Part 2

Having finally reached the ground of the enemy, great precaution was taken to avoid a surprise; the water was inspected to make sure that it contained no poisonous substance and the orders in posting sentinels were rigidly enforced――each sentry before being posted had to be thoroughly familiar with his orders, being required to repeat them verbatim, and was also admonished as to the importance of keeping constantly on the alert. He was forewarned that to be found asleep on post in the enemy’s country meant to be tried by court-martial and if convicted to suffer the penalty of death.

Our first rendezvous was alongside of an old Spanish cathedral, surrounded by plantations of sugarcane, coffee, hemp, and tobacco; here we pitched a camp of shelter or “dog-tents” as they were generally called. As we were getting our accoutrements of war in shape the rapid fire of the Sixteenth Pennsylvania engaging the enemy could be distinctly heard, this engagement, however, being of short duration, like all other Spanish-American encounters in the West Indies.

Playa Del Ponce is the port of the city of Ponce, and is the shipping point for that section of the Island of Porto Rico. The town is surrounded by rich plantations of tobacco, coffee, sugarcane, and rice, also trees teeming with oranges, cocoanuts, guavas, lemons, grape-fruit, and groves of bananas and plantains. The staple production of the island is tobacco, from which is manufactured a very choice brand of cigars. The city of Ponce lies inland a distance of about three miles, and is typically Spanish in its architecture.

Shortly after our arrival at Playa Del Ponce, I had occasion to take my horse in the ocean for a swim, which was great sport and beneficial to the animal. In dismounting on my return to the beach, I had the painful misfortune to tread on a thin sea shell which penetrated my heel, breaking into several pieces. On my return to the camp I found the troop surgeon had left for Ponce, so seeking the assistance of a Spanish-Porto Rican physician, one Garcia Del Valyo, I was relieved after considerable probing, of the broken pieces of shell. The wet season being in progress and our hospital facilities limited, the doctor kindly offered me quarters in his beautiful residence, and recommended to my troop commander that I remain at his home until my wound had healed. To this the officer acquiesced.

I was given a room overlooking the bay on one side, with the town bounding the other; a crutch and an oil-cloth shoe were provided for me, with which I was able to hobble around with the two beautiful daughters of the old gentleman, namely, Anita and Consuelo Del Valyo. They spoke the Anglo-Saxon language fairly well and taught me my first lessons in Spanish, while I in return instructed them in my language. Both were artistes, being skilled in painting, sculpture, and music, and I often recall the happy evenings spent listening to the sweet notes of “La Paloma” as sung to the trembling tones of a mandolin accompaniment. Traditional custom permitted the piano and various Spanish songs during the day, but never “La Paloma,” wine, and the “Fandango” until after twilight. It was a picturesque sight to watch these senoritas perform the “Fandango,” clicking the castanets and gracefully tapping the tambourine as they whirled through coils of cigarette smoke.

I spent nine days in this hospitable domicile and was sorry when my wound had healed, but alas! I had to join my troop, which had departed for the interior. Before leaving Playa Del Ponce, I was presented with a small gold case containing the miniatures of these charming ladies. During the campaign on the island, I made several trips in to see them, accompanied by members of the troop, and before our departure from Porto Rico, had the extreme pleasure of attending a genuine Porto Rican “Fiesta.” It is sad to relate that the entire family suffered the fate of a large percentage of the population of Playa Del Ponce, in the terrible tidal wave which swept that portion of the island in 1899. Far be it from me to ever forget the kindness, engaging presence, and irresistible charm of these unfortunate people.

On my way to join the troop, I met the Sixteenth Pennsylvania Infantry, escorting about eight hundred prisoners of war into the city, where they were to remain in incarceration until the arrival of the transports which were to convey the Spanish soldiers to Spain. When they halted near the old stockade in the city of Ponce I secured some unique curios including a Spanish coronet of solid gold (a watch charm), rings, knives, Spanish coins, and ornaments of various kinds.

Having finally reached my troop and reported for duty, I joined my old “bunkies,” Young and Turnbach, and learned from them that the soldiers were starving to death on a diet commonly known as “canned Eagan,” others dubbed it “embalmed beef” and swore that no cattle were ever taken alive that supplied such meat, as they were too tough to surrender. Suffice it to say it was at least a very unwholesome diet. The British bull-dog “Jack,” a “blue ribbon” winner that had been purchased at a London dog-show by Norman Parke, a member of the troop, was a worthy “mascot” and general favorite among the soldiers of the squadron. Parke, having been detailed as orderly to Colonel Castleman, which necessitated his absence from the troop, presented the dog to Trooper Schuyler Ridgeway, in whom “Jack” found an indulgent master. Schuyler, in order to demonstrate the quality of the “encased mystery,” had a can of it tapped, and invited the dog to sink his teeth in it. “Jack” with true bull-dog sagacity refused, realizing, I presume, that it would be attempted suicide, and withdrawing a short distance gave vent to his spleen by a wicked growl, after which a pitiful whine which seemed to say, “Home was never like this.” Reed, the ranger, said he had played the starvation game before, even to chopping wood in some kind lady’s woodshed for his dinner, and added that Spanish bullets were only a side line to the present grit he had hit.

Camp life in the tropics in active service was not without its pleasures, however, and, as fruit grew in abundance, sustenance was maintained even if it was of the Indian variety. Details of mounted scouting parties galloped through the mountains daily, taking observations and frequently exchanging shots with guerrillas, who in riding and marksmanship were no match for the American troopers. The cavalry squadron figured in several skirmishes, but the retreat of the Spanish from the carbine volleys and glittering sabers of their foe put them to rout, so that I doubt if the same troops ever reassembled.

At last the news of the armistice was received, hostilities had ceased, and preparations for the trip to the home land were begun. Hither and thither we had marched for months, in cold and hot climates, slept in rain under ponchos with saddle-bags for pillows, lived on the scanty rations of field service, and now the time had come for our return, the war being practically over. The transport _Mississippi_, a miserable specimen of “troop-ship,” had been put at our disposal, and was to convey the greater part of General Miles’ expedition to New York City.

After striking camp and loading all the equipage of war accessories onto army schooners, a march of a few hours brought the cavalry to the point of embarkation. Playa Del Ponce presented a spectacle of grand military activity. Soldiers representing the army in all its branches were busily engaged in storing aboard ship the munitions of war and necessary rations for the homeward bound voyage. The artillery and cavalry were spared the irksome duty of loading their horses, these animals being left behind for the relief of the “regulars.” When all was in readiness and the signal given, the “homeward bound pennant” was flown to the breeze, as the ship’s bell tolled seven. Steaming northwest over a sea of calm saline billows, three cheers from the deck of the transport resounded to the shore, and, as the troops wafted adieu to this verdant island of the West Indies, it was with silent regret that lack of opportunity had prevented them from accomplishing the notable achievements of their forefathers――but such are the fortunes of war.

Our return was uneventful until we reached Sandy Hook, where the transport was met and convoyed through New York Harbor by myriads of yachts, launches, and tugs loaded with relatives and friends of the boys who had offered their lives for their country and many of whom the grim reaper had grasped from loving ties and the comradeship of their compatriots.

The reception in New York City was one grand elaboration of hospitality, evidenced by the demonstration of the thousands of people who thronged the landing place. Numerous bands of music played inspiring airs, as the city’s fair ladies dispensed chicken sandwiches and demijohns of wine to the soldiers, while others fairly covered the squadron with garlands of beautiful flowers. The reception in New York lasted about four hours, after which the “Governor’s Troop,” led by its gallant commander, Captain (now Major) Ott, of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, marched to and boarded a section of Pennsylvania Railroad coaches, and was ere long rolling over the rails toward the capital of the Keystone State.

On the arrival at Harrisburg, the home of the “Governor’s Troop,” an immense demonstration awaited the boys. Leaving the train in their worn habiliments of the jungle, the troopers were soon dressed in ranks, answered roll call, had counted off, and were marching behind a band of music, under a bower of pyrotechnics that resembled a mythological scene in “Hades.” After parading through the principal streets of the city, the troop was marched to the armory, which was beautifully decorated for the occasion; here the battle-scarred heroes of a successful campaign sat down to a banquet, over which an host of Harrisburg’s fair maidens presided. Oh for a moving picture of that scene! Each soldier wore a vestige of the pretty silk neckerchief the Harrisburg ladies had presented him with. Speeches were made by prominent citizens, songs were sung and toasts responded to, and it was with a feeling of deep appreciation that the troop left the banquet hall to seek a much-needed rest. The following day was spent in meeting friends and relating episodes of the campaign.

The Hazletonian complement of the “Governor’s Troop” had been apprised of a demonstration awaiting them at their home city, and upon the reception of the prescribed two months’ furlough, departed for the scene of the climax to the campaign. This Hazleton greeting was the most enthusiastic reception of all, perhaps because this was home. Alighting from the cars amidst thousands of people who thronged the platform and streets, the soldiers were met by a committee, relatives, and friends, and it was with great difficulty that the horses provided for the troopers were reached. As each man swung into the saddle, the famous old Liberty Band struck up a march, and as the procession, consisting of the Band, Reception Committee, Clergy, Grand Army, National Guard, Police, Fire Department, Secret Organizations, and others, turned into the main street of the city, a burst of exultation extolled the welcome home, and as the line of march advanced between thousands of people under a bower of phosphorescence it was with a keen sensibility of delight that we had lived to enjoy such a unique and prodigious reception. A sumptuous banquet was tendered the cavalrymen in the spacious dining-hall of the Central Hotel, where addresses and toasts were made by prominent Hazletonians, terminating a successful campaign of the “Governor’s Troop.” After the expiration of the two months’ furlough, this troop of cavalry was mustered out of the service of the United States.

II.

On Board a Man-of-war from New York to Morocco

Admiral’s Orderly on the U. S. Cruiser _New York_――A Storm on the Atlantic――Duties of a Marine――The Author Reads his own Obituary――Under the Guns of Gibraltar――A Bull-fight in Spain――Pressing an Indemnity Against the Sultan of Morocco――An American Subject Burned at the Stake by Moors――Burial in Morocco of a Shipmate.

The Boxer outbreak in China in 1900 attracted the attention of the entire civilized world, and was the incitement that inspired many of an adventurous turn of mind to cast their fortunes with the allied forces in suppressing the depredations of the Tartar tribes in the land of the Heathen Chinee. In August, 1900, while a spectator at the Corbett-McCoy bout, in “Madison Square Garden,” New York, I learned, from a chief petty officer of the battleship _Massachusetts_, that the United States cruiser _New York_, lying in dry dock at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, was being rapidly prepared to be put in commission, and was to be the “flag-ship” of Rear Admiral Rodgers, who was destined for a cruise to the Chinese coast. Upon further inquiries at the Navy Yard, I heard this news authentically corroborated, and at once determined to see the Orient.

A battalion of marines under the command of Major Waller had won laurels in Tien Tsin and Pekin, being among the first to enter the Forbidden City. Keeping tabs on the daily progress of the war, I became more and more interested, and, having learned that marines were the first landing force during hostilities, I enlisted in this branch of the service, and ere long was installed in the “Lyceum” of the Brooklyn Navy Yard operating telephone switches. From my window in the “Lyceum” I could gaze on the sailors who were rapidly putting the big cruiser in readiness for her cruise around the world; for, contrary to expectations, the order to proceed direct to China was abrogated in lieu of an indemnity which required pressure in Morocco.

Having made application for the “marine guard” of the _New York_, which consisted of seventy-two men, one captain, and one lieutenant, I was very much pleased when informed that my application had been approved of, and that I was to prepare to board the vessel in the capacity of “orderly” to the admiral. I was relieved from duty in the “Lyceum” and ordered to join the “guard,” which had been undergoing a process of special drill.

On being ordered aboard the ship, we were assigned to quarters, instructed as to our stations for boat drill, fire drill, large gun drill, abandon ship, arm and away, strip ship for action, collision drill, and the positions of alignment on the quarter-deck, where the “present arms,” the courtesy extended to military and civil dignitaries at home and abroad, had to be daily executed.

The _New York_, which had been the “flag-ship” of Rear Admiral Bunce, who commanded the “North Atlantic Squadron,” and later the “flag-ship” of Rear Admiral Sampson at the battle of Santiago, was in 1900 the show ship of the navy, making a magnificent appearance while under way. She carried a complement of six eight-inch guns, twelve four-inch, and ten six-pounders, and had a speed of more than twenty-one knots per hour.

A feature of the _New York_ was her enormous engine strength compared with her weight, the battleship _Indiana_ developing nine thousand horse-power on a ten thousand two hundred ton displacement, while that of the cruiser _New York_ was seventeen thousand horse-power on a displacement of eight thousand two hundred tons.

The day having arrived for placing the vessel in commission, a galaxy of army and navy officers, civilians, and beautiful women assembled on the quarter-deck, which was inclosed and draped with flags of all nations. Orderlies were kept busy announcing the arrival of the guests to the admiral and captain, many of whose names included exclusive members of New York’s “Four Hundred,” whose ancestral genealogies, emblazoned with ensigns of heraldry, adorn their multitudinous――what not?――though ofttimes, let it be known, the power and honor behind the throne can be traced to the purchasing power of filthy lucre. Not unlike the “Sons and Daughters of the Revolution,” whose sacred heritage and portals have been defiled by the presence of incognizable descendants of ancestors who in reality were unloyal to the colonies, Tories of King George III., some of whom sat in that august body the “General Assembly” and cried Treason! Treason! as Patrick Henry introduced his famous resolutions in denunciation of the Stamp Act, and in a passionate burst of eloquence uttered those never-to-be-forgotten words, “Cæsar had his Brutus, Charles the First his Cromwell, and George the Third”――pausing awhile during the interruption by Tories, calmly added――“may profit by their example.”

Wafting adieu to old New York town, our sea-going home steamed out of New York harbor and down along the Atlantic coast to Hampton Roads, our first stop, anchoring midway between Fortress Monroe and the “Rip Raps,” where tons of coal were placed in the bunkers.

Coaling ship is the most disagreeable work a sailor can perform, but, as the task is usually accomplished in one day, each man tackles the work with that heroic resolve which has so characterized the American “man-of-war’s-man” in battle.

Immediately after coaling, the ship is thoroughly cleansed from truck to kelson; the decks are holy-stoned and the berth deck is shackled, after which the men take a thorough shower-bath, don immaculate uniforms, and all has the refreshing appearance of a swan on a lake.

The essential duty of a “marine” on board a ship is to preserve order; he fulfils the position of both sailor and soldier, and, while he is sometimes dubbed a leather-neck, on account of his tight-fitting uniform, by his more aquatically uniformed shipmate, it is nevertheless noticeable that he is the first to cross the gang-plank when there is trouble in the wind; and the number of “medals of honor” and “certificates of merit” that have been awarded to marines since 1898 is the mute indubitable evidence of his fidelity and bravery; however, this is not to be construed in any way to detract from the loyalty of our brave “Jack tars.”

Our ocean voyage from the Atlantic coast to the Fortress of Gibraltar was beset with difficulties, due to a severe storm we encountered the second day out, in which one of our cutters or life-boats was washed away. This it seems was picked up by a “liner” _en route_ to Havre, France, and, as we were four days overdue at Gibraltar, it was believed that the cruiser had gone down with all on board. Some time later along the African coast, it was amusing to read, in the Paris edition of the New York _Herald_, our own obituary, and to see the picture of the “flag-ship” and her crew going down to “Davy Jones’s locker.”

The storm abated as we came in sight of the Madeira Islands, but, owing to our being overdue at the “Rock,” we were compelled to pass this beautiful place without stopping. The voyage from the Madeiras to the straits was quite calm, and we were again able to eat soup without the aid of a dipper.

When off duty I spent a great deal of time playing chess and reading. We had an excellent library stocked with the best editions from the pens of the most famous authors; besides a piano and excellent performers, among these being the ship’s printer, E. Ludwig, well known prior to his enlistment by the author.

As outlines of the “Pillars of Hercules” appeared on the horizon, it was evident that in a very few hours we would be plowing the waters of the great Mediterranean Sea. The quartermaster and signal-men were busy getting their signal-flags in shape, ammunition was hoisted for the salute, and the marine guard and band were busy policing themselves for the part they had to play in entering a foreign port.

Passing through the Straits of Gibraltar, which separate the mainland of Europe and Africa, we beheld, looming into the clouds, the most magnificent and impregnable fortress of the world, Gibraltar.

As we entered the bay of Algesiras, the huge guns of the fortress and battleships of various nations belched forth an admiral’s salute of thirteen guns; these were responded to by the American “flag-ship.”

Gibraltar is an impregnable promontory fortress, seven miles around at the base, and forms the southern extremity of Spain. It is fourteen hundred and forty feet high at its highest point, is studded with disappearing guns, and its honeycombed caverns contain munitions of war for a campaign of many years.

The population of Gibraltar is composed of English, Spaniards, Jews, and Moors. A causey separates the town from the mainland of Spain. The British side is patrolled by British soldiers, who are so close to the Spanish sentries that the challenge can be heard at night by either side.

We remained in Gibraltar ten days, and had the pleasure of meeting a large number of English soldiers and sailors at the “Royal Naval Canteen,” where we swapped stories over a can of “shandy gaff,” which is a mixture of stout and ginger ale.

At the solicitation of some of the soldiers of the Royal Artillery, we Americans accompanied them to the town of Algesiras, in Spain, to witness a bull-fight. Engaging passage to a point of landing about five miles across the bay, we embarked with a pent-up feeling of excitement, overly eager to see the gay Castilians in their holiday attire turn out _en masse_ for their national sport.

On our arrival in town, we found business practically suspended, and all making their way to the arena, which was enclosed by a high board fence. On being admitted, we at once became objects of considerable scrutiny, as the war fever had scarcely died out.

Venders were busy disposing of their wares; senoritas, gayly bedecked in flowers and loud colors, seemed to bubble over with enthusiasm; horsemen galloped through the enclosure, and bands of music thrilled this novel audience with inspiration. As we took our seats and patiently awaited the onslaught, a sickening silence cast its pall over this picturesque assemblage. This was momentary, however, as a blast from a bugle was followed by the entrance of the alguazil and mounted toreadors in costumes of velvet; the arrival of these gladiators of the arena was heralded with a tumult of cheers, which became deafening as the gate was thrown open and the bull rushed in.

Mounted picadors were stationed in various parts of the arena, whose duty it was to infuriate the animal by thrusting banderillas, or spikes with ribbons attached, into the animal’s shoulders, others waved robes or capes for the same effect. Charge after charge was made on the matadore, who gracefully side-stepped the attack and awaited the return of the bull, which had become frantic from the sting of the banderillas.

The last charge is made with defiance, but alas! is met with the undaunted courage of the matadore, whose fatal blade reaches a vital spot, adding another victory to his list of successful combats. “Bravo! Bravo!” yell the maddened crowd, as the victor is showered with compliments and carried from the arena. Preparations immediately follow for a continuance of this semi-barbaric sport, and in like manner each encounter was attended with the same skill of the matadore and enthusiasm of the spectators.

On leaving the arena, it was with little wonder at the Spanish for their marked devotion to this their national sport, as it proved to be exceedingly fascinating and fraught with great excitement.

On our return to Gibraltar we journeyed to the naval canteen, where sailors and marines of the British battleships _Endymion_ and _Ben-bow_ were laying the foundation for a session of joy, the Boer war being the chief topic of discussion.