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!"
Then, in my turn, I shouted "Whoa!"
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.
