It Looked As
Though They Were Going To Run All The Way To The Sea, And The Sight
Was Sickening.
But they had no intention of running to the sea.
They ran only to the trench forty feet farther down and jumped into
it, and instantly turning, began pumping lead at the enemy.
Since
five that morning Wood had been running about on his feet, his
clothes stuck to him with sweat and the mud and water of forded
streams, and as he rose he limped slightly. "My, but I'm tired!" he
said, in a tone of the most acute surprise, and as though that fact
was the only one that was weighing on his mind. He limped over to
the trench in which the men were now busily firing off their rifles
and waved a riding-crop he carried at the trench they had abandoned.
He was standing as Crane had been standing, in silhouette against the
sky-line. "Come back, boys," we heard him shouting. "The other men
can't withdraw, and so you mustn't. It looks bad. Come on, get out
of that!" What made it more amusing was that, although Wood had,
like every one else, discarded his coat and wore a strange uniform of
gray shirt, white riding-breeches, and a cowboy Stetson, with no
insignia of rank, not even straps pinned to his shirt, still the men
instantly accepted his authority. They looked at him on the crest of
the hill, waving his stick persuasively at the grave-like trench at
his feet, and then with a shout scampered back to it.
After that, as I had a bad attack of sciatica and no place to sleep
and nothing to eat, I accepted Crane's offer of a blanket and coffee
at his bivouac near El Poso. On account of the sciatica I was not
able to walk fast, and, although for over a mile of the way the trail
was under fire, Crane and Hare each insisted on giving me an arm, and
kept step with my stumblings. Whenever I protested and refused their
sacrifice and pointed out the risk they were taking they smiled as at
the ravings of a naughty child, and when I lay down in the road and
refused to budge unless they left me, Crane called the attention of
Hare to the effect of the setting sun behind the palm-trees. To the
reader all these little things that one remembers seem very little
indeed, but they were vivid at the moment, and I have always thought
of them as stretching over a long extent of time and territory.
Before I revisited San Juan I would have said that the distance along
the road from the point where I left the artillery to where I joined
Wood was three-quarters of a mile. When I paced it later I found the
distance was about seventy-five yards. I do not urge my stupidity or
my extreme terror as a proof that others would be as greatly
confused, but, if only for the sake of the stupid ones, it seems a
pity that the landmarks of San Juan should not be rescued from the
jungle, and a few sign-posts placed upon the hills. It is true that
the great battles of the Civil War and those of the one in Manchuria,
where the men killed and wounded in a day outnumber all those who
fought on both sides at San Juan, make that battle read like a
skirmish. But the Spanish War had its results. At least it made
Cuba into a republic, and so enriched or burdened us with colonies
that our republic changed into something like an empire. But I do
not urge that. It will never be because San Juan changed our foreign
policy that people will visit the spot, and will send from it picture
postal cards. The human interest alone will keep San Juan alive.
The men who fought there came from every State in our country and
from every class of our social life. We sent there the best of our
regular army, and with them, cowboys, clerks, bricklayers, foot-ball
players, three future commanders of the greater army that followed
that war, the future Governor of Cuba, future commanders of the
Philippines, the commander of our forces in China, a future President
of the United States. And, whether these men, when they returned to
their homes again, became clerks and millionaires and dentists, or
rose to be presidents and mounted policemen, they all remember very
kindly the days they lay huddled together in the trenches on that hot
and glaring sky-line. And there must be many more besides who hold
the place in memory. There are few in the United States so poor in
relatives and friends who did not in his or her heart send a
substitute to Cuba. For these it seems as though San Juan might be
better preserved, not as it is, for already its aspect is too far
changed to wish for that, but as it was. The efforts already made to
keep the place in memory and to honor the Americans who died there
are the public park which I have mentioned, the monument on San Juan,
and one other monument at Guasimas to the regulars and Rough Riders
who were killed there. To these monuments the Society of Santiago
will add four more, which will mark the landing place of the army at
Daiquairi and the fights at Guasimas, El Caney, and San Juan Hill.
But I believe even more than this might be done to preserve to the
place its proper values. These values are sentimental, historical,
and possibly to the military student, educational. If to-day there
were erected at Daiquairi, Siboney, Guasimas, El Poso, El Caney, and
on and about San Juan a dozen iron or bronze tablets that would tell
from where certain regiments advanced, what posts they held, how many
or how few were the men who held those positions, how near they were
to the trenches of the enemy, and by whom these men were commanded, I
am sure the place would reconstruct itself and would breathe with
interest, not only for the returning volunteer, but for any casual
tourist.
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