Hampshire County MA Archives Military Records.....The Campaign In Cuba, Part 1 
Spanishwar Co. I, 2nd Infantry, MA Vol. Militia
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The Campaign In Cuba, Part 1
THE CAMPAIGN IN CUBA.

Experiences of Co. I in the war of 1898, and record of its service with the
Fifth Army Corps in the operations against Santiago.

BY JAMES R. GILFILLAN.

   THE early part of the winter of 1897-98 found Co. I, Second Infantry,
Massachusetts Volunteer Militia, in probably the best condition in its history.
Company work was going smoothly, the personnel of the command was excellent, it
had won first place in the regimental shoot, and officers and men alike were
never more interested in their duties. Besides the regular routine of drill, the
men got together once or twice a week and struggled with problems in more
advanced military science—strategy, outpost and other similar work that would be
liable to prove of advantage in a real campaign. Of course the strained
relations between this country and Spain were discussed and also the probable
chances of our being ordered into service in case of trouble. It was but
natural, after all this preparatory work, that the destruction of the U. S.
battleship Maine, in Havana harbor, February 15, 1898, produced a stronger
impression on the minds of Northampton militiamen than on the average citizen.

   About this time there sprang into existence in the company an organization
called the "War Department." It was composed of a varying number of enthusiastic
members, who met each night in the Armory, discussed the advisability of
declaring war, the ways and means for carrying it on, and other momentous
questions. As a result of the deliberations of this august body, President
McKinley and Congress finally did declare war. This action compelled the "War
Department" to go into continuous session, and from this time on the Armory was
the all-attractive spot to martially disposed young men.

   Meanwhile every effort was being made to get the company into the best
possible condition. Arms and equipments were gone over, missing and defective
parts replaced, recruits initiated into the intricacies of extended order and
the firings, and then all settled down to await the call for volunteers. On
April 28 it came, and our carefully cleaned machinery was set in motion. Col.
Clark's wishes were that every man should do as his own judgment dictated, and
he wished no pressure brought on any man as a member of the militia to induce
him to volunteer. With this in view Capt. Williams decided that, rather than to
call for volunteers when the whole company was assembled, it would be better to
see each man separately and let him make choice, uninfluenced by the action of
others. Accordingly, on Friday, April 29, Lieut. Moynihan and myself, armed with
the enlistment book of the U. S. V. service, started on the rounds. By night
forty-seven names had been secured. These were all men who were at this time
members of the M. V. M. Then recruiting was begun at the Armory and it would
have been an easy matter to enroll 200 men within 48 hours. Picking out what
seemed to be the best material, the rest were informed that, while there were no
more vacancies, there would probably be another chance for them, as some of the
favored men were likely to be rejected on the physical examination, The rush to
enlist became greater every hour, and those who were not selected to go with the
company were persistent in their efforts to slip into some vacancy. Company
officers were held up on the street, in their offices and at their homes by men
anxious to enlist, and the disappointed ones certainly looked as if life were
not worth living except as members of the company.

   Then came the preparation for the rendezvous at South Framingham. Outfits
were got together and packed in the knapsacks. All state property not to be
carried with us was boxed and sent to the State Arsenal at South Framingham, and
when the day of departure, Friday, May 3, finally came, things were in good
shape to leave. The loyal people of the city had planned to give the company a
great send-off, and in spite of a rainy, disagreeable morning, the crowd on the
streets was tremendous. In heavy marching order, with overcoats, campaign hats,
leggings, knapsacks, haversacks and canteens, (with fatigue caps hooked on the
belts,) we started for the station, led by the Northampton Band and escorted by
W. L. Baker Post 86, Grand Army of the Republic. The streets were crowded and at
the station the crush was terrific. After boarding the train we found that in
the jam five or six caps had been pulled from their fastenings and lost, and my
roll book, which had been carried in my belt, was also missing. Most of these
articles were afterwards recovered and the balance were probably kept as
souvenirs. Once on the train and started it was found that we had with us four
or five stowaways, who, though left out in the selection of the company, had
determined to make one more effort to go, and some succeeded. The ovation
tendered the company at home was continued all the way to camp.

MUSTERED INTO UNITED STATES SERVICE.

   The Second was the first of the Massachusetts regiments to arrive at camp,
and the work of examination began promptly. The officers were examined first and
then the enlisted men. Honor came quickly to our company in the promotion of
Sergeant John S. Hitchcock to be assistant surgeon of the regiment, and he
assisted in the examinations. These examinations were very thorough, and when a
man had once passed as "all right" he generally felt reasonably sure that he was
sound in every particular. Flat feet, poor teeth, imperfect eyesight, heart or
lung trouble, however small, bad corns and numerous smaller imperfections would
cause a man to be rejected. Then a certain ratio must exist between a man's
height and weight. Out of the first 77 men of our company, 11 failed to pass,
and that was about the average percentage throughout the regiment. On Saturday,
May 7, Lieut. Thayer came back to Northampton with the rejected men and to get
more recruits to fill the company. Knowing what the qualifications were to pass
the examining board, this second lot of recruits was subjected to a preliminary
physical examination before leaving home. They arrived in camp Sunday night, and
Tuesday morning we had enough men to bring the company up to the requisite
number—74 men and three officers. Tuesday afternoon, May 10, at about 3 o'clock
we marched across the parade to Brigade Headquarters and were mustered into the
service of the United States by Lieut. E. M. Weaver, U. S. A. By the next day
all the companies in the regiment had been filled up and the 2nd Regt. Infantry,
M. V. M., became the 2nd Mass. Infantry, U. S. V.

   The regiment was immediately put on regular army rations and I think the most
perceptible change to the average man was the military promptness with which
butter disappeared from our regular menu. Meanwhile, the non-commissioned staff
of the company had been enlarged to conform to the new order of things, and
other changes reminded us that we were Uncle Sam's soldiers. We were issued the
brown canvas uniform, or more properly "working suit," rubber and woolen
blankets, while the new men received complete outfits of uniform and equipments.
The nights were very cold and each evening a long row of great camp fires were
lighted along the color line and around these the men huddled to keep warm. On
the morning of May 11 we woke to find the water pails in the tents frozen over,
and small flurries of snow blowing across the parade ground. The announcement
came one evening while we were at mess that the regiment would go to
Chickamauga, and this was greeted with cheers. The men were as anxious to go to
the front as the average small boy is to go to a circus. Everyone wrote farewell
letters home, and reveille on May 12 found every man in the regiment about two
hours ahead of his regular schedule. Tents were taken down, cooking utensils and
other camp equipage packed up and trucked down to the station. In the afternoon
the grounds filled up with friends of the regiment from all over the state,
Northampton being represented by a good sized delegation. His Excellency, Gov.
Roger Wolcott, was present, and presented the officers of the regiment with
their commissions, and made a short address to the men. About 4.30 line was
formed and headed by the Second Regiment band we marched to the station, where
we boarded the train which took us on the first stage of our long journey south.

THE JOURNEY TO THE FRONT.

   Everyone was in ignorance of our route when we boarded the train, most of the
men being of the opinion that we would go by rail to New York. Instead of this
we were taken to Newport and there boarded the steamer Plymouth. On this
palatial boat our accommodations were the very best, and woe unto the man who
allowed his imagination to picture it the standard of army transportation, for
it was a clear case of pride going before a fall. We arrived in New York the
next morning and received a rousing reception, great crowds cheering, with steam
whistles and bells galore. Here we disembarked with all our belongings and then
reloaded them upon the transport Saratoga. About this time it began to dawn upon
our minds that we were bound either for Tampa, Key West or Cuba, and speculation
in regard to the matter was becoming general, when we received orders to
transfer to the Vigilancia. Once more our "household gods" were packed up and
carried to the pier, and thence to our new boat. The men had found no chance to
eat since morning and it was then 3 o'clock in the afternoon. Our rations were
lost in the great jumble of equipage, and except for a few hardtack, which some
of the men had in their haversacks, there was nothing to eat. New Yorkers were
quick to realize our position, and soon we were under a heavy bombardment of
oranges, apples, bananas and other edible missiles. Meanwhile some enterprising
soldier had established a trolley line from the stern of the boat to the pier
and obliging Gothamites were soon shipping back canteens of beer on this line.
About 5 o'clock we pulled out into the harbor and amid a tremendous din of
sirens, whistles, bells and cheers we waved farewell to New York, and our
vessel's head turned towards the seat of war in Cuba.

   Some of the men had received shore leave and we supposed when the boat
started that all were back on board. We had gone perhaps a mile when a little
tug was seen chasing us at full speed. As the transport was going slowly, the
puffing tug soon overhauled us, and after a ladder had been placed between the
two boats, Sergt. Eastwood scrambled aboard the Vigilancia, and was greeted by
the cheers of the whole regiment. He had arrived at the pier just after the
transport pulled out, and, determined not to be left, had spent his last cent in
chartering a tug to overtake us. Much to our surprise the ship came to anchor
after passing Bedloe's Island and there spent the night. The modern "Flying
Dutchman," in the shape of the Spanish fleet, was reported off the entrance to
the harbor and so the expedition was stopped. Saturday, May 14, found us still
lying in the bay, but late in the afternoon the ship hauled in alongside the
Pennsylvania railroad pier in Jersey City, Once more we unloaded our
paraphernalia and this time packed it away in freight cars. When this was
accomplished the men were marched aboard a train and once more we were ready to
start south. The train was run in three sections, a battalion to each, ours
being the second section. This was composed of one baggage car, twelve day
coaches, occupied by Companies L, M, E and I, and one sleeper, occupied by the
officers of the battalion. This gave three cars to each company, or one whole
seat to a man, which made very comfortable quarters. To each section was
assigned a sergeant from the commissary department who was supplied with money
to be expended under his direction by the battalion adjutant, for hot coffee
enroute. Our train pulled out at about 9 o'clock that evening and after it was
well under way word was passed along that our destination was Tampa, which
satisfied everyone, for it meant that we were going as far to the front as any
one had up to that time. The train was run at a rattling pace and reached
Philadelphia at midnight, Baltimore at 4 A.M., and Washington at 6 o'clock
Sunday morning. Here every one disembarked and spent an hour or so washing in
the watering trough, raiding various bakers' and milk carts, and studying the
colored characters who swarmed around the train. Passing through Virginia, we
arrived at Florence, N. C, about 8 o'clock Sunday night. Here we had another
short stop.

   Sunday night was not as comfortable as the previous one, for the southern
railroads were not at all careful of how they slammed us around. Most of the men
slept in pairs, occupying two seats, with their feet towards the engine, Some
low-minded individual, by some railroading trick unknown to the common herd,
changed that train around and ran it stern first. Consequently when the engineer
tried his favorite trick of stopping the train in its own length from full
speed, every man aboard was shut up like a telescope, only in exactly the
opposite direction to that which he expected. Remarks made at this time were
complimentary neither to the engineer or the road. We reached Savannah, Ga., at
4 A. M., Monday, and here the trainmen came to their senses and sent us on our
way right end first, much to everyone's relief. From here on we travelled
slowly, stopping often and seeing plainly, even in the northern part of Florida,
the congestion of traffic caused by the selection of Tampa as a military base.
Everywhere from Jersey City to Florida we were given a great reception and I
really believe that there were people who turned out to see us that had never
seen cars before. The old Confederate soldiers were especially cordial, and we
shall not forget the many little courtesies extended to us by these veterans of
the lost cause. About dusk we had a tiresome wait at Dade City, Fla., but about
9.30 the train pulled into Lakeland, where, to our surprise, we were to stop
instead of going to Tampa.

   That night was spent aboard the train, but bright and early the next morning
we disembarked and marched to our camping ground about a half mile from the
station, on the shores of Lake Morton. At first sight it seemed anything but a
desirable camping spot, yet a thousand men, made into a village improvement
society, can accomplish wonders, and soon the camp was so trim and slick as to
win the commendation of several regular army officers who visited it. "Work here
was not made severe, as the men had not become accustomed to the climate. The
new men were given some light drill and company schools were held daily. The
Lakeland people received us with cordiality and extended many courtesies.

FIRST BREAK IN OUR RANKS.

   Soon after we had become settled in our lake-side camp we were called upon to
mourn the loss of a comrade. Private Weslie S. Brass had contracted a severe
cold about the time of his enlistment and had grown worse during the trip south.
When we arrived at Lakeland the doctor pronounced his case pneumonia and he was
placed in the hospital. During his sickness the people of Lakeland were
unremitting in their attentions and several families wished to take him into
their homes, but the doctors decided that he would have better care in the
hospital. Friday he had a relapse and death came Saturday afternoon, May 21.
Private Brass was a quiet, gentlemanly fellow and very popular in the company.
His death cast a gloom not only in our own ranks but throughout the entire
regiment and town. He was the first Massachusetts soldier to die in the
Spanish-American war, but this distinction was not a welcome one to Co. I. The
following telegram was received from Gov. Wolcott:—

                                            BOSTON, MASS., MAY 22. 
COL. E. P. CLARK,
   Massachusetts mourns the loss of the first of her sons to give his life in
the present war. See that the body of Weslie S. Brass receives honorary burial
and see that his grave is properly marked for future identification.
                                             ROGER WOLCOTT.

   It was the wish of his parents, however, that the body be sent to his old
home in Westfield. After the remains had been prepared for shipment a military
funeral was held at Lakeland. The description of that solemn ceremony, written
by the well-known novelist, Richard Harding Davis, to the New York Herald, for
which he was war correspondent in the field, is such a beautiful tribute to the
volunteer soldier that it deserves a place in this record and is given below:—

   There was a military funeral under the pines of Lakeland yesterday when the
body of Weslie S. Brass, Company I, Second Massachusetts, who died of pneumonia,
was sent north. His company was detailed to escort the body to the train, but
every other company in the regiment volunteered to march behind it also, and all
the citizens in Lakeland lined the sandy streets and stood with heads uncovered
as it passed. Before many days men of higher rank than that of private may be
killed in battle, but this boy's family and the families of other volunteers can
feel that had he been a major general, or had he been killed leading a forlorn
hope, greater honor could not have been shown him, nor more tenderness and
consideration.

   Florida is not very far from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts when a boy is
dying under a tent, and a woman stood outside the little chapel yesterday crying
because the officers had not allowed her to take the sick soldier to her own
house. She was only one of many women, each of whom came to the camp to ask if
she could not nurse the sick soldier or take him home with her, so that she
might feel that she was doing something for the cause—so that his mother up in
Massachusetts might feel that some other mother had been with him at the last.
Colonel Clark knew the boy was far better off in the camp hospital than he could
be in the hands of untrained nurses, so the women of Lakeland had to content
themselves with robbing their own gardens and the fields, of flowers for his
coffin, and joining in the procession at his funeral.

   The chaplain held the service just at sunset, in a little Episcopal church
set in a grove of pines at the edge of a lake. Beside the coffin a guard of
honor had stood all day in white gloves and brightened brass and dustless blue,
objects of cleanliness and smartness, the like of which no one had seen near
Tampa for many weeks. But their presence alone was not honor enough for a
volunteer, so the Colonel came with his staff, and the regimental band followed
up, the drums rolling heavily and the angels breathing a dirge, and following
them marched company after company, winding out from under the trees and up the
dusty road in an endless column of blue, hundreds of young soldiers, erect and
clear-eyed, with clean-cut New England faces—the sons of farmers, mill-hands,
lawyers—the individuality of each heightened by the uniform he wore. There was
not standing room enough in the chapel for more than a third of them, so the
companies surrounded it in long, motionless lines, while the voices of two
captains and two privates singing together sounded through the open windows in
the hush of twilight.

   "The day is spent, and I am far from home; lead Thou me on," they sang, and a
stillness came over the little village and upon the townspeople lining the
sidewalks and leaning on the garden gates, upon the lake and hundreds of white
tents among the moss-bearing pines.

   "I am the resurrection and the life," the chaplain read, and a thousand young
men in blue uniforms bowed their heads. It was a good sight for the people of
Florida to see. It showed them all that not even one of eighty thousand
volunteers can fall from the ranks, either by illness or by a hostile bullet,
without receiving honor and attaining his reward.

   Weslie S. Brass was honored with a funeral that a marshal of France might
have deserved, and one which taught a fine lesson. It woke deep, serious
thoughts in the hearts of many young men. It helped draw two little towns in far
distant states close together. It showed at this moment that the man who is in
uniform is the man his countrymen honor above all other men, even if he is only
a private of one regiment among many. If a college professor, no matter how
distinguished, had died in Lakeland, it is doubtful if a thousand men would have
asked to be allowed to march behind his body, or that people would have lined
the streets to see it pass, or that every mother would have wept as though for
her own son. It was what Weslie Brass had volunteered to do for the Union that
gained him yesterday's tribute from his countrymen in a far away state. It was
the offer of his service, and if need be, his life, that won Mm a public
funeral. That he died before he saw the enemy didn't count for much with his
Colonel, nor with his fellow countrymen. He had started for the front, and that
was enough in Westfield, Massachusetts, and in Lakeland, Florida.

LAKELAND, YBOR CITY AND TAMPA.

   The rest of the men were in excellent health and spirits, and entered
enthusiastically into the routine of drill and camp work. Among our visitors
here were Richard Harding Davis, who had recently returned from observing the
Graeco-Turkish war, Capt. Lee of the British army, now military attache at
Washington, and a number of former Massachusetts people residing in Florida.
Capt. Williams' wife had come on from the north and was stopping in town, adding
a welcome touch of home. On the night of May 29 we received orders to move on
the next day to Tampa. Many of us heard the orders with regret, for we had an
idea that the regiment would stay in Lakeland as long as it was in Florida, and
had therefore fitted our quarters up as comfortably as possible, most of us
having put in tent floors. Memorial Day found us busy as bees; tents were
struck, tent floors sawed in two for transportation, and the various odds and
ends of our camp outfit packed up. We boarded the train about noon and by 3
o'clock were at our new location in Ybor City, a suburb of Tampa. The camp site
there was beautiful. The soil was hard, white sand, there was plenty of shade,
good water, although warm, and a much better ground to drill on than at
Lakeland. We were soon settled and then commenced some hard drilling, not fancy
company front and parade work, but the busy, interesting and practical tactics
in extended order, or, as it is more commonly known, skirmish drill.

   Here we made our first acquaintance with the Cubans, and I speedily reached
the conclusion that a liking for them was an acquired taste. On my first trip to
Tampa City I saw a hundred or so of these "patriots" dressed in crash uniforms,
with gaudy cockades flaunted in their straw hats and pinned on their breasts,
equipped with enormous machetes, leggings and jingling spurs, parading the main
street behind an asthmatic band. My first thought was that some expedition must
be starting for Cuba to forestall our army, do all the fighting and win all the
glory. As the little patriots tramped by, chattering like a lot of monkeys in a
zoo, I said to myself, "At last I have seen some of the real heroes, the men who
have denied themselves everything, and leaving home and friends behind them, are
going to face the Spanish Mausers and perhaps die to free their native land." I
innocently asked a merchant if they were about to sail and a grin gradually
spread over his face as he answered, "I 'low not; they all been doin' that for
nine months." And so they had, and we left them still parading the dangerous
streets of Tampa and risking their lives by shouting "Viva Cuba Libre."

   At Tampa we made the acquaintance of the most popular man in the army, the
paymaster, and the men were all paid in crisp new bills for their first month's
service in Uncle Sam's army. Both here and at Lakeland we were kept constantly
in touch with home by a mail that had grown to colossal proportions. Our company
had the reputation of writing more letters than any other in the regiment, and
our receipts were correspondingly large. Every day brought express packages from
home with many luxuries so dear to the heart of the soldier in camp. Then the
ladies of Northampton, headed by the Woman's Relief Corps, sent a big case
containing comfort bags for every man. Very handy they were, too, although one
of the boys was sadly puzzled to know what to do with a dozen collar buttons
which his contained.

   On the 8th of June, about 6 P. M., we were informed that we would break camp
at 9 o'clock that night and move at 9.30. Every one was on the jump at once, for
this was promptly interpreted to mean that we were going aboard transports to
sail for Cuba with the Fifth Corps. By 8 o'clock our camp was down and
everything ready for transportation. Then we sat down to wait, and after several
hours practice we became very expert at it. We waited all that night and the
next day until about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, and then we got our
transportation and our stuff was carted down to the train, the regiment
following. A rapid run of two hours served to cover the nine miles between Tampa
and Port Tampa, and then we disembarked on the long pier. No transport had been
assigned to our regiment and so we spent the night on the platform of the
freight depot. At noon of the following day Co's L, M, E and I boarded the
transport Seneca, the balance of the regiment going on board the Knickerbocker.

LIFE ON BOARD THE TRANSPORTS.

   The Seneca was so crowded by the members of the 8th U. S. Inf'ty that there
were no quarters below decks left for our company, so we piled our belongings on
the forward deck and took possesion of that part of the ship. This was all very
nice in pleasant weather, but the very first night one of those delightful gulf
storms broke on our unprotected heads, and nearly washed us from the deck. After
this had been repeated three or four times the boat was finally called too
crowded, and Co's M and E were transferred to the little Manteo. This eased up
the pressure somewhat, and enabled those of us who wished, to sleep below, and
also gave us a chance to get our rations out of the wet.

   Of all the unpleasant features of the campaign of '98, I think most of the
men will agree that life on the transports was about as bad as anything.
Quarters below deck were simply unbearable. There was no ventilation, scarcely
any light, and the air was foul and sickening. The men slept in bunks built in
tiers, three high. The aisles between these rows of bunks were about 18 inches
wide, and a man had to sleep with his gun, haversack, canteen and blanket-roll
in the bunk with him. The water aboard the Seneca was vile. When a new cask was
opened it could be smelled for at least 20 feet, and a canteen full of water,
after standing a few hours, looked like milk when turned out. It was so
strong-tasting that in making coffee the taste of the water predominated over
that of the coffee so as to make that almost unpalatable. Our rations, up to the
time we went aboard ship, had been very fair, although we never drew the full
variety shown on the schedule issued by the War Department. When we went aboard
the Seneca; we were issued twelve days' "travel rations,"—hard tack, canned
roast beef, a little canned corned beef, and coffee. As we were aboard ship 14
days we were confronted toward the end of the period with the problem of living
chiefly on faith and scenery.

   The hard tack was fair to start with, but owing to lack of shelter it got wet
the first night and soon grew mouldy. The canned corned beef was very good, but
the since famous "roast beef" was a thing not to be properly described in a book
intended for general circulation. It bore a remarkably close resemblance to the
frayed-out end of a manilla rope with a little tallow poured over it. The
punishment I would suggest for the person who foisted this article upon the army
would be a diet on this alone for six months or a year. I could wish no man
worse. Our coffee, until we landed in Cuba, was issued to us in the green berry,
and we had to roast and grind it, no easy job considering our conveniences.
After about the usual number of false starts we finally crossed the bar at the
mouth of the Hillsborough River and passed out into the Gulf of Mexico.

   It is a curious fact about the prevalence of the unlucky 13 in connection
with our regiment. We left New York on the Yigilancia May 13, the majority of
the regiment was on the Knickerbocker, which had 13 letters in her name and was
transport No. 13, we were now leaving Tampa on June 13 and later we sailed from
Santiago for home on August 13. The fleet of transports with its convoy of war
ships was a magnificent sight. There were 44 vessels in all, and the formation
in which we sailed made a procession over 20 miles in length. The water in the
Hillsborough River, more properly known as Tampa Bay, is a brilliant deep green,
and at the mouth of the bay there is a bar extending nearly across the channel.,
On one side is the green bay water, then a line of surf, narrow and almost
straight, and beyond this the beautiful blue water of the Gulf of Mexico. At
about 5 o'clock in the evening we passed over the bar and out into the gulf. The
line of boats was formed, and led by the battleship Indiana we headed for Cuba,
The sight was one long to be remembered. Far ahead was the grand old Indiana,
looking like a little Swiss village with church spires and fiat roofed chalets.
Then followed the transports in column, three abreast, the Seneca being in the
second or third rank, and they stretched out behind us until the rearmost were
hull down on the horizon. This column of transports was flanked on either side
by small warships, our nearest neighbor being the Helena. In and out of the
fleet scudded the ever busy little torpedo boats, darting here and there with
dispatches and orders, a leather-lunged man with a megaphone bawling sailing
orders to this or that transport captain.

   And over it all was the delicious uncertainty of the thing, the spirit of
adventure and risk which has led so many into the service and for which the more
poetic "patriotism" has received the credit. Without disparaging the sacrifices
any one has made, or casting any reflection on their motives, I firmly believe
that, did enlistment carry with it nothing more exciting than footing a column
of figures or cleaning snow from a sidewalk, the recruiting officers would go
begging, and "heroes" and "defenders of their country's honor" would be as
scarce as Cubans in a fight. The men would sit around the decks during the
evenings and with the same shiver of delight with which a child hears a ghost
story, would discuss the probable results were our fleet of transports attacked
by Spanish warships. We volunteers hunted out the regulars with a gift for
story-telling and many an hour was spent grouped around some veteran and hearing
tales of regular army life in the west and north.

   No lights were allowed aboard ship excerpt a, few dim electrics, just enough
to enable a man to find his bunk; consequently the continuous game of "craps,"
which lasted each day from reveille to retreat, had to be stopped, and although
some of the men turned in early the great majority were scattered around the
decks in groups discussing men and affairs generally. The forward deck was the
favorite sleeping place and was always crowded to its utmost capacity. It was
interesting to note the different forms in which the English language can be
used as some belated straggler would try to pick his way across the deck in the
inky blackness, stepping on fingers, toes and sometimes faces in his travels.
There is one thing no Co, I man will ever forget and that is the rope lashing to
the steamer's hatches. This ran across the ship about six inches above the deck,
and it seemed as if every man on board felt bound to trip over that rope once at
least each night. The men would lie in wait for some unwary fellow to take the
regulation tumble and then proceed to guy him. Each night there was a constant
patrol of the fleet by the torpedo boats, and sharp lookout was kept for strange
craft. Sometimes a ship would be sighted and away would dart one or two of these
inquisitive little boats, rolling and pitching through the waves, out into the
darkness to investigate.

EXPEDITION ARRIVES OFF SANTIAGO.

   At this time not a man on board the Seneca knew our destination, and every
slight variation in the ship's course was instantly followed by a new rumor. The
general consensus of opinion was that we would land in Porto Rico, and about the
time we were settled down to this belief it was announced that we were heading
directly for Havana. Immediately the spirits of the "fire eaters" rose, for each
man seemed to think that this gave the best opportunity to "Remember the Maine."
Santiago was occasionally mentioned, but until we got within 40 miles of Havana
and turned southeast no one took it seriously. Then we settled down to decide
between Santiago and Porto Rico, but arrived at no decision until June 19, when
we rounded Cape Maysi and turned into the Windward Passage. Doubt disappeared
and we all knew that Santiago was our destination. Not many hours later we
sighted some of the American warships on blockade duty before that port, and we
began to anticipate the activities ahead of us. On the morning after our arrival
we had the good luck to see a water-spout form and afterwards break only half a
mile or so from the Seneca.

   For two days the fleet lay from three to five miles off the coast, running
out to sea at night and returning at daybreak. This was as disagreeable a time
as we had afloat, for the transports, riding the waves under no headway, rolled
and pitched until one hardly knew whether it were safer to walk on his hands or
his feet. The poor fellows who had so devoutly paid tribute to Father Neptune
had a most wretched time of it. Wagoner Culver, with no trace of his usual
buoyant spirits, was heard to impressively assert between gasps that "if they
ever landed him on Cuban soil he wouldn't go back to the United States until
they built a bridge." But luckily there was an end to the pitching and
tossing. On the night of June 21 we were ordered to land at daybreak in heavy
marching order. I cannot say just how this order affected the other men, but to
me it came with quite a jolt. Up to this time the trip had been like a
prolongation of camp, though of course we were moved around a great deal; but
never, until this final order came, did the grim reality of the affair really
impress me. Up to that time we had been in our own back yard; now we were going
to climb the fence and get into someone's else melon patch.

   When we woke on the morning of June 22 it was to see the grandest sight that
fell to our lot during the campaign. As far as the eye could reach toward the
entrance of Santiago harbor, and for several miles west, was a continuous
bombardment of the coast by Sampson's fleet. It was a steady roar and rumble of
the big guns, while from the shore came the fainter reports of exploding shells,
which could be easily located by the tufts of white, cottony smoke hanging over
the trees. Directly in front of us, and the center of a fierce fire from several
warships, was Daiquiri, a little village mostly occupied by the employes of the
Spanish-American Iron Company, and where one of the Spanish garrisons was
stationed. Towering up over it was La Gran Piedra, a perfect counterpart of Mt.
Sugarloaf at South Deerfield. This was crowned with a tiny blockhouse, and in
the village overlooking the pier were two more.

THE PERILS OF DISEMBARKING.

   On the transports all was bustle and confusion. Extra ammunition was brought
up from the hold and issued, each man carrying 108 rounds, 45 in his belt and
the balance distributed around his clothes. Rations for three days were issued,
but no man could carry that much and so took whatever he could stow about his
person. Rolls had to be made up, and that in itself is quite a trick, and
perhaps should be explained to the uninitiated. First you spread your shelter
tent half out flat. Then fold your rubber blanket to the same size. On this lay
the woolen blanket, and then on this pack your extra clothing, rations,
cartridges, two tent poles for the shelter tent, six pegs for same and anything
else you may happen to have. Then with the help of a comrade you roll from one
edge as tightly as possible until you have a compact roll that varies from 5 to
9 inches in diameter. Fastening this with loose strings you complete the
operation by doubling the roll in the middle and lashing the ends together with
the guy rope of your shelter tent. On the Seneca every inch of deck was occupied
by kneeling men engaged in this work. We were to leave a non-commissioned
officer and two men to look after our property, and I detailed Corp. Fiske and
Priv's Collins and Guyott, much to their disgust.

   Meanwhile Daiquiri could be seen apparently ablaze. The shelling from the
ships still continued and everyone thought we were to meet a spirited resistance
from the Spanish. The boats from the warships now drew alongside, towed by
launches. There was a busy sea on, and as the transport had no headway it was
considerable of a feat to jump from a porthole into one of those bobbing boats.
Finally our transport captain started his engine enough to give the ship
steerage way and that simplified matters somewhat; but at best it was very
ticklish business for men encumbered as we were to make the jump. As the boat
that I was in filled with men we were allowed to drift back towards the stern of
the ship. It was so overloaded that every wave slopped in and kept the two
sailors who had the boat in charge very busy bailing and everyone else busy
keeping out of the water. Suddenly some one gave a shout and we all looked up to
see something that made our blood run cold. We were slowly drifting along the
ship's side towards her stern, there were no oars in the boat, no rope to
connect us with the Seneca and straight ahead of us, not over thirty feet away,
was the great propeller of the steamer, with four or five foot blades, churning
the water, andapparently every prospect of doing the same by us. Finally our
cries were heard on deck and the big screw was stopped just in time for us to
fend our boat off from it with boat hooks.

   This seemed to be fully our share of adventure for one day but we had more
ahead of us. Our boat, loaded to the gunwale, was now taken in tow by a launch,
being the last of a string of four boats. When the launch made a sharp turn
around the stern of the Seneca, and that turn was carried along the line to us,
our boat careened and made a desperate attempt to ship the whole Caribbean Sea.
Then the people in charge saw our plight, and towing us back to the ship five or
six men were returned to the transport. Finally a fresh and successful start for
shore was made. And now we had a chance to look around and draw a long breath,
although some of the men were not in good condition to draw any kind of a
breath, the rolling and tossing of the small boat having made them deathly sick.
As we drew near the shore the bombardment quieted down and we passed close to
the rakish cruiser New Orleans, as she withdrew from her position.

   And now we oould [sic] see the awful jumble and confusion caused by not
having an officer in absolute charge of the landing. A great iron trestle-work
pier, used for loading ore into steamers, ran out at a sharp angle from the foot
of the mountain. Behind this was a little cove with an old pier that was much
the worse for wear. Into this cove were jammed fifty to sixty small boats, and
twelve or fifteen launches, all crowding and pushing to get their loads of men
to the pier. As we pushed into the medley the sides of our boat bent and
cracked, we shipped barrels of water, and all the while the surf was churning us
up and down, banging us against other boats and then against the pier. Finally
we got alongside the pier, which one moment would be on a level with our faces
when we stood up in the boat, and the next minute, as we were dropped down by
the wave, would be five or six feet beyond our reach. The only way to land was
to get in the bow of the boat, and when she rose on the first wave throw your
gun to a comrade on the pier. Then, while the boat was going down, gather
yourself for a spring, and just at the moment that the boat reached the crest of
the next wave, shut your eyes, set your teeth and jump for dear life, with your
arms spread out to grab the first thing within reach. The men already landed
would grab the jumper by the arms and haul him up over the wet, slimy logs. A
special providence must have been watching over us, for while nearly the whole
Fifth Corps landed in this way but two men were drowned.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF CUBA.

   Our boat was about fifteen minutes behind the first one and as we had only a
few men from Co. I aboard we climbed to the blockhouse just over the pier and
called up our men as fast as they landed. During the hour or so that elapsed
before the whole company landed we explored the little village, found some good
drinking water, and had our first look at real Cuban soldiers. We received what
I suppose was intended for a cordial welcome from them, and at no time during
our stay on the island did they stand as high in our estimation as during this
first hour or so. Near a tumble-down shack sat a prisoner, one of their own men,
about fifty years old, naked except for an old straw hat on his head, his arms
tied behind him, his legs astride a post driven in the ground, his ankles tied
on the farther side of the post, and that broiling sun pouring down upon him,
This was the Cuban method of punishing thieving at this time. Later we had
reason to believe that certain promotion awaited the man who could steal the most.

   The Spaniards, before their flight in the morning, had set fire to the
engine-house of the railroad, destroying two fine American locomotives. One of
the blockhouses, which had been used as a hospital, was at once burned, by order
of our medical officers, to avoid any possible contagion. Finally, our men
having all landed, we formed and marched about a quarter of a mile to the banks
of a little stream, where we rested until 5 o'clock.

   A few of the men thus early began collecting souvenirs, and very queer
selections some of them made. Priv. Frank Barbour appeared through the brush
lugging two chairs, one a common cane-seated article, the other a square,
heavy-framed affair with seat and back of cowhide with the hair all on. These he
carried on the march that night and for some distance the next morning. At every
halt that was made he would produce one for Capt. Williams, occupying the other
himself. He also found and brought in, for the company's inspection, the greater
part of an eight-inch shell fired from one of the American warships. Artificer
Witherell acquired an after dinner coffee cup, which he thereafter wore tied to
his hat band, while from his belt hung an alarm clock. But the greatest find was
"Kebir," the goat, which was promptly adopted as mascot, and from this time on
was constantly with us until we left for home. He was in no way different from
our ordinary goat at home, except for a haughty expression (doubtless traceable
to his aristocratic Castilian owners) and a remarkably luxuriant hirsute
appendage. To Priv. Barbour we were also indebted for this addition to our ranks.

ON THE MARCH TOWARDS SANTIAGO.

   About 5 o'clock the regiment formed and started on its march over the
mountains in the direction of Santiago. As we reached the crest of the first
hill a tremendous din broke out behind us in the village. Cheers, steam whistles
and a salute from one of the warships announced the raising of Old Glory over
the blockhouse on the summit of La Gran Piedra. Our trail was narrow and rocky,
and the men, soft from their two weeks' vacation aboard the Seneca, felt the
exertion and heat greatly. But pride kept them up and for about two hours and a
half we plodded up the hills, until finally, when apparently everyone was ready
to drop, we halted for the night and bivouacked beside the road. Supper that
night was a simple affair. A little corned meat and some hard tack, with a
sparing drink of water from the canteens, and then the men picked out as smooth
a place as possible, rolled themselves in their blankets and settled down for
the night.

   It was so warm that no one thought a tent necessary and right here we learned
a lesson that was not forgotten during the summer, i. e.—- that no man in full
possession of his senses tries to sleep in Cuba without some shelter over him.
When we awoke in the early morning every man's clothing was soaking wet, and yet
the guards said it had not rained. It was nothing but the dew, but we would have
been no more thoroughly drenched had some one turned a garden hose on us.

   At 5 o'clock the next morning, June 23, we were on the march again, and began
to descend the hills we had climbed the night before. The tropical aspects of
the country now impressed themselves upon us. Palms became more plenty, the
undergrowth was rank and densely matted, gaudy flowers bloomed on all sides,
while from the jungle came a damp, oppressive smell of decaying vegetation.

   Some officer more gifted with rank than brains had compelled Co's M and E to
carry ashore with them from the Manteo their knapsacks and overcoats, and the
poor fellows had struggled along the first day's march with these needless
burdens. But the sweltering heat of the second day was too much, and knapsacks,
overcoats, blankets and other articles soon littered the side of the trail. The
Cubans were on the lookout for this sort of thing and soon blossomed forth in
all the glory of Uncle Sam's blue. The overcoats with their double row of brass
buttons were especially attractive to them, and a common sight was a black,
bare-legged Cuban, his face covered with perspiration, a ragged straw hat on his
head, and a big army overcoat, with heavy cape, buttoned tightly around him.

   After a march of several miles the regiment halted in a magnificent grove of
cocoanut palms, and it did not take long for those New England boys to show that
they could climb palms even if such trees did not grow on their native hills.
Everyone indulged in the "milk of the cocoanut," and that was about all we could
get out of them, for they were too green to eat. Resting a short time here we
resumed the march and at about 10 A. M. arrived at Siboney. This was a pretty
spot at the foot of a big hill, with a stream of good water running close by.
Here our company was placed in charge of the railroad bridge, pumping station,
block-house and rifle-pit commanding it, and two dismantled locomotives that had
been abandoned by the Spanish.

VICTORY OF CO. I MECHANICS.

   In leaving the engines, which by the way were of American make, the Spaniards
had taken off all the easily removable parts and thrown them into the stream and
woods. When we arrived Lieut. Ord, of the 22nd. Inf'ty, with several men, was
trying to get the machines into shape. Nearly every missing part had been found,
and all day long those regulars toiled under their officer to make things
operate. Our company had several men of considerable experience in this sort of
work, and naturally they were interested in the repairs; but any suggestion from
them was greeted with contempt by those regulars, who did not concede a
volunteer's right to understand things that they did not.

   About 4 o'clock in the afternoon they gave up in disgust. Lieut. Moynihan
stood near and when he offered a suggestion he was tartly informed that if he
thought he knew anything about engines he had better take hold and straighten
matters out. To this the lieutenant readily consented, with the proviso that he
should have his own way and not be hampered by anyone's orders. With the
assistance of Priv's George Allis, John Allis and Barbour the lieutenant
repeated the Spanish trick of stripping the engines. By comparing the parts they
quickly discovered that there was a slight difference in the size of the
engines, and that the failure of the regulars was due to transposition of some
of the important pieces. A little study enabled the lieutenant and his
assistants to find all the fittings for one engine and get them in proper place.
Just before dark the reconstruction was completed, steam was got up and with a
great whistling "our engine" rolled across the bridge and toward the village,
its appearance being greeted by the prolonged cheers of the whole regiment.

THE FESTIVE CUBAN LAND CRAB.

   During the afternoon troops had been passing us continually and just after
nightfall the First Volunteer Cavalry (Rough Riders) went stumbling by in the
darkness, worn and footsore after a long hot march. As they were passing I
inquired, to make sure, if they were "Roosevelt's Rough Riders." "No," responded
a weary and disgusted cavalryman, "we're Wood's Weary Walkers." During the day
we had run short of rations and although we eked out a scanty supper, breakfast
was a problematical affair.

   Here we made acquaintance with that gaudy "bird," the land crab, and in fact
the rest of the regiment camped just above us in what they christened "Crab
Hollow." The ground was honeycombed with their nest holes, and every low bush
was sure to conceal from one to ten crabs of assorted sizes. The bodies of some
were only two or three inches in diameter, and from this size they ran up to
great monsters with bodies as big as dinner plates and legs that spread fifteen
to twenty inches.

   They came in all colors, white, yellow, pink, pale green, deep green, several
shades of blue, bright red and black, and an endless variety of combinations of
these colors in mottled and striped effects. They ran forward, backward or to
either side with equal ease, and one never knew which way to jump to avoid them.
Their eyes were mounted on small stalk-like pedicels and stood out an inch or
two from their heads. When the playful creatures wished to wink at you, this
stalk was drawn in until the eye was on a level with the rest of the head, then
the eyeball was turned over with one of the big claws and then pushed back into
place again. The ugly, clumsy looking animals could run fast enough to give a
man a good chase to catch them, and would make as much noise as a man going
through the brush.

   After a thorough survey of the situation I concluded that guard duty in one
of the engines was preferable to land crabs and other insects. Three of us were
to guard the engines, beside the details for the rifle-pit, block-house and
bridge. That night is indelibly stamped on my memory as one of the creepiest
times that I ever passed through. During my turn on guard, when my thoughts were
inclined towards stealthy Spaniards until I was momentarily expecting a fierce
attack, those ghoulish, uncanny crabs clattered through the brush, fell down the
steep embankment with the noise of a small landslide, or scuttled across the
track like ghosts, rattling and squeaking for all the world like an old
anatomical skeleton. And if by chance there came a moment devoid of its crabs a
ground hog would rush across the track, or a roaming soldier bring my heart into
my throat by coming suddenly out of the brush. Not a moment of that night was
quiet. Sometimes a stray shot would be heard, or a sentry would challenge, or a
mule would bray, or a white-clothed Cuban skulk along.

   However, the night was finally over and breakfast time at hand; and that was
about all there was at hand. A few crumbs of hard tack, some cocoanuts and
coffee had to suffice for our morning meal. Some of us became desperate and made
an onslaught on the land crabs, roasting only the big claws over hot stones. And
really, if one could forget the repulsive appearance of the things, the flesh
was not unpalatable. Later in the morning we found some mangoes, a delicious
fruit, aptly described by Dr. Hitchcock as "a cross between a peach and a pumpkin."

FIRST BRUSH WITH THE SPANIARDS.

   Early in the forenoon firing was heard over the hill beyond the village of
Siboney, and rumors of the fight at Las Guasimas began to come back to us. About
10 o'clock a dead Cuban, shot through the heart, was carried by in a blanket
slung hammock-wise from a pole. Rumor said that the Rough Riders were completely
cut up, that Col. Wood and Lieut. Col. Roosevelt were killed, and in fact almost
every one else. The warships off the coast began to bombard some place near by,
from the top of the hill came the constant rattle of rifles, and the
reinforcements hurrying past towards the front all tended to work us up to such
a pitch that the lack of anything for dinner was not noticed.

   About this time Priv. Barbour and the two Allis boys concluded that there was
no sense in owning an engine if it couldn't be used to our advantage; so putting
on a brave front they ran the locomotive up through the guard lines and over to
a saw-mill where the supply of rations was being stored. Boldly our buccaneers
climbed down from the engine, shouldered two sides of bacon and a case of hard
tack, climbed aboard and with a derisive toot of the whistle steamed back to I
Co's quarters. It evidently had not occurred to the officials in charge that men
might own the only locomotive on a railroad and yet not be above stealing hard
tack and bacon. Our new "found" supplies were quickly issued and everyone
started to get dinner. When fires were going well and the bacon had just
commenced to sizzle we got a hurry call to "fall in." The bacon was eaten, half
raw though it was, rolls made up, and at 3 o'clock we marched.

   Our first stop was at the saw-mill, where we drew four days rations as
follows:—One piece of bacon about ten inches long, four inches wide and three
inches thick, sixty-four hard tack, one two-pound can of beef, coffee (in the
berry), and to each three men a four-quart can of tomatoes. When we had this
issue packed on our backs, in addition to our previous load, we were started on
the march up to Las Guasimas. Through the village and for a mile or so beyond
the trail was passable. Then we commenced to climb. We were forced to march in
single file, the men all bent over with their loads, plodding and panting up the
steep narrow path only wide enough for one and completely shut in by dense
undergrowth of prickly chaparral and Spanish bayonet.

   When the head of the column stopped for any reason the shock would be
communicated down the whole length of the line, each man becoming aware of the
fact by walking up the back of the man in front of him and immediately having
the operation repeated by the man in his rear. The men would drop to the ground
for a rest and when everyone was fairly well settled the command "Halt" would be
passed solemnly down the line. Soon we would struggle to our feet, crook our
backs to the load, and trudge on upward again, and after we had gone several
rods the command "Forward" would come along down and be handed by us to the
companies in our rear. It didn't take a long continuance of this treatment to
send those four-quart tomato cans into the woods, and some men sacrificed even
more of their belongings.

   Just before dark we came upon our old Lakeland neighbors the 1st. Cavalry,
burying their seven dead, and near by the 10th. Cavalry at the same melancholy
task. Then it grew dark and the trail led into the dry bed of a rocky brook. The
foliage was impenetrable overhead and it was Egyptian darkness all around as our
men stumbled through this mass of roots and rocks. Once in a while a man fell,
but rarely did an unfortunate utter any more intelligible sound than a grunt.
The path grew steeper and steeper and no one had any breath left to spend in
talk. At last we swung out into the open, past the row of dead Rough Riders
lying under their blankets, and came to a halt in a field.

   Two of our men fainted when we stopped, the rest dropped in their tracks and
went to sleep from exhaustion, most of them supperless. We had covered about six
miles at a rapid pace, over as steep and wretched a road as you can imagine.
Each man earned from 50 to 60 pounds, the heat was suffocating, and we had not
had a square meal (as Cuban meals went) since noon of the day before. We were up
at sunrise and every man acted and felt like a broken-down and spavined old
truck horse. Once more we were the victims of that Cuban dew for we had been too
fagged out to put up tents. The Rough Riders, who were in camp near us, were
absolutely destitute of food, having thrown away haversacks and rolls on going
into action. Our men generously supplied their wants as far as they were able,
getting in return stories of the fight of the day before.


Additional Comments:
Extracted from:

NORTHAMPTON IN THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR
BY
JAMES R. GILFILLAN
AND
HERBERT E. RILEY.

ILLUSTRATED.

PRESS OF
ENTERPRISE PRINTING COMPANY
EASTHAMPTON, MASS.
1899.

Copyright, 1899,
by J. R. Gilfillan and H. E. Riley.


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