Dispatch received. Lesser's force attending wounded here constantly
coming in. Elwell and force landing supplies in the surf at night,
without dock, under great difficulties and dangers. An urgent appeal
from the front for medicines and food. None there. Will try to get
two four-mule wagons full to them to-night and go ourselves. Have
reported all we could. No telegraph here till to-day. No dispatch
boats. No post-office. We also anxious.
July 3 opened clear and bright, the commencement of a hard and busy day,
to be long remembered. Our shippers had been landing supplies all night
and keeping such guard over them on the sandy beach as was possible.
The daily record of our movements kept always up and open, like the log
of the ship, must now fall to the hands of our faithful stenographer,
Miss Lucy Graves, and taking up her duties bravely that day, she
commences with this paragraph:
"Miss Barton, with Dr. and Mrs. Gardner, Dr. Hubbell and Mr. McDowell,
leave for the front to-day, taking two six-mule wagon loads of hospital
supplies." To the young writer it was a simple note in the records of
the day, having no special significance. As my eye glanced over it it
seemed very strange--passing strange, that after all this more than a
quarter of a century I should be again taking supplies to the front of
an army in the United States of America; that after all these years of
Red Cross instruction and endeavor, it was still necessary to
promiscuously seize an army wagon to get food to wounded men.
I hope in some way it may be made apparent to any one who follows these
notes how difficult a thing it was to get this food from our ship to the
shore. In a surf which after ten o'clock in the morning allowed no small
boat to touch even the bit of a pier that was run out without breaking
either the one or the other, and nothing in the form of a lighter save
two dilapidated flat boat scows which had been broken and cast away by
the engineer corps, picked up by ourselves, mended by the Cubans, and
gotten in condition to float alongside our ship and receive perhaps
three or four tons of material. This must then be rowed or floated out
to the shore, run on to the sands as far as possible, the men jumping
into the water from knee to waist deep, pulling the scow up from the
surf, and getting the material on land. This was what was meant by
loading the "seized wagons from the front" and getting food to the
wounded. After ten o'clock in the day even this was impossible, and we
must wait until the calm of the next morning, three or four o'clock, to
commence work again and go through the same struggle in order to get
something to load the wagons for that day.
Our supplies had been gotten out, all that could be sent that day for
the heavy surf, and among the last, rocking and tossing in our little
boat, went ourselves, landing on the pier, which by that time was
breaking in two, escaping a surf which every other moment threatened to
envelop one from feet to head, we reached the land. Our wagons were
there already loaded with our best hospital material,--meal, flour,
condensed milk, malted milk, tea, coffee, sugar, dried fruits, canned
fruits, canned meats, and such other things as we had been able to get
out in the haste of packing--entirely filling the two wagons.
An ambulance had been spoken of, but could not be had. We walked out a
little way to wait for it. Dr. Hubbell left our party and went again in
search of an ambulance, notwithstanding the assurance that an army wagon
would answer our purpose quite as well. These were going line by line up
to the front, mainly with ammunition. We waited a little by the
roadside; the doctor did not return; our own wagons had gone on, and
stopping another loaded with bales of hay, we begged a ride of the
driver, and all took our seats among the hay and made our way once more
to the front.
The road was simply terrific--clayey, muddy, wet and cut to the hub. A
ride of about four hours brought us to the First Division Hospital of
the Fifth Army Corps, General Shafter's headquarters. This was properly
the second day after the fight. Two fearful nights had passed.
The sight that greeted us on going into the so-called hospital grounds
was something indescribable. The land was perfectly level--no drainage
whatever, covered with long, tangled grass, skirted by trees, brush and
shrubbery--a few little dog tents, not much larger than would have been
made of an ordinary tablecloth thrown over a short rail, and under these
lay huddled together the men fresh from the field or from the operating
tables, with no covering over them save such as had clung to them
through their troubles, and in the majority of cases no blanket under
them. Those who had come from the tables, having been compelled to leave
all the clothing they had, as having been too wet, muddy and bloody to
be retained by them, were entirely nude, lying on the stubble grass, the
sun fitfully dealing with them, sometimes clouding over, and again
streaming out in a blaze above them. As we passed, we drew our hats over
our eyes, turning our faces away as much as possible for the delicacy of
the poor fellows who lay there with no shelter either from the elements
or the eyes of the passers-by.
Getting past them as quickly as possible, and seeing a smoke ahead of
us, and relying upon the old adage that where there is smoke there must
be fire, we went to it. A half-dozen bricks had been laid about a yard
apart, a couple of pieces of wagon-tire laid across these, so low and so
near the ground that no fire of any strength or benefit could be made,
the bits of wet wood put under crosswise, with the smoke streaming a
foot out on each side, and two kettles of coffee or soup and a small
frying-pan with some meat in it, appeared to be the cook-house for these
men. They told us there were about eight hundred men under the tents and
lying in the grass, and more constantly coming in.
I looked at the men who had constructed and who had charge of that
"fireplace," and saw how young and inexperienced the faces were, and
how little they _could_ know of the making up of a camp, and how
unsatisfactory it must all be to themselves, and was filled with a sense
of pity for them as well as the poor sufferers they were trying to
serve. I looked around for the faces of some old veterans of the wars
before, who could bring a little knowledge gained from practice. There
were none there, but here was our own McDowell, with a record of four
years and twenty-six battles in the old Civil War, and after a few
moments' consultation as to the best method to be pursued, we, too,
gathered stones and bricks and constructed a longer, higher fireplace,
got more wagon-tires, found the water, and soon our great agate kettles
of seven and ten gallons were filled. But the wood! It was green, not
resinous as the wood of some islands. In Corsica, for instance, one may
take the green, wet wood and make a blazing fire. The wood of Cuba is
beautiful in quality, but hard and slow to burn.
The rain, that had been drizzling more or less all day, increased. Our
supplies were taken from the wagon, a piece of tarpaulin found to
protect them, and as the fire began to blaze and the water to heat Mrs.
Gardner and I found the way into the bags and boxes of flour, salt, milk
and meal, and got material for the first gallons of gruel. I had not
thought to ever make gruel again over a camp-fire; I cannot say how far
it carried me back in the lapse of time, or really where or who I felt
that I was. It did not seem to be me, and still I seemed to know how to
do it, and when the bubbling contents of our kettles thickened and grew
white with the condensed milk, and we began to give it out, putting it
in the hands of the men detailed as nurses and of our own to take it
around to the poor sufferers shivering and naked in the rain, I felt
again that perhaps it was not in vain that history had reproduced
itself. And when the nurses came back and told us of the surprise with
which it was received and the tears that rolled down the sun-burned,
often bloody, face into the cup as the poor fellow drank his hot gruel
and asked where it came from, who sent it, and said it was the first
food he had tasted in three, sometimes in four, days (for they had gone
into the fight hungry), I felt it was again the same old story, and
wondered what gain there had been in the last thirty years. Had anything
been worse than this? But still, as we moralized, the fires burned and
the gruel steamed and boiled and bucket after bucket went out, until
those eight hundred men had each his cup of gruel and knew that he could
have another and as many as he wanted. The day waned and the darkness
came and still the men were unsheltered, uncovered, naked and
wet--scarcely a groan, no word of complaint; no man said he was not well
treated.
The operating tables were full of the wounded. Man after man was taken
off and brought on his litter and laid beside other men and something
given him to keep the little life in his body that seemed fast oozing
out. All night it went on. It grew cold--for naked men, bitter cold
before morning. We had no blankets, nothing to cover them, only as we
tore off from a cut of cotton cloth, which by some means had gotten on
with us, strips six or seven feet long, and giving them to our men,
asked them to go and give to each uncovered man a piece that should
shield his nakedness. This made it possible for him to permit us to pass
by him if we needed to go in that direction.
Early in the morning ambulances started, and such as could be loaded in
were taken to be carried back over that rough, pitiless road down to
Siboney to the hospitals there, that we had done the best we could
toward fitting up--where our hundred cots and our hundred and fifty
blankets had gone, and our cups and spoons and the delicacies that would
help to strengthen these poor fainting men if once they could get there,
and where also were the Sisters under Dr. Lesser and Dr. Le Garde to
attend them.
They brought out man after man, stretcher after stretcher, to the
waiting ambulances, and they took out seventeen who had died in the
night--unattended, save by the nurse--uncomplaining, no last word, no
dying message, quiet and speechless life had ceased and the soul had
fled.
By this time Dr. Hubbell had returned for he had missed our wagons the
day before and gone at night for more supplies. This time came large
tarpaulins, more utensils, more food, more things to make it a little
comfortable--another contribution from the surf of Siboney. We removed
our first kitchens across the road, up alongside the headquarter tent of
Major Wood in charge of the camp. The major is a regular army officer,
brusque, thickset, abrupt, but so full of kind-hearted generosity that
words cannot do justice to him. He strove in every way to do all that
could be done. He had given us the night before a little officer's tent
into which we had huddled from the pouring rain for a few hours in the
middle of the night. The next day, although no tent so spacious as that
could be had, a little baby tent it seemed, of about seven feet, was
found, pitched alongside of the other, the tarpaulins put over, a new
fireplace made near us, magnificent in its dimensions, shelter given for
the boxes, bags and barrels of supplies that by this time had
accumulated about us. There was even something that looked like tables
on which Mrs. Gardner prepared her delicacies.
The gruel still remained the staple, but malted milk, chocolate and rice
had come in, and tea, and little by little various things were added by
which our _ménage_ became something quite resembling a hotel. The
wounded were still being taken away by ambulance and wagon, assorted and
picked over like fruit in a barrel. Those which would bear
transportation were taken away, the others left where they were. The
numbers grew a little less that day.
I ought not neglect mentioning the favorite and notable drinks which
were prepared, for it will seem to the poor, feverish men who partook of
them that they ought to be mentioned--they will never forget them. They
have not even yet ceased to tell through the hospitals that they fall
into later of the drink that was prepared for them at the Fifth Corps
Hospital. We had found a large box of dried apples, and remembering how
refreshing it would be, we had washed a quantity, put it in a large
kettle, filled it with water and let it soak. It happened to be a fine
tart apple, and the juice was nearly as good as wine. Perhaps no wine
had ever seemed so good to those men as a cup of that apple water, and
when they tasted it tears again ran down their faces. To their poor,
dry, feverish mouths it was something so refreshing that it seemed
heaven-sent. The next day a box of prunes was discovered, and the same
thing was done with that; a richer, darker juice was obtained, and this
also took its place among the drinks prepared at the Fifth Corps
Hospital. The apple and prune juice will remain, I suspect, a memorial
for that poor neglected spot.
By the third day our patients seemed strong enough that we might risk
food as solid as rice, and the great kettles were filled with that,
cooked soft, mixed with condensed and malted milk, and their cups were
filled with this. It was gratifying to hear the nurses come up and say:
"I have sixteen men in my ward. So many of them would like rice; so many
would like malted milk; so many would like gruel; so many would like
chocolate, and a few would like a cup of tea; and another, who is
feverish, would like only some apple or prune juice,"--and taking for
each what he called for, go back to his patients as if he had given his
order to the waiter at a hotel; and the food that he took was as well
cooked, as delicate and as nice as he could have gotten there. The
numbers were now getting considerably less--perhaps not over three
hundred--and better care could be taken of them.
A dispatch on Thursday afternoon informed me that Mrs. J. Addison Porter
would be on the hospital ship "Relief" coming into Siboney that day. I
would of course go to meet her. It was a great joy to know that she
would return to us. We at once decided that an army wagon should be
asked for from headquarters and a party of us go to Siboney, both for
Mrs. Porter and more supplies. The roads were getting even worse--so
bad, in fact, that I dared not risk an ambulance, an army wagon being
the only vehicle strong enough to travel over it.
We had blankets and pillows and the ride was fairly comfortable; but it
was late, nine o'clock, before we reached Siboney. The "State of Texas,"
which in the last three days had made a trip to Port Antonio for ice, we
thought must be back by that time, and on reaching Siboney, found that
she had arrived that evening at five o'clock and was lying at her old
anchorage. But there was no way of communicating with her in order that
a boat might be sent for us. Everything was tried. We had no signals;
there was no system of signaling on the shore by which we could reach
her or, in fact, any other boat. There was no way but to remain where we
were until morning. It was proposed that I go to the rooms assigned for
the hospital assistants. I decidedly refused this, for every reason. I
knew the buildings were not to be trusted, and persons nursing day and
night among all kinds of patients were not the people to room with. I
asked to be allowed to remain in my army wagon. This was not thought
proper. I suggested that it might be drawn out anywhere, the mules taken
off, and I be left with the blankets and pillows. I thought it, in fact,
a good place for any one to sleep, and ventured to recommend it as an
old-time method--a refuge which once would have been palatial for me on
the war-swept fields of old Virginia, or in the drifting sands of Morris
Island--what would that have been the night after Antietam or old
Fredericksburg, Chantilly or the Wilderness? But the newer generation
could not see it so; a building must be had somewhere, and as I refused
the hospital appendage in toto, it was proposed that I enter the
post-office, a room there being offered to me.
The postmaster and deputy postmaster, who felt themselves under
obligation to us, came out to our men and insisted that I occupy a room
in that building. Such a courtesy could not be gainsaid, and against all
feeling of acquiescence, and with a terrible dread, as if there were
something so wrong about it, I allowed myself to be helped out of the
wagon and entered the house. The postmaster sat down and talked with me
a little while. I thought he seemed ill. It appeared to be an effort for
him to talk. I had never met him before, but my heart went out in
sympathy for him. I feared I was taking his room, as was indeed the
case, although he did not admit it. I was shown into a large room with
one cot, one table, cheerless, bare, with an outside door, and a candle
without a stick burning upon the table. The men went outside and laid
down upon the steps for the night. I laid down upon the stretcher. It
was impossible for me to remain there. Something constantly warned me to
leave it. I got up, went to the outside door, looked out upon the night
and darkness and waited for the gray of the morning. I went out and
stood upon the beach beside the sea and waited more and more, until
finally some of the men appeared and I went with them down to the water.
I might as well say here, as I will not refer to it again, that six days
after, when I returned, they told me that the rightful occupant of the
cot--the postmaster who had seemed so ill--had died of a fever raging
here that they called "yellow fever." I had occupied his cot and he had
gone to heaven. I wondered who it was that so continually warned me that
night to keep away from that room, away from the cot, away from all
connected with it, when I had not the slightest suspicion of anything
wrong. "Yellow fever" was then not talked of. Did some one tell me? I do
not know, but something told me.
While standing at the dock, Dr. Smith, of the "Olivette," who had taken
a ride with us to the front a day or two before, approached, and kindly
asked if he could place his boat at my service, and if I would go to the
"Olivette" with him. I replied that I would go to the "Relief," if he
would be so kind as to take me there, for a friend whom I had on board.
He did so, and as we drew around the side of the elegant white and green
striped boat in full navy regulation, the men in white duck appeared on
the decks above and below, a half dozen ladies' faces showing among
them, but most notably the good, substantial, matronly looking lady who
had left us a few days before--Mrs. Porter. It occurred to me that she
had possibly come by invitation to remain on the "Relief" and aid in the
charge of the nurses, and would make this explanation to me, but was
agreeably surprised when I saw a satchel and a package or two coming
down the steps immediately followed by Mrs. Porter herself. I could
scarcely believe that she was leaving that elegant boat to come over to
the obscure "State of Texas." But so it was, and, taking her seat in the
boat, we rowed around to the "Olivette," where Dr. Smith left us, and
was replaced by a major-surgeon, who would escort us over to the
"Texas," only some rods distant. I did not at once recall him, but among
his first remarks were, "You have been at the front?" "Yes, Major." "I
should think you would find it very unpleasant there." "Such scenes are
not supposed to be pleasant." "What do you go for?" I scarcely know what
reply was made to this abrupt question, but the significance was that
possibly we could be useful there. "There is no need of your going
there--it is no place for women. I consider women very much out of place
in a field hospital." "Then I must have been out of place a good deal of
my lifetime, Doctor, for I have been there a great deal." "That doesn't
change my opinion, and if I had my way, I would send you home."
"Fortunately for me, if for no one else, Doctor, you have not your way."
"I know it, but again that doesn't change my opinion. I would send you
home." By this time we were rowing pretty near our own boat, and it was
admissible for me to maintain the silence that I felt dignity called
for. I made no other remark to him beyond "Good morning, Major," as we
separated for our respective ships.
This is a foolish little episode to enter in one's diary, not worth the
time of writing, especially in days like these, only as it will serve as
a landmark, a kind of future milestone noting the progress of humane
sentiment, and the hopeful advancement of the civilization and
enlightenment of the world. Only a few years ago the good major would
have actually possessed the power of which this advancement has relieved
him. Finding an accumulation of work at our ship, large mails from the
North having arrived, it was Monday before we could return to the front,
Mrs. Porter accompanying us. This journey was also made in an army
wagon, and a wretched, miserable wagon it was. We found the camp in
perfect running order. Mrs. Gardner had stood like a rock through it
all, neglecting nothing, quiet, calm, peaceful, faithful, busy--how well
she had done, I have no words to express. Everybody grateful to her,
everybody loving her.
The camp had now from one hundred to two hundred men. There began to be
strong talk of yellow fever, not only at Siboney but at the front as
well.
[Illustration: THE PHYSICIANS AND NURSES OF THE ORPHANAGE AND CLINIC
IN HAVANA.]
[Illustration: Clara Barton and George Kennan. A Conference on
Deck--STATE OF TEXAS.
Cuban Soldiers Marching to Front from Siboney.
Dr. Gardner. STATE OF TEXAS.
Dr. Hubbell--STATE oF TEXAS.
Children of our Cuban Hostess Siboney.
Dr. Egan. STATE OF TEXAS.]
The negotiations between General Shafter and the Spanish army at
Santiago were still going on. The flag of truce that threatened every
day to come down still floated. The Spanish soldiers had been led by
their officers to believe that every man who surrendered (and the people
as well), would be butchered instantly the city should fall and the
American troops should come in. But when General Shafter commenced to
send back convoys of captured Spanish officers, their wounds faithfully
dressed and carefully placed on stretchers and borne under flags of
truce to the Spanish lines at Santiago and set down at the feet of the
general as a tender gift back to him, and when in astonishment he
learned the object of the flag of truce and sent companies of soldiers
to form in line and present arms while the cortege of wounded were
borne through by American troops, a lesson was learned that went far
toward the surrender of that city.
I happened to know that it was not without some very natural home
criticism that General Shafter persisted in his course in the face of
the time-honored custom of "hostages." One can readily understand that
the voluntary giving up of prisoners, officers at that, in view of an
impending battle might seem in the light of old-time army usages a
waste, to characterize it by no harder term. It is possible that none of
the officers on that field had ever read the articles of the Treaty of
Geneva or fully realized that that treaty had become a law or that their
commander, possibly without fully realizing it himself, was acting in
full accord with its wise and humane principles.