen intellect, the cool judgment, and the unswerving,
never-hesitating courage of the natural soldier. He is affable and
courteous, or stern and scathing, as circumstances demand. One instant
genial smiles overspread his expressive countenance, whereon the
faintest emotion writes its legend with instantaneous and responsive
touch; the next, on occasion, a Jove-like sternness settles on his
face, and, with a facility of expression bewildering to less gifted
tongues, scathing invective, cutting sarcasm, or bitter irony impress
upon an offender the gravity of a breach of discipline. Withal, he is
modest. He appreciates his own power, but there is no undue display of
that appreciation, no vainglorious boasting over achievements which
read like a fairy-tale. Fittest to lead or follow, idol of every true
soldier. Who, that knows him as those who fought beside him, does not
wish to see him at the head of that army and that nation of which he is
the brightest ornament in every position, civil, military, or
political?
Woodbury Kane—social leader, Fortune’s favorite, aristocratic, refined,
cultured, wealthy, _haut ton de haut ton_, and _sabreur sans peur et
sans reproche_—how shall I paint him to you as I learned to know him in
those dreadful, delightful seventeen days in which we lived only from
instant to instant, and every man unconsciously bared his soul to his
comrades because he could not help it?
A gentleman—he always looked that in the fullest sense of the word.
Well groomed; in those days when our bed was a mud-puddle and our
canopy the stars, when the music which lulled us to sleep was the hum
of the Mauser bullets and the vicious popping of the Remingtons, when
water to drink had to be brought at the peril of life for every
mouthful, Kane turned up every morning clean-shaved and neatly groomed,
shoes duly polished, neat khaki, fitting like a glove and brushed to
perfection, nails polished, and hair parted as nicely as if he were
dressed by his valet in his New York apartments. How did he do it? We
never knew. He kept no servant; he took his regular turn in the
ditches, in the mud, or torrid sun, or smothering rain. No night alarm
came that did not find Kane first to spring to the trench—and yet he
did it, somehow. The courteous phrases of politest speech fell ever
from his ready lips, as easily as they would have done in the _boudoir_
of any belle in the metropolis. The shrieking of a shell or tingling
hiss of a sharpshooter’s close-aimed bullet never came so near as to
interrupt whatever polished expression of thanks, regret, or comment he
might be uttering. And it was the real thing, too. The gentle heart was
there. No man was readier to bind a wound or aid a sun-struck soldier
in the ranks; none more ready to deny himself a comfort or a luxury to
help a more needy comrade. A braver man, a surer or more reliable
officer, never trod in shoe-leather. A grand example to our
pessimistic, socialistic friends and cheap demagogues of the sterling
worth and noble, chivalric character of a “society man of wealth.” He
is a living type of _“Bel à faire peur,”_ without the idiotic
sentimentality of that maudlin hero, and with all his other
characteristics.
Greenway and Tiffany. The one a Harvard football-player, just out,
plunging into the great game of war with all the zest he formerly found
in the great college game. The other the petted son of wealthy parents,
also a college graduate, and the idolized _fiancé_ of his childhood’s
sweetheart. Equally ready for fight or fun, they were the finest type
of youthful manhood to be found. Endowed by Nature with every gift,
educated at the best of colleges, bred in the best of society, ready to
enter upon the most desirable of careers, they threw all upon the altar
of country’s love. They entered battle as one might go to a game or
begin a play. All of unbounded zeal, youthful enthusiasm, restless
energy, keen enjoyment—everything seemed to be equally acceptable to
them, and no discomfort ever assumed any guise other than that of a
novel and untried sensation.
They are the type of our young manhood—our representative American
youth—as Roosevelt is of its vigorous manhood. They are the salt of the
earth, and Kane—is both salt and spice. All were comrades in arms,
types of American manhood unspoiled by Fortune’s favors, capable of
anything and everything. Such men mould the destiny of this great
nation, and in their hands it is safe.
But neither of these two regiments is a fair type of the Volunteers;
they are the two extremes. For a type, take the 1st Illinois. They were
a Chicago regiment with fifteen years’ service, and they enlisted in a
body to a man. They reached the firing line on the 10th and
participated in the fight with two battalions, with distinguished
gallantry. The third battalion was detailed on the necessary but
unpleasant duty of caring for the yellow fever hospital at Siboney.
These city-bred Volunteers peeled off their coats, buried yellow fever
corpses, policed the hospital and hospital grounds, and nursed the
victims of the scourge. They did not utter a complaint nor ask for a
“soft” detail; they did their duty as they found it. Another battalion
was detailed immediately after the surrender to guard the Spanish
prisoners. This most thankless duty was performed by them with fidelity
and care. The commander of the battalion and half his officers were
proficient in the Spanish language as a part of their preparation for
the campaign, and they soon established cordial relations with the
prisoners they were set to guard. It was a trying duty, but they
performed it faithfully. Sickness visited this battalion, and sometimes
guard duty had to be performed with only one day off, but they never
whimpered. The other battalion was detailed after the surrender to do
stevedore work at the commissary dépot. The slender clerks and
soft-handed city men slung boxes of hardtack and sacks of bacon and
barrels of coffee, and performed manual labor with all the faithfulness
that would be expected of men accustomed to such work, and with never a
complaint. The sanitary measures of this regiment were perfect, and
they bore themselves like Regulars. It is now recognized that this is a
compliment to any Volunteer organization.