Part 7

Finally most of the regular army and a few volunteers set sail, after a mad unmanaged scramble to get trains, and go abroad. Supplies were hustled into holds helter-skelter. Most of the volunteers had to be left behind because they were not equipped or trained. But the little seventeen thousand were off. Were they? The Navy thought they had sighted the Spanish fleet. The troops out at sea were turned back to the mainland. The presence of the Spanish fleet proved to be a myth. Again they set sail, crowded like galley-slaves into small vessels, with little water, on pine cots, among neighing horses and foul odors. The food made them sick. The embalmed beef by hurried contracts became notorious. The boats moved seven miles an hour, then four miles, and often not at all. After much suffering they arrived at Daiquiri near Santiago harbor. There the civilian transports refused to land and kept far out. Men were hurt and drowned in getting to shore. Fifty horses swam out to sea and were lost. Fortunately the Spaniards fled inland. If they hadn’t, their superior weapons would have torn our foolhardy little force to pieces. One hundred ninety-six thousand, eight hundred twenty Spanish troops were in Cuba, but we didn’t know it. Nor did we know that they were as badly led and cared for as troops could be. By the godsend of their complete lack of resistance, the little seventeen thousand got ashore in five days.

Then came the scrambling action of Las Gausimas through the brush. The Army was used to this sort of bushwhacking against the Indians. And the Rough Riders, though they’d just received their new Krags the day before the fight, did good work. But the Spaniards fled--and that helped. Then came a delay of a week. Supplies were hard to get from the boats. Troops milled around with little food and ammunition. The artillery wasn’t brought forward. What a chance for the Spaniard then! A determined charge of a quarter of his force and the United States troops would have been helpless. But since the Spaniard didn’t do anything right, we were saved again. Half the regular army and three volunteer regiments went on to San Juan and El Caney. Although assaulting El Caney was a military blunder, the little force went charging along with useless losses. One volunteer regiment funked the fight. And another, though acting well, had to be sent out of it because its ancient black powder weapons made it an easy target for the smokeless Mauser rifle of the enemy. More useless casualties. The artillery had nothing but black powder too. Every time it belched, it threw up clouds of smoke that could be seen for miles. Still more casualties. The Spaniards had put up barbed wire around their little forts. And we had no wire-cutters. It was a long day’s work of slow progress. The Spaniard, like all poor troops, could shoot well as long as his vitals were covered up. But we finally took the two strongholds, with over twelve per cent losses. We had won because the enemy was grossly mismanaged and inefficient. We were badly managed, but we had streaks of efficiency. Therein lay the difference--our salvation. When the siege of Santiago was undertaken, General Shafter’s lines were so thin that even poor troops with a little zeal could have punctured them. But the Spaniards for some unknown reason seemed to be more fearful than we were.

Even so it would have been a stand-off, had it not been for the great victory of our Navy in destroying Cervera’s fleet. And of course it would destroy the Spanish ships. It had had seven years’ building before the war. Under the supervision of Presidents Cleveland and Arthur, we had developed the famous White Squadron. What would the soldier have done without the Navy? What would he have done without the complete sloppiness of the Spaniard? One authority shows that the war would have lasted four or five years with more useless slaughter of our own men than we had seen even in the Civil War.

Even so, in only one hundred nine days of war, the volunteers alone lost two hundred eighty-nine killed--but--listen to the _but_--three thousand eight hundred forty-eight by sickness. Thirteen times as many by disease as by battle. And most of these deaths occurred in our country--before the poor volunteer had had a chance to lift a finger of help.

When the twister caught us, we had the great sum of one hundred seventy-nine army medical officers for a mass of men that swelled to two hundred sixteen thousand in four months. In our sleep there had been no thought that the camp is more deadly than the bullet, that any doctor can’t be a sanitary man in the field--that field sanitation is a specialty like eye, ear, nose and throat or abdominal surgery. Doctors can’t get that training in a few months. In over-crowded camps in the United States many an otherwise fine medical man made a fizzle of sanitation. Others who did know sanitation were not backed up by the untrained volunteer officers. So our best youth died like flies and by flies. And the suffering of those who did not die was appalling torture. Filth was too often in the open. An untrained regiment would be strewn with sickness, while a trained one right beside it would have no sickness at all.

By our sleep beforehand and our unjust haste after we were waked up by the twister, we had done worse things. We had forced the little seventeen thousand into Cuba at the height of the fever season. Right after the surrender of Santiago, seventy-five per cent of Shafter’s command, the majority of our entire trained forces were on the sick list. Had the Spaniard held out a little longer, he’d have had only a handful or none at all to fight. But he didn’t hold out. And we had another miraculous escape. But the death toll went up. And over in the Pacific it went up higher. In the Philippine Insurrection that followed the Spanish-American War, we lost in two years over seven thousand men.

Sleep is a very soothing thing, isn’t it? Quite necessary as a part-time job. But when we sleep all the time, our friends know that we are sick. When such a sickness overtakes a nation, how quickly it spreads into death. How suddenly it kills innocent persons, when the twister comes out of the blue and leaves us naked.

_XII_

BACKING AND FILLING

One day an old friend of mine, whom I had not seen for nearly twenty years, burst into my office. After the gladsome handshakes and slaps of affection, I asked him to tell me about himself.

“Well,” he said, “I got married.”

“Hm,” I said, “That’s good.”

“No,” he said, “Not so good. My wife turned out to be a tartar.”

“Well,” I said, “That’s bad.”

“No,” he said, “Not so bad. She brought me twenty thousand dollars.”

“O,” I said, “that’s good.”

“No,” he said, “Not so good. I invested the money in sheep and they all died.”

“Hm,” I said, “that’s bad.”

“No,” he said, “Not so bad. I sold the wool for more than the sheep cost me.”

“Well,” I said, “that’s good.”

“No,” he said, “Not so good. I bought a fine home and a fire burned it to the ground.”

“Hm,” I said, “that’s bad.”

“No,” he said, “Not so bad. My wife was in it.”

Before and during our part of the World War we were not so good and not so bad. Two years after that comedy of errors and tragedy of blood called the Spanish-American War, we did the most unusual thing in our life as a nation. For the first time after a war, we increased and helped our land forces. Under the pressure of Philippine Wars and onward-looking men like Elihu Root and Theodore Roosevelt, we raised our army to one hundred thousand for a hundred million people. We set up new service schools and broadened others for the higher military education of our officers. We at last formed a general staff. And in 1911 we assembled during peace a regular division of troops for the first time in our history. To be sure, it took months to do so, it drained the country of nearly all its trained forces, and the division couldn’t be entirely collected, but the move wasn’t so bad. For several years it looked as though our army would be a going concern. Then we lagged. The wolf in sheep’s clothing began to bleat. In 1913, Congressman Dies, in the House of Representatives, stated: “God has placed us on this great, rich continent, separate and secure from the broils of Europe.” Dr. David Starr Jordan, President of Leland Stanford University, flooded the country with his prophesies. Here is one. “It is apparently not possible for another real war among the nations of Europe to take place.” As for our getting into any war, he threw it off as so much silliness. That was just the opium the country wanted in 1913 and early ’14. The people ate up the idea. Anyone who spoke preparedness was a jingoist and wanted war. Why, war was impossible. It meant too much to Wall Street. European nations were too poor to fight. Modern weapons would be too horrible to allow a war. What was the use of paying out good money for scientific training--for modern materials--for being ready at all? War couldn’t be. Not so good.

For war suddenly _was_. Right in the midst of this dangerous propaganda. Someone struck a match at Sarajevo and set all Europe on fire. Despite those priceless brains that had so lately invented no war, Russia, England, France, Belgium, Austria and Germany were flaming. What a sight! Americans rushed for front seats and bought concessions. Wasn’t it an awful fire! What a pity! As for us--poof! We couldn’t get into it. It was Europe’s affair. We sensed no tidal wave of emotions. We didn’t even send experts over there to see how modern war was conducted. Not so good, for the rumblings grew plainer and plainer. In 1915, Colonel House, the President’s confidential adviser, wrote to Woodrow Wilson: “If war comes with Germany, it will be because of our unpreparedness and her belief that we are more or less impotent to do her harm.” He was on the ground and saw. But did we take his word and see? Our mobile army _then_ was smaller than our trained force before the Spanish-American War. Our general staff was reduced and our equipment laughable. No so good. We entered 1916 still unconcernedly watching the drama in Europe, while U-boats were sinking our shipping, Germany was sticking out her tongue at us and we were getting hotter and hotter. Were we doing anything for our safety? No, no, that would be a violent gesture. Despite our watchful waiting and utter helplessness, General Leonard Wood established the business men’s training camp. And Congress, by some miracle, put over our first real National Defense Act--a comprehensive thing built on sound lines. Not so bad.

But the legislation wouldn’t be fulfilled for five years--and here we were ten months before we got into the war. Even if the act had been immediately and wholly effective, we wouldn’t have had time to get the men and train them. Not so good.

Then out of the blue came Pancho Villa. He crossed our border March 9, 1916, raided the defenseless town of Columbus, New Mexico, and killed eleven civilians and nine soldiers. It looked like a horror for us. Not so good. But the tragedy was a blessing in disguise. It probably kept France from being German today. It gave an excuse to the President for rushing to the border a large part of the regular army and one hundred and fifty thousand National Guardsmen. There they received fine training in fundamentals. Their experience gave the foundation for the 1st, 2nd, 26th and 42nd Divisions--the first ones to be factors in France later. Not so bad. But it took a brutal act to compel us to do what we wouldn’t do under our own steam. Even so we were magnificently unready. And we jumped into the European War, April 6, 1917, because we were angry, inflamed, anxious to punish Germany at any cost. No catch phrases, no plottings of a few could possibly have pitched us into the struggle without that general hatred. And we had little with which to carry out the wholesale desire for force. Immediately we needed two hundred thousand officers. We hadn’t ten thousand trained ones to instruct them and at the same time lead our forces. In equipment we were worse off. We had a few out-of-date airplanes, only enough artillery ammunition for a two-day battle, no automatic rifles and comparatively few machine guns and ordinary rifles. Materially we lacked almost everything. Although we had the best rifle in the world, there was not anywhere near enough. We had to arm our men largely with British Enfields--unfamiliar to Americans--at best poor makeshifts. We couldn’t manufacture any of these things in time. In July 1917, Congress voted six hundred forty million dollars for airplanes. Nearly a year later we hadn’t any of our aircraft in Europe. Where had the money gone? An investigation was ordered. After seventeen thousand pages of testimony were taken down, it was found that aircraft couldn’t be built and shipped abroad in that time. Not so good.

In our equipment we were helpless without our Allies. But in our manpower, we did surprisingly well. A little over a month after war was declared, we did the astonishing thing of passing a Draft Act. We put teeth in the law of 1792 promoted by George Washington, which had been a dead statute for over one hundred and twenty-five years. Instead of the horrors of volunteering, of utterly untrained men, of political shilly-shallying, we turned to a just and equalizing system. We did away with the woes of extra disease and death--and put our soldiers into training. Not in _this_ war would absolutely green officers send into eternity helpless volunteers. Our best men went to training camps, where they at least had to qualify in leading others. Not so bad. But of course these candidates couldn’t be fully trained in eighty days. And the regular officers, who had been deprived of modern methods in Europe, couldn’t give them all they needed. But they _did_ get many essentials, which they could pass on to the drafted men.

Today, many don’t realize what a vast amount of hardship, sickness and death was saved by our moves of the draft and officers’ training camps. It has been estimated that by the draft alone we saved five per cent in money and possibly twenty per cent in human life. Not so bad. To be sure we had unnecessary suffering and mortality. No system invented as late as 1917 could have overcome our shiftlessness during the years before. A month after we declared war, General Pershing was sent to Europe with a handful. “Where are the Americans?” asked our Allies. “Why,” he had to explain, “they are back in the United States getting ready.” And for a year they had to keep getting ready before they were of real physical help.

Suppose you were attacked on the street by a strong bandit. I calmly from my window watch you struggling against him for several hours. Finally my wrath gets the best of me. I rush out to the curb. I see blood and bruises on your face. I yell to you: “I’m for you, old man. I’ll fight on your side, but chuck me a pair of brass knuckles. I’ll go down town and have them made to fit me. I may get a few boxing lessons too. I’ll be back in about an hour. Just keep on going. You’re doing fine.” What would you think of me? Not so good. Well, we did that very thing to our Allies. Sixteen months after we entered the war, General Pershing pathetically stated: “This is the first time the American Army has been recognized as a participant alongside of the Allies.” What we did after war was declared was about as good as could humanly be expected. What we didn’t do beforehand was about as dumb as could humanly be expected. Most of the unnecessary woes of the war can justly be laid to this stupidity. Out of nearly two million Americans who went to Europe, over fifty thousand were killed by battle. Out of the three and one-half millions in service, sixty-five thousand died of accident or disease. Much of this waste could have been avoided. It is estimated that there are fifteen thousand graves of our soldiers in France, which should not be there. Men were sent overseas who didn’t know how to load their rifles, use their gas masks, or take the simplest precautions of taking cover or care of themselves. They hadn’t been given a chance to learn. There was no time to teach them. The training camp products, though better than untrained volunteers, were too often uncertain in their movements and orders. There were times when they brought unnecessary slaughter to themselves and their commands. The German General Ludendorff after the war, paid great tribute to the gallantry of the individual American soldier, but at the same time told of the inferior quality of some American troops--as troops. General Pershing’s complaints about the lack of training of men sent over, remind us of George Washington’s pitiful pleas during our Revolution. We waited for the calamity to get us, instead of getting the calamity beforehand. The sad part is that our losses, our hardships, our waste of money and material could all have been prevented, had we had strength in ’14, ’15 and ’16. German records and statements brought to light since the war, prove beyond doubt that we would never have been insulted by Germany, had our people drowned at sea and been drawn into the war at all, had we not been considered so senselessly weak. And we were weak--just as weak as Germany estimated us. As it was we were barely able to help. In the spring of 1918 all looked lost for our Allies. They were making their last stand. A matter of hours and nothing could stem the German onrush. By the greatest fortune and luck we had, by that time, a few troops worthy of taking the places of French and British reserve divisions and releasing them to the front. It was that plugging up of the tiny hole in the dyke that let the Allies hold on. Had we not shown an unbelievable efficiency over all of our other wars, after we got into the fight, and had not Villa crossed our border in 1916, the hole could not have been plugged--and America would have been on the losing side. Our unreadiness before war--not so good. Our surprising efficiency after we got into the war--not so bad. Our dependence upon a Mexican bandit for partial preparation--not so good.

But suppose we had been forced to fight our enemy alone. Suppose we hadn’t had Allies to spend their lives in defense for a whole year. Suppose in wandering off for brass knuckles and boxing lessons we’d have been left alone with him. Can you picture the frightful, extravagant, tremendous deaths we would have dealt out to our own young men?

_XIII_

NOW

One very rainy day my regiment was marching through that gloomy red-mud country of North Georgia. We were cold and tired, and our shoes were heavy as suit-cases. Our camping-place was to be at a little town of Jasper. We had trudged along for about ten miles when we came to a sign which said: “Seven miles to Jasper.” That was encouragement. Only seven more miles. The old Sergeant near me set his jaw. In a few minutes we came to another sign which said: “Seven miles to Jasper.” The old Sergeant glared at the words as if he could bite them. In about ten minutes we came to a third sign which said: “Seven miles to Jasper.” It was too much for the Sergeant. He plunked his foot down in the mud. “Well,” he said, “thank God, we’re holding our own.”

As we look over the history of our country, we can sincerely thank God that we’ve held our own. For we didn’t do much of the holding ourselves. In every one of our major wars, some outside influence, some accident, some big defect of our enemies, some miracle pulled us through to safety. In every big fracas we were caught napping--caught saying there wouldn’t be a war--caught in the midst of brazen defiance of simple protection. Our utter weakness didn’t keep us out of war. In fact we chose our weakest times because our extreme anger wouldn’t wait for anything. We’d have gone in with pitchforks, we were so hot. That was courage all right, but it was stupid courage--and slaughter--unnecessary slaughter of our finest young men by the hundreds of thousands--young men we hadn’t given even a fighting chance, young men whose dying voices call to us today to give our manhood a little break--a little break against that sudden hurricane of anger which dashes a whole people into war.

Listening to these voices after the World War, we raised our army to two hundred eighty thousand. We were going to be organized on a business basis for defense. We were at last going to obey the Constitution and give our manhood a chance. The soldier went to work to build for safety. But his efforts were short-lived. In 1922 Congress reduced the army to one hundred and seventy-five thousand men for one hundred twenty million people. Over one thousand officers and one hundred thousand enlisted men were cast out of the service. Then the parings of the budgets began. Since that time the army has never been greater than one hundred nineteen thousand and often less--about forty-two per cent of what in 1920 we felt proper. Today the C.C.C. outnumbers the army three to one--and organized crime many times. We have but fifty-five thousand soldiers in the United States, subtracting for foreign possessions and overhead. They would make a small crowd in the Yale Bowl. It would be difficult to get two divisions of regular troops together. The National Guard has been similarly cut down. In 1920 it was given a strength of four hundred twenty-five thousand. Today it is about one hundred ninety thousand--a reduction of fifty-six per cent. The Reserve Officers number but eighty-nine thousand and their active duty training--their opportunity to keep abreast--has been sliced to the bone. Since 1920 their efficiency has been slowed down sixty per cent. Altogether our land defense in manpower is more than fifty per cent lower than it was fifteen years ago.

Our material deficiency is even greater. Our tanks are hopelessly out of date. We have only twelve modern ones--and only one of them is the most efficient type. We have aged field artillery, practically worn out. Our rifles are older. We have only eighty new semi-automatics--the normal weapon of the foot-soldier nowadays. Our ammunition is tremendously short. We have the barest few modern anti-aircraft guns and devices. Our motor vehicles are way behind in numbers. Our airplanes are excellent in quality but slim in quantity. All these supplies would take from a year to two years to manufacture. Does this condition remind you of anything before our other wars? Does it give you a little feeling of the days before the Spanish-American tragedy? Our problem of National Defense has not been critically analysed since 1920. It is due the public to know where we stand. For it’s the public only that can make or break national defense.