Hampshire County MA Archives Military Records.....The Campaign In Cuba, Part 2 
Spanishwar Co. I, 2nd Infantry, MA Vol. Militia
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Joy Fisher sdgenweb@yahoo.com March 15, 2006, 12:10 pm

The Campaign In Cuba, Part 2
CAMPING ON THE BATTLEFIELD.

   After breakfast we loaded ourselves again and started on. Along the trail
were traces of the battle, empty shells, here and there the carcass of a horse
or mule, a group of dead Spaniards laid out under blankets, and tree trunks
scarred by bullets. The march that morning was short and we went into camp
beside the road, our company acting as outpost. This was a beautiful camp, on
the edge of the battlefield of Las Guasimas, with good water, plenty of shade
and magnificent scenery.

   Lieut. Thayer, who was ordnance officer of the regiment, left us here and
went back to Siboney to hurry up ammunition. Saturday and Sunday, June 25 and
26, were spent here and everyone appreciated their chance to rest. A little
foraging was indulged in, but throughout the campaign this was unsatisfactory
business, as the whole country had been gone over so thoroughly by the Spanish
and Cubans that little was left for us. However, while in this camp we twice
found wild honey, once in fairly good quantity. Whatever else was lacking we
were always reasonably sure of striking mangoes and limes. We also found what
for the want of a better name we called "monkey pods."   These grew from six
inches to two feet long, and about an inch and a half in diameter, very hard,
and looked like an old weatherbeaten, leather club. Inside it was divided into
little flat cells, each containing a hard bean. Around these beans was a brown
paste, or gum, which when steeped made a delightful cup of chocolate. This we
learned from our Cuban friends.

   Sunday afternoon there was joy in camp. Wagoner Culver, who up to this time
had been carrying around an empty title, found a Spanish mule in the woods and
proudly led it back to camp. True, it was a rather sorry looking specimen and a
bit threadbare on the exposed portions of its anatomy, but it had all of its
legs and appetite. A pack saddle was improvised out of several stray blankets,
and when we broke camp Monday, June 27, we were the proud possessors of a pack
train of one mule, in charge of Chief Packer Culver, who, to his credit be it
said, bore his new honors modestly and still recognized his friends of former
days. "Saratoga," for so the mule was called on account of his capacity, carried
on this march some eight or ten rolls, and those of us who were lucky enough to
be relieved of our burdens felt as though we were walking on air.

   But alas, pride goeth before a fall, and when we camped at Sevilla, after a
march of three or four miles, an orderly from the 22nd Infantry approached Col.
Clark, saluted and said, "Col. Patterson presents his compliments, sir, and he
would like his mule." We tried hard to prove an alibi for "Saratoga," but it was
no use. Col. Patterson's rank outweighed our feeble protests, and our mule was
led away from the sorrowing company, while the late chief packer swore revenge
on the avaricious colonel.

FIRST SIGHT OF SANTIAGO CITY.

   Once more we were pleasantly situated, handy to good water and near enough to
the front so that we were well in touch with all the important events. On the
second day of our stay here, June 28, Lieut. Thayer returned from Siboney
bringing Corp. Fiske, Priv's Collins and Guyott. By climbing a hill a short
distance from the camp we could see the city of Santiago, with its array of
hospitals and Red Cross flags, while over to the right, nestled among the hills,
was the little village of El Caney, marked by its red tiled roofs and
surrounding block-houses. With glasses one could see the Spanish troops busily
engaged in throwing up earthworks. Across the stream, a quarter of a mile or so
distant, the signal corps of our army was at work on the balloon, which was to
be sent up to get a view of the Spanish defenses and soon we could see its
shining top above the trees.

   We were also treated to some beautiful specimens of tropical rain, when it
seemed as if the whole heavens had burst and that everything would go afloat.
The beautiful workings of the quartermaster's department were also revealed to
us. Hard tack piled up in light wooden boxes, with not even a canvas to shelter
it from the rain, was soaked, and then stood steaming in the sun for a day or
two before being issued to the men. When we finally received the stuff it was
covered with a luxuriant growth of green mould, and fully half of it was sour
and absolutely uneatable.

   June 30 we received orders to cook two days' rations preparatory to moving.
This sounded well, but on looking through our stock of food we found that the
only things we possessed were bacon, hard tack and coffee. So we set to work on
the bacon. Now this article was not the good old-fashioned bacon, with "a streak
of fat and a streak of lean." It was a semi-transparent, yellowish, oleaginous
substance, and the individual who drew any lean was as lucky as the winner of a
first prize in a lottery. A slice four inches long, three inches wide and half
an inch thick, when fried to anything like an edible condition, was reduced to
about the size of a postage stamp, just substance enough remaining to give a
little salty taste to the hard tack. But it was easily carried, and of course
that was a prime consideration.

THE ADVANCE AGAINST EL CANEY.

   Just before dark on Thursday, the 30th, we broke camp and started for El
Caney. The trail was very narrow and under the combined action of the tremendous
rains and the pack trains it was floored with about six or eight inches of the
choicest mud that ever a man stepped in. The war balloon was making its first
ascension and hung like a great yellow football over our heads. Everyone of
course must watch that, or, as they said in the army, "rubberneck at it," and
consequently everyone stepped on everyone else in reach, or dropped the muzzle
of his gun on his neighbor's head. And so we went, stumbling along that river of
mud, but never for an instant taking our eyes from that balloon. Presently we
entered the woods, and after following the bank of the San Juan creek for some
time, forded the stream.

   Maj. Whipple, previous to starting on this march, had donned clean socks and
a new pair of shoes. On arriving at the ford the Major concluded that those
shoes and stockings were not going to be wet. So he sat down, took them off,
waded the stream and put them on again. By hurrying he caught up to his place in
line just as we arrived at another ford. The major, puffing from his extra
exertion, was a trifle peppery over the crookedness of that trail, but the shoes
and stockings came off, the wading was repeated, and once more that precious
footgear was put on. It was now pitch dark in the woods and bright moonlight in
the clearings. The regiment was in single file, all talking was forbidden, the
men held their tin cups to keep them from rattling, and every effort was made to
have the march as quiet as possible. Shortly we came to the omnipresent San Juan
again. The major hesitated a moment, then walked recklessly into the stream and
dedicated those new shoes with total immersion.

   We met several detachments of Cubans, invariably bound for the rear,
evidently looking for a safe place. After a time the trail, like most trails in
Santiago province, began to ascend a hill, and on arriving at the summit we
could overlook Santiago a few miles off. Here we were halted for the night, and
after listening to sundry admonitions au to the preservation of absolute silence
the men curled down in the tall grass to sleep. Guards were placed in each
company and soon everyone was still, except a few of the men who were having a
last smoke. Off to our left lay the city with its twinkling electric lights,
while directly ahead of us, somewhere in the dusk, was El Caney. Occasionally a
rooster crowed, or a dog barked, or the low voices of a group of officers would
be heard as they strode by. Nothing suggested war or its horrors, and to look at
the men as they slept quietly in the wet grass, no one would imagine it possible
that every man had lain down knowing that a battle was to be his morning
occupation.

   The men were roused at 3.30 and a sparing breakfast of fried bacon and hard
tack was soon disposed of. As the light grew stronger we saw something that
caused many a chuckle at the expense of the officers. All through the march of
the night before we had been going on tiptoe and not daring to draw a long
breath for fear of making a noise. But now, in the growing daylight, we
discovered, about a half mile ahead of us, Capron's Battery, with its hundred or
so horses, camped on the crest of the hill in plain sight, the men cooking
breakfast over the campfires. And there we were, a half mile further from the
Spanish lines, no fires allowed, eating a dry, cold breakfast, so as to prevent
the Spaniards from locating our advance.

CAPRON'S BATTERY BEGINS THE BATTLE.

   The first and second battalions of our regiment, with the exception of Co. I,
which belonged to the second battalion, had camped around a sharp bend in the
road ahead of us. About 7 o'clock they moved and being out of our sight got
quite a little start before we were aware of the advance. As we followed the
trail around the curve we noticed unusual activity on the crest occupied by
Capron's men. Our path led directly in front of the battery, just under the top
of the hill, and as our belated battalion came along it was evident that Capt.
Capron was waiting for us to pass so he could open fire. Co's L, M, and E passed
in order on double time. Then Capt. Capron's patience gave out and he sent one
of his officers down to us with imperative orders to halt. We could see Co. E,
with Lieut. Hapgood bringing up the rear, vanishing down the hill and Capt.
Williams pleaded to be allowed to go on. But Capt. Capron was inexorable and
said his battery could wait no longer. There was nothing to do but stop, and so
Co. I, with the third battalion under Maj. Fairbanks, lay down beside the trail
to await developments.

   In a moment a deafening report almost over our heads announced that "the game
was on." One after another those guns roared and rent the air, while from the
valley below and the hills beyond came the crack of rifles fired at will. Then
down at the foot of the hill sounded a sharp "r-r-r-r-rip," and every one
grinned, for we all recognized the song of the "Krags" in the hands of the
regulars. Soon the whole valley seemed like a huge corn-popper, so incessant was
the fire. Capron's men were dancing around the guns with cat-like movements,
perfectly self-possessed, and each gun always ready to respond promptly as its
number was called and the command "Fire" given. A little to one side Capt.
Capron sat his horse like a statue, watching the result of each shot and
coaching the men in charge of the guns.

   It was nerve-trying to our men to lie there inactive in the hot sun; to hear
the conflict going on below us and see the battery pounding away and still be
cut off from knowing or participating in anything that occurred. But the woods
were too thick for cross country marching, and all felt easier when, during a
temporary lull in the firing, we were allowed to pass on down the line towards
the fight. Maj. Fairbanks was now in command of our five companies and he
hurried us on to join the rest of the regiment. As we did not know the ground
and there was no telling where the enemy was located skirmishers were thrown
out, and we proceeded cautiously towards the firing.

UNDER THE ENEMY'S FIRE.

   Presently we came to the so-called "Telephone road" and as we stepped down
into it there was a peculiar "zip" in the air above us. Everyone dodged and
promptly felt foolish for doing so, but that road was too warm for comfort and
so we advanced parallel to it, in the field on the right, our company being
deployed to the front. The advance was slow and as we went forward the "zip " of
the bullets became almost continuous. Some one in our rear was struck by a stray
shot and every man was ordered to lie down.

   As I stood behind a large mango tree, directing the second plattoon, a man
climbed over the barbed wire fence on the other side of the road, crossed the
road where the bullets were thicker than bees in a flower garden, climbed the
wire fence on our side and came across the field to where I was standing. He was
wounded and looking for a doctor, had walked about half a mile under heavy fire
and now stood undecided as to which way to go. An orderly holding some officers'
horses near by promptly pulled a "first aid package" from his legging and
dressed the wound as best he could. The ball had struck the man in the back
about at the waist line, passed out at the front of his body and then penetrated
the biceps of his left arm. He stood unaided while the other man placed the
bandages and then resumed his walk to the rear. I recognized him as a member of
the 8th Inf'ty, a young Hebrew commonly known as "Ikey," and the butt of
numerous jokes, and I am also happy to state that he is still alive and in the
service.

   As we slowly worked forward the number of wounded increased and we began to
meet men of our own regiment being carried to the rear. Among them was Priv.
James Nolan of Co. E, a Northampton boy, who was shot through both legs. Finally
we came out into another road and found Col. Clark and staff, who told us that
our battalion was in the sunken road to the left. How best to reach them was a
question; but Adjt. Paul R. Hawkins thought he knew a safe way. Under his
guidance we moved to the left and for some distance proceeded unmolested. But in
attempting to cross an open spot we were seen by the Spaniards, who promptly
made things very interesting by opening fire on us.

   No one has ever satisfactorily explained why none of us was hit. The air, the
trees and even the grass under our feet seemed to be fairly alive with the
hissing, snapping Mauser bullets. The officers saw at once that to cross that
opening would mean a heavy loss, and so flattening ourselves to the ground we
crawled back to our former position in the road.

   The line of wounded and dead being carried by us was almost continuous, and
looking down the road about a hundred yards we could see an open space at the
junction of the main and sunken roads. As soon as a man appeared in this opening
a swarm of bullets would buzz about his ears and dignity was generally
sacrificed for speed. While we lay here the 25th Inft'y (colored) came down the
trail and halted with the head of the column resting in that open space.
Suddenly there was a tearing sound and the head of that column plunged backward.
The mad rush was communicated to the whole regiment, and apparently every man in
that entire command stampeded about twenty feet to either side of the road,
(stepping all over us) and then as promptly swarmed back again into their
places, as disgusted a looking crowd of darkies as ever was seen, each one
blaming his neighbor for being such a "dog-gone fool."

   The trouble was caused by a heavy volley fired at the men in the open, but
fortunately going too high and passing along over the heads of the rest of the
regiment. That regiment was known as the "black war cloud," and to us who were
under that cloud it seemed well named. But the brave fellows more than redeemed
this break by their magnificent charge up the hill and into the block-house a
little later in the day.

LIEUT. MOYNIHAN'S HEROIC ACTION.

   Lieut. Moynihan was adjutant of our battalion and consequently was with Maj.
Whipple and the three companies that had gone on with the first battalion in the
morning. After it was discovered that we were separated from them the
lieutenant, having nothing particular to do, walked down the road to get a
better view of the fighting. Standing there, sheltered by a tree, he discovered
a thin line of our men advancing slowly across the field, but apparently with no
commanding officer. Instead of being deployed, as they should have been under
the circumstances, there was a tendency to huddle together and thus increase the
risk of casualties. Their situation was serious in the extreme and they would
inevitably have been seriously cut up had not Lieut. Moynihan promptly stepped
into command. The moment the men found that they had an officer with them they
settled down like veterans, deployed on the line, and taking advantage of all
available cover fired only when they saw the enemy.

   After getting the line in proper position the lieutenant made a survey of the
situation. He found that he had about 60 men deployed across an open field, 700
yards from the enemy's intrenchments on El Caney hill, and almost directly on a
line between that village and the city of Santiago. His little force had no
supporting troops in their rear, and he concluded that if those Spaniards on the
hill took a notion to retreat across that field toward the city his line would
have to get out of the way or get badly cut up. So cautioning the men to lie
still Lieut. Moynihan went back to headquarters for orders. Col. Clark
instructed him to advance the line across the field as far as possible and hold
the position as long as he could.

   Returning to his men the lieutenant informed them of the orders and with
encouraging words began working the line slowly across the field toward the
enemy. This forward movement continued until the line was about 400 yards from
the crest of the hill and the Spaniards in the block-house were plainly visible.
Then Lieut. Moynihan decided to halt the line and await developments. The
Spaniards kept up a hot fire, and during the advance two men were killed and
several wounded. While the men were lying in this exposed position they
occasionally fired at the enemy, Lieut. Moynihan coaching them in the rifle
practice.

   Taking a gun from one of the men he adjusted the sights, tried a sighting
shot or two, and then passed on to the next. While he was thus engaged with one
of the men under a small tree he became aware that one of the enemy's
sharpshooters was getting a pretty good range on him, for two or three times
bullets passed very close. However, he disregarded the warning and soon paid the
penalty. As he was raising himself on his arm he thought some one in the little
tree over his head had thrown a big rock, striking him between the shoulders.
The Spanish rifleman was evidently an expert shot, for this time his bullet had
struck the lieutenant in the right shoulder, going through the upper part of the
right lung, grazing the spine, passing through the left lung and out under the
left shoulder blade.

   Although seriously wounded, Lieut. Moynihan realized that the position was
untenable for the men, and his first thought was to get them out of the danger.
So he ordered them to the rear, directing the movement so as to expose them as
little as possible. Having seen them properly started he made his own way back
across the field, unaided until he arrived at a junction in the road, when he
was so faint and blinded as to require the assistance of two men, who supported
him on either side as he walked on down the road. Just as he came in sight of
our company we were again starting for our position in the sunken road, this
time under the guidance of Maj. Whipple. We had just a glimpse of the lieutenant
and a chance to learn the extent of his injury, and then went on, reaching the
road safely without loss. The lieutenant was taken back to the temporary
hospital under the mango trees, then to the division hospital at Playa del Este,
and from there to Siboney where he was placed on the hospital ship Relief and
afterwards transferred to the Hudson and sent north.

IN THE BATTLE, YET OUT OF IT.

   After our success in gaining the sunken road without drawing the enemy's fire
we had perfect protection, at least as long as we sat down in the road. Over our
heads was the constant singing of the Mauser balls punctuated by the sharp snaps
attributed to explosive bullets. We placed three men out in the open in front of
the road and three more in the rear, with instructions to lie low and keep a
sharp lookout, but on no account to expose themselves any more than was
necessary. The rest of the men were ordered to keep down well out of sight, in
the road. Stretched out in as comfortable positions as possible several went to
sleep in spite of the uproar.

   The fatal blunder of equipping troops with the Springfield rifle, to fight
against an enemy using the long range Mausers and smokeless powder, had been so
fearfully demonstrated by this time that no one with the Springfield was allowed
to fire. Therefore we were in the trying position of being placed in the midst
of a battle with no possible chance of doing anything but getting hit. Just to
our left the 22nd Inft'y were stationed in the edge of the wood firing almost
perfect volleys with their "Krag" rifles, in rapid succession.

   Presently there was an apparent lull in the firing and Priv. Hitchcock, who
was on guard in front of the road, called to me to "Come up." Crawling over the
edge of the bank I wormed my way out for a couple of rods to where he was lying,
arriving just in time to see that glorious charge up the hill and capture of the
stone fort by the 12th and 25th Inft'y. It was a sight such as a man sees but
once in a lifetime. The Spaniards inside the fort were fighting desperately, but
our men swarmed all over the place, trying to batter down the doors, climbing in
at the windows and even gaining the roof. In the midst of it all could be seen a
color sergeant bearing Old Glory, standing perhaps thirty or forty feet from the
fort and apparently looking on. I have often wished that I could have seen his
face, but from our station it looked as if his only interest in the matter was a
mild curiosity as to the result.

   After the capture of the fort the firing practically ceased, only a few
scattering shots being heard on the hills back of the village. The battle of El
Caney had resulted in success to the American arms, but at a much greater cost
than our superiors had figured. The Spaniards had proved themselves desperate
fighters and had forced us to the conclusion that the American army had a
tremendous task before it to capture Santiago.

THE NIGHT AFTER THE BATTLE.

   At about 5 o'clock, all firing having ceased, we were marched out of the
sunken road and back along the telephone road to where we had left our rolls in
the morning. This was in the edge of the grove of great mango trees, which had
been taken for a hospital. It was a gruesome sight around there. The wounded and
dead were still being brought in from the field, parties of men were digging
graves and burying the dead, while men in various stages of dilapidation were
standing or lying around. Here was a man with his arm in a sling, there one with
his head turbaned in bandages, smoking a cigarette and comparing notes with a
wounded comrade. One man was hobbling along with his rifle used as a crutch, and
under the trees could be seen the more seriously wounded, stretched out upon the
ground with no shelter from the dew but the trees.

   We rested here for an hour or so, received encouraging news from Lieut.
Moynihan and then took up the march along the telephone road towards Santiago.
Hungry, tired, and sleepy we dragged ourselves along in the moonlight until
nearly 10 o'clock, when we halted by a stone bridge over the San Juan. After we
had been standing around for an hour or go, the order finally came that we were
to bivouac beside the road until morning. The road at this point was five or six
feet lower than the surrounding country and wide enough so that as the men lay
with their heads up the slope their feet were just outside the wheel-ruts. As we
dozed off to sleep the mule wagons began to pass up and down the road, and it
was a clear case of pull up your feet or lose them every time a wagon passed.

   This sort of repose was allowed us until 2 A. M., when we turned out, drew
rations and started back over the road we had come up on the night before. After
being snarled up with a battery and sundry mule trains and regiments, we were
finally led off to the right through a very narrow trail, which, after going up
and down all the hills in the vicinity and through all the swamps, eventually
brought us across the Aguadores River, at the foot of El Pozo, and on to the
main road from Siboney to Santiago. Up ahead of us things were becoming warm
again, occasionally bullets passed over our heads and the rattle of rifles grew
in volume as we went up the road.

IN THE BATTLE OF SAN JUAN HILL.

   Once more we saw the constant stream of wounded going to the rear, some
walking and some packed in army wagons, riding in one of which, even on a smooth
road, requires a good constitution and no nerves to speak of. Dead horses and
mules lay beside the road and great piles of shelter tent rolls were packed here
and there under guard, while their owners were in the fight ahead. Reports
coming from the front were not encouraging and seemed to indicate that we were
getting the worst of the fight. Once we took off our rolls preparatory to going
into action, but before we moved the order was changed and we loaded up and
started on again. At "Bloody Bend" where we forded the stream, a piece of
artillery was stuck in the river bottom and bade fair to stay there, in spite of
the tremendous struggles of the mules and the honeyed words of their drivers and
the officers.

   Beyond the stream we came out into the open at the foot of San Juan hill, and
here we ran into a very warm corner. Rolls were taken off and left under guard,
and then we advanced up the road around the foot of the hill. When the column
halted it brought our company on the top of a little projecting knoll which was
directly in the line of fire from the Spanish trenches. It needed no great
amount of urging to induce the men to lie down and stay down. A part of the hill
intervened between us and the Spanish lines, rising high enough so that their
bullets, clearing this, came over our position about three feet above the
ground. Consequently the flatter our boys could make themselves the better they
were pleased.

   While we lay there in comparative security several bodies of regular troops
came along, talking and laughing. Suddenly a volley would come hurtling down
across that point and among the men. Down they would drop, rubbing their noses
in the dirt, and go squirming off through the grass like great worms. After
about an hour of this we were moved over into the shelter of a hill still
further to the right, where we passed the rest of the afternoon. The firing was
brisk all day, but along towards night it died away and at dusk it had entirely
ceased. After reaching the hill a large detail was sent back down the road to
bring up our rolls. They had a very risky trip, but with the usual luck of our
company all got back safely.

   The camp here was on a very steep side hill, our brigade, consisting of the
2nd Mass., 8th and 22nd Inf'ty, being packed close together. Before dark came
the usual rain, which softened up the clay on the side hill making it so
slippery that it was almost an impossibility to get to the top and about as hard
to stay there. This caused the place to be named "Sloppy Hill." The men were so
worn out by their long continued exertions and loss of rest that as soon as
possible every one turned in, prepared to enjoy as much sleep as possible.

A LIVELY SKIRMISH IN THE DARK.

   About 10 o'clock we were aroused by furious firing on the crest of the hill,
and a tremendous bustle and hurry in the valley below us. The men turned out
with a rush, companies were formed as well as possible on that slippery ground
and the lines advanced up the hill. On top the tangle of undergrowth was so
thick that it was impossible to preserve the formation and as a result the men
became somewhat mixed. It was pitch dark, and as we crawled on our hands and
knees through the mass of briers, bush and Spanish bayonet we could hear the
bullets clipping twigs above and around us.

   The firing grew hotter and hotter, and every minute we expected to reach the
crest, where we could join in the action. Here, however, we ran into the line of
the 8th, who to our surprise had been ahead of us all the time, and I shall not
soon forget how an old "dough-boy" of this regiment turned fiercely on me and
announced, with more force than elegance, that if I dared fire one of those 
"------ ------- ------ Springfields" he would promptly put a bullet through my
head. So once more our bloodthirsty aspirations were squelched and our regiment
became a useless appendage, trailing along through that jungle behind men who
were armed as modern soldiers should be armed.

   After proceeding a short distance we came up in the rear of the 22nd, who in
some manner had secured a position ahead of the rest of us. It made us shudder
to think of the consequences had our men opened fire when we first reached the
top of the hill. A horrible slaughter of the 8th and 22d would have been
inevitable.

   The affair was all over soon after we reached the actual front, and the men
were ordered back to their quarters. There was quite a time hunting up and
accounting for everyone, as the company had been so scattered that some of the
men were a good while in making their way back to camp. But we found in the end
that we had once more gone through a scrimmage with no loss. The rest of the
night was passed in peace and quiet.

   The official report of the operations of July 1 and 2, covering the battles
of El Caney and San Juan Hill, gives the following statistics:—Present for duty,
858 officers and. 17,358 enlisted men; killed, 22 officers and 222 enlisted men;
wounded, 93 officers and 1288 enlisted men.

REJOICING OVER THE NAVAL VICTORY.

   During the morning of the following day (Sunday, July 3,) we heard heavy and
continuous firing from the fleet, but as it was a common occurrence we attached
no particular importance to it. Later in the afternoon there came from over near
the center of our lines the gradually increasing sound of cheering, and now and
then the music of regimental bands. It grew louder and nearer and soon an
officer on a big black horse was seen tearing up the trail. It proved to be Maj.
Creighton Webb, who rode at once to Col. Clark's quarters at the foot of the hill.

   All around that hillside men were standing like spectators in an
amphitheater, peering over the bushes at the little group of officers below. The
result of Maj. Webb's announcement was a burst of cheering at headquarters, and
as the word was passed up the hill that the whole Spanish fleet had been
destroyed in attempting to escape we were not slow to add our vociferous
approval. Meanwhile Maj. Webb had notified the 8th and 22nd regiments, and then
it seemed as if bedlam had broken loose. Cheers and yells filled the air and the
weatherheaten but plucky band of the 8th got together and played "Dixie,"
"Yankee Doodle," "Maryland," "Marching through Georgia," "The Star Spangled
Banner," and that stirring old war song of '98, "There'll be a hot time in the
old town to-night."

   The expansive grin worn by all the men was visible and audible too, until
long after nightfall. We spent the night before the Fourth with no thoughts of
bonfires, tin horns or fire crackers, and it has always seemed peculiar that the
quietest Fourth of July we had ever known should have been spent under such
circumstances.

THE FIRST LINE OF INTRENCHMENTS.

   Bright and early the next morning we were routed out and broke camp
immediately after breakfast. We moved along the line to the right for an hour or
so and then had a long halt in a narrow path, afterward moving on to the El
Caney road and coming out finally on a high hill overlooking Santiago and the
bay. Here we were treated to a beautiful specimen of comic opera stealth.
Sylph-like staff officers, weighing not less than two hundred and fifty pounds
would render themselves invisible to the Spanish by placing wisps of guinea
grass in their hats, and then stalk bravely up to the crest of the hill with
about the same amount of wisdom that an ostrich exhibits when he hides his head
in the sand. Others equally sagacious, with a waist measurement well up in the
forties, would find a perfectly safe place behind a tree three inches in
diameter. After these worthies had concluded their ghost dance it was decided to
dig intrenchments.

   Under normal circumstances this would have been comparatively simple, but
when it was found that our regiment of nearly a thousand men possessed only four
pickaxes and but one or two shovels we realized what a task we had before us.
Tbe soil was a hard, sticky clay, with a network of roots and a good allowance
of stones. Our intrenching tools consisted of our small iron-handled case knives
and our meat pans.

   To add to our misery a large proportion of the company were suffering from
pombro poison, dating from the night attack of the 2nd. This was caused by a
plant or vine very common in Cuba, with a leaf like our holly. When dry it is
harmless, but if wet it is exceedingly virulent, raising great blisters and
burning and itching much worse than ivy or dogwood poison. Of course every bush
and leaf was saturated with dew when we went up the hill that night, and in
floundering through the tangle we had evidently found all the pombro there.

   However, there was nothing to do but dig, and dig we did, although it was
like bailing out the Gulf of Mexico with a teaspoon. All the afternoon we
scratched away at that miserable clay and continued until it was too dark to
see. A truce was on, for how long no one knew, and we intended to-be properly
intrenched when it was declared off. The next day we also dug, but with improved
results, as spades and picks were slowly being brought up from Siboney. This
enabled us to work in reliefs, each company digging for two hours and then
resting four or six hours.

   The trenches grew in size and symmetry. They contained all the conveniences
one could expect in a model trench—sand bags on top, with loop holes between; a
shelf or ledge to lay cartridges on; a seat in the rear and a step in front;
trenches dug at right angles, leading to the rear, to allow ingress and egress
without exposure to the enemy's fire; grass in front to cover the newly-turned
earth and make it less conspicuous as a target. In fact those trenches became
"the apple of our eye" and it seemed as if our one object in life was to have
just a little better defense than anyone else on the line. For five days we
struggled with that dirt and at last the result satisfied even our critical eyes.

   Meanwhile we had made a lucky find in the shape of First Lieut. Guilliano
Guillet of Gen. Garcia's army. Strolling into camp one day in quest of rations,
after the manner of all Cubans, he soon spied our poisoned hands and pronounced
them "malo" (bad). We agreed perfectly, and then our Cuban friend disappeared in
the brush. He soon returned bringing some of the pombro and gave us an
exhibition of its effects. Then disappearing again he returned later with
something like our sweet fern. After steeping this for a time he saturated our
bandaged hands with the decoction, and then took his departure, laden down with
all the bacon and hardtack we could spare from our scanty store. The next
morning our pombro blisters had practically subsided, and every afflicted one
breathed a prayer of gratitude to the single good Cuban we had found up to date.
The men began to show somewhat the effects of our hard labor, continual nervous
strain and unsuitable rations, and we had several men sick, Musician Adams and
Priv. Lacrosse being the worst.

ABANDONING THE BELOVED TRENCHES.

   On the morning of July 10 we received a shock in the shape of orders to move.
Many and emphatic were the "cuss-words" used when we saw the 71st New York
coolly slide into our beloved trenches and make themselves at home. Some man
laconically quoted Gen. Sherman's definition of war as he shouldered his roll
and prepared to move to fresh fields. Adams and Lacrosse, being too ill to go
with us, were sent back to the division hospital and we did not see them again
during the campaign. Lacrosse died of yellow fever at Siboney on July 12, though
we did not learn of it until after our return home. Adams, after recovering from
the same disease, was sent back to this country, arriving just after we did.

   After marching about three miles we finally halted about three quarters of a
mile from where we started. We were now occupying the highest point in the
American lines and the whole scene of operations was spread out like a panorama.
To our left lay the long line of trenches with the little dog tents grouped
behind. Here and there our pitifully few batteries were located. Work was begun
at once on a new set of trenches, but before Co. Fs turn came we were ordered
into shelter as the truce was off and bombardment about to begin. Only one
company of our battalion, M of Adams, was stationed in the trenches, the other
three lying behind the hill perfectly sheltered and, to everyone's disgust,
absolutely unable to see anything going on.

TRUCE FOLLOWED BY BOMBARDMENT.

   Promptly at 4 P. M. the entertainment began. Our guns had it their own way
and could hardly get a reply from the Spanish, but in a spectacular way it was a
great success. Co. I lay in the grass, with the rain gently sifting down on us,
and to pass away the time formed a pool on the duration of the bombardment. For
an hour and a half the guns hammered away at the forts but with no particular
gain. The enemy would not reply and damage on both sides was very small. The
infantry took little part in this, only a few-scattering shots being fired.

   The ceremony being concluded we were allowed to go back to our quarters.
During the afternoon we had several more men come down sick, Corp. Goddard,
Priv's Whitton, J. L. Allis, J. M. Young and E. F. Dragon being in the worst
shape. We mounted very heavy guards that night, twenty-three men from our
company being on. Sergt. Flynn had an outpost that was almost into the Spanish
lines and part of his men spent a good share of the night trying to catch one of
a drove of cattle, owned by the enemy, which was grazing between the lines. A
detail of Spaniards was out on the same errand, and according to all accounts a
very pretty game of hide-and-seek was played in that dark, wet jungle, and at
last reports the cow was still at large.

   The long anticipated night attack, of which we had been warned so many times,
again failed to materialize, and so in the morning the batteries prodded the
Spaniards again, but to no effect. At noon the white flag went up over the city,
signalling for another truce. While in this camp we had the best water supply
that we found on the island. The big main that supplied Santiago with water had
been broken in a small gate-house, and we had the whole supply poured out to us
within a few steps of camp.

   At noon we moved again, leaving our five sick comrades with two men to care
for them. This time we marched up and down all the hills which we had not
climbed before, going into camp at dusk in a wet swale in plain view of the
enemy, who were but 700 or 800 yards distant. The men were very tired, for it
had been a hard march and the sun blistering hot. Our rations were exhausted and
every one was looking for a fresh issue, when we were notified that all Second
Regiment rations had been left, by a mistake on the part of the people in charge
of the pack-train, back where we had camped the day before. A detail was made up
and started back, tired and hungry, over the trip which had taken us most of the
afternoon to cover. They returned about 9.30, so exhausted that they could
hardly stand, for it was no light task to lug those big cases of hard tack and
sides of bacon over the rough trail in a dark night. They did not wait to pitch
tents or get supper, but dropped like logs and were asleep almost immediately.

AMERICAN LINES DRAWING CLOSER.

   Heavy guards were posted, our exposed position making the utmost vigilance
imperative. Then, as a last straw, the biggest rain-storm of the season set in
about 10 o'clock. The rain fell in torrents, going through our shelter tents as
if they were made of gauze, and forming ponds everywhere. All night long the
downpour continued and daybreak brought no change. There never was a wetter,
more bedraggled and besmeared set of men than we were as we crawled out of our
"kennels" on the morning of July 11. It was impossible to build fires, so our
breakfast consisted of wet hard tack and raw bacon, and we had hardly time to
eat that before we received orders to move.

   The soaked tents were taken down, the equally wet blankets were rolled
inside, and a most uncomfortable line of men started once more on the apparently
endless march "to the right." We tramped in roads which were rivers of mud, we
waded through swamps up to our knees and finally halted to "wait for orders" in
a field about 800 yards from the Spanish lines. The men unslung their rolls,
threw them on the ground and sat down on them in the pouring rain to await
developments. Two hours were whiled away in this delightful fashion, after which
we moved a little farther, into a road already occupied by the 22nd Inf'ty. One
side of the road was lined by an impassable hedge of cactus and chaparral, and
the other by a barbed wire fence. The road itself was from eight to twelve
inches deep with sticky red mud, and so the only thing to do was to stand up,
keeping guns and rolls out of the ooze. Here we stayed for an hour or two, then
were ordered into camp in the field in front.

   We moved early the next day down into the hollow, still nearer the city but
out of sight, our first location having been too conspicuous. Work was
immediately began on our third set of trenches, and as the truce was to end at
noon on the 14th we had just 24 hours to protect ourselves, and this
necessitated the busiest kind of digging. Every minute was improved, as many men
working as the trenches would accommodate. At night candles were set up in the
ground to enable the men to see, and every man able to hold a shovel had to work
his hardest.

   At 11.30 the next morning, July 14, everyone was ordered into the trenches,
taking rations and blankets. The bombardment was scheduled to begin promptly at
noon and no one knew when we could come out again with safety. Our position was
on the extreme front, the body of the company being in the main trench and the
balance of about 20 men having charge of a rifle-pit still farther advanced.
Corp. Goddard had rejoined the company the night previous, escaping from the
hospital and coming several miles in order to be "in at the finish." Priv.
Dragon had also returned.

   Priv. Whitton, however, had grown worse, had been sent back to the division
hospital, and from there to Dr. Jones' yellow fever hospital at Siboney. His
treatment there and subsequently is worthy of special note. At the yellow fever
hospital his clothing, with the exception of his flannels, was taken away and
burned. Just before his release the suit of flannels was boiled and then
returned to him, but the government had no uniform, blanket, shoes and hat to
replace those burned. Though he had withstood the worst part of the yellow fever
he was a very sick man and should have received careful treatment. Instead he
was put on an ordinary transport, bound from Siboney to Florida, and compelled
to occupy a bunk of unplaned boards, without blankets or any clothing besides
those flannels. Fortunately for Whitton he was found at Egmont Key, Fla. by the
late Sherman Hoar, who provided for his wants and saw him shipped north in more
presentable shape.

SURRENDER OF SANTIAGO CITY AND PROVINCE,

   As the hour for the opening of the bombardment drew near the strain on our
nerves became tremendous. Worn and tired as we were, and insufficiently
nourished by our unsuitable rations of fat bacon and hard tack, the only thing
that had kept us up so far had been nerve, and now it seemed as if the breaking
point was near. Noon came but with it no sound from the city or our own
batteries. Men cautiously poked their heads above the earthworks and tried to
see what was the trouble. One o'clock brought no change. At 2 o'clock the only
thing new was a storm coming up. This at least reached us on time and in an hour
the trenches were from three inches to a foot deep with water, soaking our
blankets and rations and thoroughly disgusting everyone.

   About 4 o'clock a commotion was observed down the line to the right. An
officer rode along, stopping occasionally to address a group of officers and
men. He would speak for a moment, then a cloud of hats would appear in the air
and he would ride on and repeat the operation with another group who came
tumbling out of those wet holes in the ground. When he reached our part of the
lines we understood. Gen. Toral, the Spanish commander, had surrendered the city
and its garrison, also all troops in the province. The formal ceremonies of the
capitulation would not take place until the 17th and it was not thought best to
let the enemy know how pleased we were at the termination of the siege.
Therefore the men were instructed to refrain from cheering, but the officer
added, "You might throw up your hats if you wish." The entire headgear of the
Second regiment went into the air as evidence of our approval. Then we settled
down to the familiar occupation of drying blankets and "rustling for grub." The
next three days were uneventful save for the increasing sickness among the men.

   On the 17th at 9 A. M. the whole American army stood at attention on the
fortifications for half an hour, and at noon repeated the ceremony in honor of
the raising of the Stars and Stripes over the palace of the governor general.
The bands played and the men cheered in accordance with the orders they had
received. But somehow the cheers seemed to lack spontaneity and heartiness, and
it is not to be wondered at, for there were few men who did not feel the effects
of the previous month's exertion.

VISITATION OF SICKNESS AND DEATH.

   From this time there was hardly a day when a new case of the climatic fever,
or calenture, did not break out in our company, and the time from July 17 to
August 13 will always seem to the men as much like a night-mare as a reality. We
moved our camp slightly twice, but we were on low ground to start with and lower
still later on. The routine police and guard work of camp were maintained and
drills were kept up for a time. But the climate was so intolerably hot and the
men in such poor condition that the drills had to be given up.

   There was a monotony about the weather that was depressing. The sun came up
with a jump and by half past seven the air was as hot as at any time during the
day. The sky was always cloudless throughout the morning and until 2 or 3
o'clock in the afternoon. Then as regular as a clock the clouds would roll up,
the men would fasten down their tents, spread their ponchos over the top and
crawl in. The rain lasted for an hour or two and was generally accompanied by
lightning and thunder. It stopped as suddenly as it began. Then the men would
crawl out and stand around in the mud like a lot of wet chickens. These rains
wore very cold, or seemed so after the fierce mid-day heat.

   Guard-mount came at 5 o'clock and was the only attempt at military work
during the day. The men went to bed early, for the nights were too cool for
comfort, being especially chilly and disagreeable from about ten or eleven
o'clock until four in the morning. There was a constant call from headquarters
for details for various purposes, and as the men one after another became sick
it was a very hard matter to satisfy these demands, without making the same set
of men do all the work. There was one day when, out of the 74 members of Co. I
in Cuba, we actually had but six men able to do duty.

   The third death in our company, that of Priv. Harvey R. Atkins, occurred July
26. The doctors called it a case of nostalgia (homesickness). It is safe to say
that few of the men escaped attacks of the same trouble. This seemed to be the
beginning of a long series of deaths in the regiment. Scarcely a day passed when
a squad of men was not to be seen digging a grave. Shortly afterwards that
saddest, sweetest of all bugle calls, "Taps," would reach our ears and a little
party of officers and men would come slowly back through the grass. Death became
such an everyday occurrence that our sensibilities were dulled, and it now seems
incredible that such events should have made so little impression on us.

   Our food was a little more varied after the surrender, but never suitable to
the climate. Fresh beef was issued occasionally, but had to be eaten at once or
it would spoil, and indeed much of it did decay and was buried before reaching
us. Soft bread was issued in good quantity, but there was always something a
little off about it, though we never could make out just what. Rice we bought
from Cuban peddlers and this was the most acceptable thing on our menu. Twice we
received a diminutive issue of onions, and semi-occasionally a potato. Two or
three miles to the rear of camp was the commissary store, where we could buy a
fairly good variety of canned fruits, lime juice and tobacco. Medicines were
very scarce and the variety very limited. Of the things most needed there was
never enough to treat half the sick and some of the most essential remedies were
absolutely lacking.

TERRIBLE EFFECTS OF CUBAN FEVER.

   One of the saddest sights was " sick call" every morning, when a hundred or
more poor fellows would drag themselves up to headquarters and lie down in the
grass to wait their turn with the doctor. Their faces were yellow and thin,
their knees weak and their eyes dull. One of the most striking results of this
fever was the utter loss of all ambition and pride in the person affected.
Fellows who were naturally energetic and particular about their appearance, when
attacked by the disease would lie like logs in the sun, often in the mud,
unwashed and unkempt, and it was utterly impossible to arouse them from their
torpor and make them take an interest in life.

   Temperaments also changed rapidly. Good natured, fun-loving fellows became
morose and irritable, much inclined to quarrel over trivial matters and even
without the slightest provocation. An occurrence in our company will show
something of the condition the men were in. Two fellows who tented together were
the joint possessors of part of a hard tack box cover. One wished to use it to
kindle the fire and cook supper, the other wanted to save it for cooking
breakfast. They had some words over it and although both were so ill and weak as
to be hardly able to walk they decided to go out into the brush and fight it
out. Before they had gone far, however, they were overtaken, brought back and
given a short sharp talk by the captain; after which they cooked and ate their
supper together and turned in for the night side by side without a particle of
ill feeling left between them.

   From the high ground behind the trenches we could see the harbor plainly.
Every day showed an increase in the number of transports and this of course kept
up our hopes that we were soon to be sent home. In the latter part of July Capt.
Williams succumbed to the fever and in a few days Lieut. Thayer followed suit.
The captain went to the regimental hospital, but was soon back with the company
again, although unable to do active duty. The proportion of sick was gaining
steadily and on Aug. 4 we suffered another loss in the death of Corp. Alfred N.
Belleville. He had not been sick long, but a severe attack of jaundice in
conjunction with the fever proved too much for his system.

   The company at this time was in sore straits. We did not have enough well men
to take care of the sick and do the regular detail work. Several of the sick men
were delirious and required constant attention. The regimental hospital was an
old, dilapidated railway station, without a floor, most of the side walls torn
away, and absolutely no conveniences for the care of the sick. Into this were
put from 40 to 60 sick, a large proportion of them delirious, and deaths were of
almost daily occurrence. When a man fell sick he would beg his comrades not to
take him to that place, and a number of men, having been sent there, escaped and
crawled back to the company.

   It is hard to imagine a more acute torture than to force a man who knows he
is seriously sick with fever to remain in a place like that, surrounded by
delirious and dying men, lying on the ground, pestered by ants and flies, and
left in the care of soldier nurses, who, though willing and kind-hearted, were
for the most part absolutely unfit for such work.

   About this time there drifted into our street the jolliest little Cuban
pickaninny that ever stole a piece of bacon. He gloried in a name which alone
would suffice to cover a multitude of sins. He was commonly known as "Miles,"
but his full name was MUYELES MONTE BLINITO MIGUELEDA. He was a handsome bronze
in color, with a bright, intelligent face and snapping eyes. Always pleasant and
willing to do errands for any of us he soon made himself a general favorite with
the boys, reaping what seemed to him great rewards in discarded rations. One of
the men had "found" an old buckskin pony, built on Gothic lines. Another "found"
a well-worn saddle, and with this outfit "General Miles," proud as a peacock
would set off carrying canteens for the whole company down to the brook, fill
them and bring them back. He also went into the city on numerous errands for
rice, sugar, and other articles, and it made no difference how many things he
procured he always had the right change and never seemed to forget anything.

   On August 10 Priv. Eugene F. Cole died of the fever in the hospital, making
the fifth death in the company.

PREPARATIONS FOR THE RETURN HOME.

   There were now unmistakable evidences of our departure in the near future,
and we had been told that as soon as the cavalry division was embarked we were
to follow. At this juncture the paymaster put in an appearance and we drew pay
for the months of June and July. Then the edict went forth that all companies
must be examined by yellow fever experts and all real or suspicious cases were
to be detained and sent north later. Through an accidental misunderstanding our
company escaped this ordeal and consequently when the day of departure came we
were obliged to leave only one man in the hospital. Priv. Frank E. Barbour, one
of the strongest men in the company, had been sick several days and in spite of
his robust physique had been growing constantly weaker and the doctors
pronounced it impossible to move him. He was a splendid soldier, big-hearted and
generous; and always ready to do any kind of work at any time. He would carry a
sick man's roll in addition to his own through a hard march, and at the end,
when every one else was completely played out, would promptly volunteer for any
work, no matter how hard or disagreeable.

   Each company was ordered to leave one man to care for the sick, and this put
our officers in a quandary. It was a hard thing to ask any man to stay in that
pestilent camp, while all his comrades were on their way to "God's country," to
nurse a sick man in the midst of many others who had just been pronounced by
experts to be suffering from yellow fever, and to postpone, no one knew how
long, his own departure for home. In the face of all this, realizing fully the
great risk to be undergone, Priv. Herbert A. Miller volunteered to stay and care
for Priv. Barbour. All honor to this soldier whose act was doubly heroic because
carefully deliberated. Such deeds are not given the credit they deserve and the
man who risks his life in the excitement and madness of battle receives the
lion's share of glory. Priv. Barbour died August 15, two days after the regiment
sailed. Priv. Miller came north on another transport, arriving several days
later than the regiment.

ACCOMMODATIONS ON THE TRANSPORT MOBILE.

   On the morning of August 12 the men donned new Khaki uniforms, burned their
old ones, which had done such good service, loaded the sick into mule wagons,
buried in the trenches the remaining supply of 45 calibre ammunition, and
marched out of camp headed for the city. The march of a mile and a half was a
hard strain on the regiment. Many men had to fall out of the column and drag
themselves slowly into town as best they could. It was well towards night when
the company boarded the lighter, Laura B., and started down the harbor for the
Mobile, on which we were to sail. Priv. Cranston, who was very sick with
inflammatory rheumatism, and Priv. A. D. Young, who was suffering from the fever
and neuralgia, had to be carried aboard on stretchers.

   When we first sighted the Mobile everyone thought that we should at least
have room enough, but after we got aboard we found that the 8th and 22nd Inf'ty
had again headed us and practically occupied the whole boat, regarding us as
interlopers. Nothing could be accomplished that night in the way of providing
quarters for our men, and they were forced to sleep in any vacant spot they
could find, most of them bunking in the horse stalls on the upper deck. The next
day we were located on one of the lower decks, in the forward part of the ship.
The upper deck was merely a roof of loose boards over the next one below, where
the horses were quartered. On the deck under the horses were the 22nd Inf'ty and
part of our regiment, including Co, I. Here we were about on the water line, but
as the ports were open on fair days the air was not very bad. Hammocks were
issued, but there was not room for the entire company to sling them, so some
bunked on the deck floor while others went to the upper deck where it was not so
crowded.

   Our rations on board consisted of canned "roast beef" and hard tack, but as
most of the men were too sick to eat it Capt. Williams, after a great deal of
trouble, contracted with the ship's steward to furnish 30 loaves of bread each
day. This promised well, but to everyone's disgust when we got our first lot the
loaves were no larger than a common bun and as each man had but half a loaf per
day no one grew fat on our bread allowance.

   The poor fellows sick in the hospital were miserably quartered, and suffered
greatly in consequence. The only protection they had from the daily rains was
the loose boarding of the upper deck, and through this the water came in streams
so that slits had to be cut in the canvas cots to let it run out. Details of two
men each were sent from the company to act as nurses, staying on duty 24 hours,
and a harder, more nerve-trying task it would be difficult to imagine. Every man
in the hospital was absolutely helpless and so exhausted by the fever as to be
fretful and childish. Their wants were numerous and the calls for the detail
constant, so that these "nurses" got scarcely any rest during their 24 hours' duty.

   The special service of Priv. Harold F. Hillenbrand is worthy of note here.
Before the regiment left Lakeland he was appointed to the hospital corps because
of his training as a drug clerk, and throughout the campaign no man in that
branch of the service worked harder or with greater devotion than did Priv.
Hillenbrand. He frequently procured medicines when we were unable to get them in
the company through the ordinary channels, and was a faithful nurse.

HOMEWARD BOUND.

   On the afternoon of August 13 the Mobile weighed anchor and steamed down the
harbor. The men tried to cheer as the boat started, but it was a dismal attempt.
We sailed past the sunken Merrimac, the Spanish cruiser Reina Mercedes, past
Morro Castle, which still seemed to be in a pretty good state of repair and over
which floated our flag, and then out into the Caribbean Sea. Up to this point
many of the men exhibited a lively interest in our progress and seemed more
natural than for some time, but once out on the blue water they settled back
into the old rut and devoted their entire energy to the problem of keeping alive
until we reached Montauk. We enjoyed splendid weather during the trip and made a
good run. Our course after passing through the Windward Passage was laid
directly for the eastern end of Long Island, so that we were out of the track of
other boats and saw but one or two during the whole trip.

   Sickness was rather on the increase, details were harder to find on account
of the few men fit for duty, and deaths were only too frequent. The burial
ceremony at sea was necessarily brief and formal. The boat would slow up,
finally stop, lie quiet for a few minutes and then start off again. The men
would notice it, but it became so common an occurrence that it failed to excite
other comment than the remark, "Another man's gone." Death had become so
familiar to us that the feeling of awe which would have impressed us at home was
almost entirely absent.

   Early on the morning of the 18th Priv. Henry C. Collins, Jr., died from
anaemia of the lungs, and that same night Priv. Charles H. Cranston passed away.
Collins had been seriously sick but a few days, while Cranston had been in the
hospital since about July 20 suffering with inflammatory rheumatism. Both were
buried at sea.

   We arrived in Fort Pond Bay on the 19th, but owing to rain did not land until
the next day. While we lay at the wharf on the evening of the 19th we were told
that the boxes of good things of various kinds, which had been contributed by
generous friends, had at last found us, and that we must get them aboard at
once. The fact that we were to land in the morning made no difference whatever.
The few men in the company who still possessed energy (they could not be called
well) carried those heavy cases up into our quarters, and then the first thing
in the morning carried them back to the pier.

IN THE HANDS OF FRIENDS AT MONTAUK.

   Early on the 20th we began the disembarkation. The sick were sent to the
hospital in ambulances, while the remainder of the men marched to the detention
camp, distant about three quarters of a mile. We were met on the pier by Messrs.
T. B. Ewing and Charles Beckmann of Northampton, and others who were unremitting
in their attentions. Mr. Beckmann's tireless work for the company throughout its
service was deeply appreciated. It led to the remark by one of the men when we
were landing at Daiquiri, that "probably Mr. Beckmann was waiting for us on the
wharf with some ice cream or something good." Mrs. Williams was promptly on hand
and thanks to her energy and devotion the company was supplied with a capable
cook and a generous supply of milk and eggs each day.

   Of the stay in Montauk I can say but little, for in fact there was but little
to relate. It was the same old story, each day new men taken to the hospital,
the remaining men too weak and feeble to do the necessary camp work. Kind and
zealous friends, both at home and in camp, worked faithfully and nobly to better
our condition, but the cold winds penetrated our thin Khaki uniforms and we
suffered particularly from the big storm on the night of the 23rd, All these
things but tended to increase our desire to get back home. The sick had perfect
faith that if they could only hang on to life until they reached home they would
be all right, and this kept many from giving way completely.

   Priv. Fred S. Farnham died on the 21st after a long, hard sickness. His
father and brother arrived just after his death and the body was sent to
Florence for burial, funeral services being held at the Florence Congregational
church the 25th.

   Lieut. Moynihan arrived in camp on the 22nd and took command of the company,
Capt. Williams and Lieut. Thayer both being sick. I had been sent to the
hospital on the 20th, and had an opportunity to gain an insight into the
hospital system. On the whole the arrangements were good, but in detail there
was much room for improvement. In our ward we had sisters of the St. Vincent de
Paul Society from Lowell, and too much cannot be said of their splendid work.
All day and all night they were on duty, each serving twelve hours, and I never
saw one sit down except in the middle of the night, when for a few minutes there
would be quiet. Never a frown or cross word from them, no matter how
unreasonable the request from some peevish, fretful soldier. Every day there was
a stream of visitors passing through the ward, some apparently being there
merely for curiosity, but many of them were looking for missing relatives or
friends. Others came loaded with fruit and delicacies, or reading matter, which
they distributed among the men. Several young ladies came daily to write letters
for those too weak to do it themselves. Those of us who were convalescent took
short walks in the long corridor between the wards. It was a comical yet
pathetic sight to see a hundred or more weak-kneed soldiers, bearded and with
saffron complexions, attired in pajamas of the most violent shades of blue, pink
and green, promenading in and out among crowds of smartly dressed people from
civilized communities. These pajamas were fearfully and wonderfully made, most
of them in gigantic sizes, and the colors would have made a bird of paradise
green with envy.

FURLOUGHED HOME FOR SIXTY DAYS.

   There had been some talk of keeping the Second in service for several months
longer, but the condition of the men demanded their return home. The regiment
was accordingly given a general furlough of 60 days, beginning August 26 Prior
to this order many had secured individual furloughs and had returned home,
including Capt. Williams, Lieut. Thayer, Dr. Hitchcock, Sergt. Eastwood and
myself. The regiment left Montauk early on the 27th, going by boat to New
London, thence by train to Springfield. Co. I numbered but 46 men, in charge of
Lieut. Moynihan. They arrived at Northampton about 4.30 P. M., and were welcomed
at the station by an immense crowd.

   Neither the returning soldiers nor the people of the city, however, were in a
mood for exultant demonstration. The company of buoyant, vigorous young men, who
had departed for war only four months before, were now returning with strength
and spirit broken down by hardships and disease. Several had made the great
sacrifice, and thoughts of them, and of the bereaved homes to which the return
of the company brought only renewal of their sorrow, sobered that throng. There
were few in the company who were not sick. The majority were taken home in hacks
and carriages, the others being moved to Dickinson Hospital, or to houses of
people who volunteered to care for them until they were able to go to their own
homes outside the city. The very few men who appeared to be in fair condition of
health soon succumbed to the racking chills and fever or to more serious
sickness. Several of the men had been left in the hospital at Montauk, and those
not able after a few days to make the trip home were sent to hospitals in
Boston, New Haven and New York.

   The tenth death in the company was that of Priv. John R. Crowley, on
September 22. He had been brought North with other sick Massachusetts soldiers,
on the hospital ship Olivette, and placed in the Massachusetts General Hospital
at Boston. His body was brought to his home in Leeds and he was buried with
military honors the 25th, the funeral being held at St. Mary's church, Haydenville.

   Priv. A. D. Young had been left at Montauk, and about a week after the
company's return sent word that he was able to be brought home. Lieut. Moynihan
and City Physician J. C. Fahey went down to accompany him home, and were
surprised to discover that only a few hours before they arrived he had been sent
to Boston on the steamer Lewiston. The vessel ran on the rocks at Point Judith,
below Newport, R. I., and the sick soldiers had a terrible experience,
completing the journey to Boston by rail. Priv. Young was placed in the Boston
City Hospital, where he died September 28. The body was brought home and a
public funeral service was held in Cosmian Hall, Florence, September 30. Members
of Co. I attended in a body and rendered military honors at the grave.

   Tributes to the men who had given up their lives in Cuba and on the voyage
home were not forgotten. A memorial service for Frank E. Barbour and Eugene F.
Cole was held at the Florence Methodist church, September 11, and similar
services were held September 18 for Charles H. Cranston, at the Florence
Congregational church, and for Henry C. Collins, Jr., at his late home in
Northampton.

MUSTERED OUT OF UNITED STATES SERVICE.

   The general furlough of the regiment ended October 24, and on that day Co. I
assembled once more at the armory to do 10 days' duty prior to being mustered
out of United States service. The papers and blanks of various sorts had to be
filled out, accounts with the government and each enlisted man made up and
verified, and every man was given a thorough physical examination. On the third
of November the regiment assembled at Springfield, the final ceremonies of the
muster out were gone through with and the Second Regiment Massachusetts
Infantry, U. S. V., passed into history.

   The winter following the campaign was a hard one for the members of the
company. Most of them suffered from malaria and other diseases contracted during
the summer. Sergt. Daniel W. Eastwood, who had been sick with pulmonary trouble
at Dickinson Hospital since the latter part of August, died on December 1. The
last death in the company was that of Priv. Raoul F. Dragon, on December 29,
from pneumonia. These men were both social, whole-souled fellows, popular with
their comrades and enthusiastic in the work of the company.

   Priv. John L. Allis represented the company on the government expedition
which left for Santiago February 2, 1899, to bring back the bodies of American
soldiers who had been killed or who had died in Cuba during the campaign. The
graves of Corp. Belleville, Privs. Atkins, Barbour and Cole were located without
difficulty, but faithful search failed to find that of Priv. Lacrosse, who had
been buried from the yellow fever hospital, probably without ceremony or care
for future identification. The transport, with the bodies of over 600 soldiers,
reached New York, March 28. The remains of Priv. Atkins were sent to the
National cemetery at Arlington for burial, and those of the other three Co. I
members were brought to Northampton, arriving March 31. They were met at the
station by details from Co. I and escorted to City Hall, where they lay in state
under a guard of honor until Sunday, April 2, when funeral services were held in
the Academy of Music. The body of Priv. Thos. Barrett, of Co. E, 17th Infantry,
who enlisted from Bay State, was also brought to Northampton and given the same
honor. The services at the Academy were very impressive. At the close the
caskets were escorted to different cemeteries by detachments from Co. I and were
buried with military honors.

   It is but right, in closing this narrative, to pay a tribute to our captain,
Henry L. Williams. We saw him under the hardest and most trying circumstances,
when he was well and when he was sick, but never when he was not an ideal
soldier and gentleman. His solicitude for the individual members of the company,
his ready sympathy for the sick and constant care for the best interests of the
well have endeared him in the hearts of every Co. I man. For our genial and
faithful first lieutenant, Glenroy A. Thayer, and our plucky and popular second
lieutenant, Daniel J. Moynihan, nothing but praise can be said, and I have yet
to hear a single word of criticism or fault-finding directed towards any one of
our three officers.

   Our company was a congenial, clean set of men with varied accomplishments,
and it was a saying at regimental headquarters "If you want any kind of a man
that you can't find anywhere else go to I Co." When time has wiped out some of
the distressing memories of the Cuban campaign there will still remain with us
pleasant recollections of our service in Co. I, Second Massachusetts Infantry,
United States Volunteers.


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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