The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 17, 1904, Page 3

tmesphere was ing str | the black it touch of eave the with the ~ v. At the foot t nded man two sol- smiling— He w yards t. He was el to be un- were cross- a whir and of swift in- ad. Uncon- TS near him dly. Right nded two or three ng noises, and 1 two or three blue wn on their faces. , nauseat- crunch- of a bullet use low. horrible c right &nd | shapes sank A sudden ing ki ing Dolse was crashing into = n skull as the men bent One man, he remembered afte: d, dropped with the guick grunt of an animal—he was lled outright ther gave a gasp- ing cry, C e was a mo- Tment ring ousness for him; a third hopped aside into the bushes—cureing ang: Still another, a8 be passed, looked up from the earth at him with a curious sm: as though he were half ashamed of something. “I've got it, partner.” he said, “I reckon I've got it, sure.” And Grafton saw & drop of blood and the tiny mouth of & wound in his gullet, where the flaps of his collar fell apart. He couldn’t realize how he felt—he was not interested any longer in how he feit. The instinct of life was at work, and the instinct of self-defense. When the others dropped, he dropped gladly; when they rose A piece of br branch of a tree protection, and he with the same absurd idea. Once the unworthy thought crossed his mind, when he was lying behind a squad of soidiers and a little lower than they, rose automatically. sh, a bush, the low a weed seemed to him aw others possessed that chance was at least better than theirs. And once, and only once— ~ bitter sting of shame—he canght back a little, so that d be between him and forthwith he road, abreast with ¢ himself for a fter toole a savage ss exposure whenever ble. And he soofi saw that m was a queer one, and an himself dropping the sar i unenviat e one, as far as a cool test of nerve was the point at issue. The offi- cers, he s hzd their men to look after— obey—their minds were e soldiers were busy get- t at the enemy—their minds, occ d. It was his peculiar nd up and be shot at sfaction of shooting his sensations, mean- were not particularly studying the grewsome about him. And it struck him, that his was a ghastly business, and that if it pleased God to see him through he would never go to another war except a8 a soldier. One consideration inter- ested him and was satisfactory. No- body was shooting at him—nobody was shooting at anybody in particular. If he were killed. or when anybody was killed, it was merely accident, and it was thus pleasant to refiect that he was ting a € too. and an unjustifiable, THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. TR in as much danger as anybody. was pfetty hot now, and d were tco ma to be han- spital man call 3 hand here.” Grafto hand to help a poor fellow back to the hospital, in a little hollow, and he hed the roed again that reac hor: through a ige of the along the Once the horse piur ide- 1 shook his head a ad stung him in the neck—but pale and his eyes like stars, him in a flying leap over a -wire fence and swung him into rain of bullets, ed rafton. simply. rose a loud cheer from the bat- the hill west, he the war b above trees and mos The advance had begun over there; there was the main attack—the big bat- tle. It was interesting and horrible ugh where h. but Caney was t Santiago; Grafton, too, d his horse and galloped after At lane of death that led toward San Juan, and Basil picked his way through it at headquarters began the central a slow the mon gt to the rear slings; with tro the knee, and d br face. mouth, or throat swathed; men with no shirts, but a broad swathe around the chest or stomac’. — each bandage grotesquely pictured with hu- walk: nt —his excitement gone for nd b eart 1reaking at e terrible procession on its Men with arms in ers torn away at ed 1 men with men man figures printed to show how the wound should be bound, on whatever part of the body the bullet entered. Men staggering alo; tween two comr: ters, some wh groaning and bloc scious, some dyin for a support, or a s 1g unaided, or be- des, or borne on and quiet, some stained, some con- some using a rifle ick thrust through the side of a tomato can. Rolls, ha- versacks, blous hardta strewn by the wayside, where the sol- dlers had thrown them before they went into action. It was curious, but nearly all of the wounded were dazed and drunken in appearance, except at the brows, which were tightly drawn with pain. There was one man, with short, thick, upright red hair, stumb- ling from one side of the road to the other, with no wound apparent, and muttering: “Oh, I don’t know what happened to me. I don't know what happened to m Another, hopping across the creek on one leg—the other bare and wounded— and using his gun, muzzle down, as a vaulting-pole. Another, with his arm in the sling, pointing out the way. “Take this road,” he said. “I don’t know where that one goes, but I know this one. I went up this one, and brought back a souvenir,” e added, cheerily, shaking a bloody arm. And everywhere men were caution- ing him to beware of the guerrillas, who were in the trees, adding horror to the scene—shooting wounded men on lt- ters, hospital men, doctors. Once, there was almost the horror of a panie in the crowded road. Soldiers answered the gierrilla fire from the road; men came running back; bullets spattered around. Ahead, the road was congested with eoldiers. Beyond them was anchored the balloon, over the Bloody Ford— drawing the Spanish fire to the troops huddled beneath it. There was the death trap. And, climbing from ag ambulance to mount his horse, a little, bent old man, weak and trembling from fever, but with his gentle blue eyes glinting fire— Basil's hero—ex-Confederate Jerry Carter. “Glve the Yapks hell, boys,” he shouted. o 8w It had been a slow, tiresome march up that narrow lane of death, and, so far, Crittenden had merely been sprinkled with Mauser and shrapnel. His regiment had begun to deploy to the left, down the bed of a stream. The negro cavalry and the Rough Ri- ders were deploying to the right. Now broke the stosm. Imagine sheet after sheet of hallstones, coated with pol- ished steel, and swerved when close to the earth at a sharp angle > the line of descent, and sweeping the air horizon- tally with an awful hiss—swifter in rg toward Santiago, flight than a peal of thunder from sky to earth, and hardly less swift than the lishtring flash that caused it. “T-t-seu-u-u-h! T-t-seu-oo! T-t-seu- oo!” They went like cloud after cloud of lightning-winged insects, and pass- by God's mercy and the Spaniards’ bad marksmanship—passing high. Be- tween two splashes came a sudden ter, and some singing thing began to play up and dewn through the trees, and to right and left, in a steady hum. It was a machine gun playing for the range—like a mighty hose pipe, water- ing earth and trees with a steady, spreading jet of hot lead. It was like some strange, huge monster, unseeing and unseen, who knows where his prey is hidden an® is searching for it blind- ly—by feeling or by sense of smell— coming ever nearer, showering the ing, leaves down, patting into the soft earty ahead. swishing to right and to left, and at last playing in a steady stream about the prostrate soldiers. “Swish-ee! Swish-ee! Swish-ee!” “Whew!"” said Abe Long. God!” said Reynolds. Ah, ye scornful veterans of the great war. In ten minutes the Spaniard let fly with his Mauser more bullets than did you fighting hard for two long hours, and that one machine gun loosed more death stings in an hour than did a regiment of you in twe. And they were coming from intrenchments on an all but vertical hill, from jiles of un- limited ammunition, and from soldiers who should have been as placid as the rth under them for all the demorali- zation that hostile artillery fire was causing them, And not all of them p. d high. After that sweep of glistening steel rain along the edge of the woods rose the cry here, there, everywhere: “Hospital man! hospital man!” And here and there, in the steady pelt of bullets, went the quiet, brave fellows with red crosses on their sleeves; across the creek, Crittenden could see a tall, young doctor, bare- beaded in the sun, stretching out limp figures on the sand under the bank— could see him and his assistants strip- ping off blouse and trowsers and shirt, and wrapping and binding, and newly wounded being ever brought in. And behind forged eoldlers forward, a tall ald at the ford urging them across and stopping & panic among volunteers, “Come back, you cowards—come back! Push 'em back, boys!” A horse was orossing the stream. There was a hissing shriek in the air, a geyser spouting from the creek, the remnants of a horse thrown upward, and five men tossed in a swirl ‘like straw; and, a moment later, a boy fee- bly paddling toward the ghore—while the water ran past him red with blood. And, through it all, looking backward, Crittenden saw little Carter coming on horseback, calm of face, calm of man- ner, with his hands folded over his saddle, and his eyes looking upward— little Carter who had started out in an ambulance that morning with a tem- perature of one hundred and four, and, meeting wounded soldiers, gave up his ‘wagon to them, mounted his horse, and rode into battle—to come out normal at dusk. And behind him—erect, proud. face aflame, eyes burning, but hardly less cool—rode Basil. Crittenden’s eyes filled with love and pride for the boy. “God bless him—God save him!" ST A lull came—one of the curious lulls that come periodically in battle for the reason that after any violent effort men must have a breathing spell—and the mist of bullets swept on to the right like a swift passing shower of rain. There was & splash in the creek be- hind Crittenden, and some one fell on his face behind the low bank with a fervent: “Thank God. I've got this far.” ‘was Grafton. “That nigger of yours is coming on somewhere back there,” he added, and It presently he rose and calmly peered over the bank and at the line of yellow dirt on the crest of the hill. A bullet spat in the ground close by. “That hit you?” he asked, without altering the tone of his voice—without even lowering his glasses. Reynolds, on his right, had ducked quickly. Crittenden looked up in sur- prise. The South had no monopoly of nerve—nor, in that campaign, the sol- dler. “Well, by God,” said Reynolds, irri- tably—the bullet had gone through his sleeve. “This ain’t no time.to joke.” Grafton’s face was.still calm—he was still looking. Presently he turned and beckoned to somebody in the rear. “There he is, now.” Looking behind, Crittenden had to laugh. There was Bob, in a cavalry- man’s hat, with a Krag-Jorgenson in his hand, and an ammunition belt buckled around him. As he started toward Grafton, a lieu- tenant halted him. “Why aren't you with your regi- ment?”’ he demanded sharply. “I ain’t got no regiment. I'se lookin® fer Ole Captain.” “Get back into your regiment,” said the officer, with an cath, and pointing behind to the Tenth Colored Cavalry coming up. “Huh!” he said, looking after the officer a moment, and then he came on to the edge of the creek. “Go to the rear, Bob,” shouted Crit- tenden, sharply, and the next moment Bob was crashing through the bushes to the edge of the creek. “Foh Gawd, Ole Cap’n, I sutn’ly is glad to fine you. I wish you'd jes show me how to wuk this gun. I'se gwine to fight right side o’ you—you heah me.” “Go back, Bob,” esald Crittenden, firmly. “Stlence in the ranks,” roared a lteu- .tenant. Bob hesitated. Just then a company of the Tenth Cavalry flled down the road as they were deployed to the right. Crittenden’s file of soldiers could see that the last man was a short, fat darky—evidently a recruit— and he was swinging along as jauntily as in a cake walk. As he wheeled pom- pously, he dropped his gun, leaped into the air with a yell of amazed rage and pain, catching at the seat of his trou- sers with both hands. A bullet had gone through both buttocks. “Gawd, Ole Cap'n, did you see dat nigger?” A roar of laughter went down the bed of the creek. “Go back!” repeated Crittenden, threateningly, “and stop calling me Old Captain.” Bob looked after the file of colored troops, and then at Crittenden. “All right, Ole Cap'n; I tol’ you.in ole Kentuck that I gwine to fight wid the niggers ef you don't lemme fight wid you. I don't like disgracin’ the family dis way, but ’tain’t my fault, an’ s’pose you git shot—" the slap of the flat side of a sword across Bob's back made him Jump. “What are you doing here?” thun- dered an angry officer. “Get into line— get into line.” “I ain’t no sojer.” “Get into line,” and Bob ran after the disappearing flle, shaking his head helplessly. The crash started again, and the hum of bees and the soft snap -of the leaves when bullets clipped them like blows with a rattan cane, and the rattling sputter of the machine guns, and once more came that long, long wait that tries the soldier's heart, nerve and brain. “Why was not something done— why?” And again rose the cry for the hospi- tal men, and again the limp figures were brought in from the jungle, and he could see the tall doctor with the bare head helping the men who had been dressed with a first-aid bandage to the protecting bank of the creek far- ther up, to make room for the fresh victims. And as he stood up once, Crittenden saw him throw his hand quickly to his temple and sink to the blood-stained sand. The assistant, who bent over him. looked up quickly and shook his head to another, who was binding & wounded leg and looking anxfously to know the fatal truth. “I've got 1t,” sald a soldler to Crit- tenden’s left; joyously, he said it, for the bullet had merely gone through his right shoulder. He could fight no more, he had a wound and he could wear a scar to his grave. “So have I,” sald another, with a groan. And then next him there was a sudden, soft-thud: “Thup!” It was the sound of a bullet going into thick flesh, and the soldfer sprang to his feet—the impulse seemed uncontrollable for the wounded to spring to their feet—and dropped with a groan—dead. Crittenden straight- ened hjm out sadly—putting his hat over his face and drawing his arms to his sides. Above, he saw with sudden nausea buzzards circling—little cared they whether the dead were American or Spaniard, a§ long as there were eyes to pluck and lips to tear away, and then stralghtway, tragedy merged into com- edy as swiftly as on a stage. Out of the woods across the way emerged a detail of negro troopers—sent to clear the woods behind of sharpshooters— and last came Bob. The detall, passing along the creek on the other bank from them, scattered. and with Bob next the creek. Bob shook his gun aloft. “I can wuk her now Another lull came, and from the thicket arose the cry of a thin, high. foreign voice: ‘‘Americano—Americano!” “Whut regiment you b’long to?" the voice was a negro's and was Bob’s, and Grafton and Crittenden listened keenly. Bob had evidently got a sharpshooter up a tree, and caught him loading his gun. “Tenth Cav'rly—Tenth!” was the an- swer. Bob laughed long and loud. “Well, you jus the man I been lookin’ fer—the fust white man I ever seed whut ‘longed to a nigger regiment. €Come down, honey.” There was the sharp, clean crack of a Krag-Jorgen- son, and a yell of savage triumph. “That nigger's a bird,” said Grafton. Something serious was golng to be done now—the intuition of it ran down the line in that mysterious fashion by which information passes down a line of waiting men. The line rose, ad- vanced, and dropped again. Companies deployed to the left and behind—fight- ing their way through the chaparral as a swimmer buffets his way through choppy waves. Every man saw now that the brigade wes trying to form in line of battle for a charge on that curving, smckeless flame of fire that ran to and fro around the top of the hill —blazing flercely and steadily here and there. For half an hour the officers struggled to form the scattered men. Forward a little “way; slipping from one bush and tree to another; through the thickets and bayonet grass; now creeping; now g dash through an open spot; now flat on the stomach, until Crittenden saw a wire fence stretching ahead. Followed another wait. And then a squad of negro troopers crossed the road, going to the right, and dias- onally. The bullets ralned’about them, and they scuttled swiftly into the brush. The hindmost one dropped: the rest kept on, unseeing; but Crittenden saw a lieutenant—It was Sharpe, whom he had met at home and at Chickamau- ga—look back at the soldler, who was elbow— trying to raise himself on h while the b semed liter: mewing all grass about him. Then Cri d a familiar grunt behind him, a ext minute Bob's figure sprang nte the open, mak- ing for the wo i man by the n- pathy of he stooped, to Crit- tenden’s B pitched to the around like an ani- the Crittenden dashed for Bob. boy, hi 3 head fell feet, he s thinking that h and, as he turned 1 his arms, a do n afton ng ( and his ow back into cover—all under the same im- pulse and with the same motive having started for him. too. Behind a tree, Crittenden laid Bob down, still turning his head from side to side helplessly. There was a trail of blood across his temple, and, wiping it away, he saw that the bullet had merely scraped along the skull without penetrating it. In a moment Bob groaned, opened his eyes, sat up, looked around with roll- ing eyes, grunted once or twice straightened out, and reuched for his gun, shaking his head. “Gimme drink, Ole Capm, pleass, suh.” Crittenden handed him his cantesn, and Bob drank and ross unstsadlly <o his feet. “Dat ain't nuttin’” he sald, oen= temptuously, feeling along the wound. ‘“"Tain’t nigh as bad as mule kick. "Tain’t nuttin’, 't alL.” And thea he al- most fell. “Go back, Bob.” “All right, Ole Cap'n, I reckon Il jus’ lay down heah little while,” he sald, stretching out behind the tree. And Grafton reached over for Crit- tenden’s hand. He was getting some new and startling ideas about the dif- ference in the feeling toward the negro of the man who once owned him body and soul and of the man who freed him body and soul. And in the next few minutes he studled Crittenden as he had done before—taking in detall the long hair, lean face strongly chiseled, fearless eye, modest demeanor—mark- ing the intellectual look of the face—it was the face of a student—a gentleman —geritly born. And there, in the heat of the fight, he fell to marveling over the nation that had such a man to send into the fleld as a common soldier. Again they moved forward. Critten- den’s lieutenant dropped—wounded. *“Go on,” he cried, “damn it, go on! Grafton helped to carry him back, stepping into the cpen for him, and Crittenden saw a bullet lick up the wet earth between the correspondont’s feet. Forward again! It was a call for vol- unteers to advance and cut the wires