Historical Romance of the American Negro

by Charles Henry Fowler

The heaviest fighting by land was done around the city of Santiago de Cuba, the second city of the island, and the old Spanish capital of the same. Santiago (which means "St. James," in Spanish) was very strongly fortified, and pretty well defended by the ancient and modern methods of an old nation going down in the world. On account of the great danger of assaulting a city built upon hills, and thus strongly defended by nature and art, Uncle Sam wisely decided to send his veteran troops there—not merely the pick and cream of the volunteers—but first of all, the old, well-seasoned regulars of the American standing army, of which there were four regiments of colored men, that is to say, the Ninth and Tenth Cavalry, and the Twenty-fourth and Twenty-fifth Infantry. Among the first that went to Santiago in General Shafter's expedition were those four regiments—brave, powerful, well-built fellows, big, brawny men, who could knock Spaniards over like ninepins, and smite them hip and thigh like the heroes of old. In the different engagements that took place while the enemy was being driven into his beleaguered city, and was being pushed back, back farther and farther, into the fortifications of Santiago, these colored regiments did splendid service, laying on with might and main, and making their enemy flee before them into his last retreat. Our troops were usually mixed up with the whites in the days in the end of June, and the beginning of July, and thus the history of the one is the history of the other.

Seeing, therefore, that they had been so well trained as regulars, we need not wonder that they acquitted themselves so well in the preliminary assault, that occurred before preparations were made for the final advance on the doomed city. That part of the operations of our men that caused most noise to be made in the newspapers and elsewhere took place when Colonel Roosevelt and his Rough Riders advanced up one of the hills that was overgrown with dense brushwood, where the Spaniards had dug trenches along the face of the hill, and had run powerful wire fences along the front of those trenches, from which they fired upon the Americans as they came up the hill-side. The Rough Riders had a hard time of it as they advanced in the face of the showers of balls that were poured down upon them. Little progress did they make, although they lay down again and again to let those leaden showers pass over their devoted heads. Colonel Roosevelt had a horse killed under him, jumped off the animal before it carried him under as it fell, and advanced up the hill in advance of all his men, shouting to them to come on. Well, of course, the men did come on; but some were killed here, and others were wounded there; while as for the Spaniards, they went down like grass before the scythe. As a general thing they were bad shots—as might be expected of a dying nation still bragging of the deeds of their ancestors four hundred years back; and they themselves swollen with ignorance and pride, too haughty to be taught better ways! Thus the Rough Riders gravely struggled up the hill-side, cutting the wire fences as they went, clearing the retreating Spaniards out of the rifle-pits (or trenches, rather), lying down and advancing again and again as best they could. It was evident that they must suffer great losses, or might even fail altogether.

At this very crisis the Ninth and Tenth Cavalry, or United States colored troops, were ordered forward to the rescue of their dismounted brothers, and so dismounted, they advanced up the hill-side, laughing and hurrahing with as much trained ease, and as cheerfully as if they had been upon their old parade grounds in the far West! Success against the enemy was now assured. Our brave, well-seasoned veterans from the West fired, advanced, lay down, chatted and laughed with their white brothers, as they lay upon the ground, partly hidden among the brushwood, tall grasses and bushes of the Cuban jungle; and thus the day there was saved, and the white men were saved by the Ninth and Tenth Cavalry, just in the self-same way as white and black had often saved one another during the Civil War in the sixties. The wire fences were cut, the trenches were cleared of their occupants, the hill-top was gained, the Spaniards were set upon the run down the hill, on the other side, and now our men could see their enemies, and have a straight shot at them as they ran down the open, in full retreat and rapid flight. Our own trained heroes followed fast after them, dropping on one knee every now and then, to get a steadier aim at the fleeing Spaniards and thus they fell at a rapid rate before our guns.

While it is true that there was no desire among our own men to be vain of their achievements when they had thus timely assisted in saving and winning the field, still, the wild and hearty cheers that were there and then given to the black soldiers by their white comrades were very encouraging, indeed, to the hearts of the former. Many of the letters sent home and published in the papers were quite unstinted in their praise, and showed how the white men shouted their loudest huzzas to the colored men, swung their arms and caps in the air, and made other demonstrations of mutual good will and delight. Most of the Republican papers, and even some of the Democratic and others wrote editorials and other shorter and well-pointed paragraphs, too numerous for me either to mention or extract. With the exception of the soreheads and those whose stubborn natures love to hide all such promising things and keep them from public favor, there were none who failed to do us that justice to which we were entitled.

As for the Twenty-fourth and Twenty-fifth Colored Infantry, they lent a hand in the different actions that were fought around Santiago, and are well spoken of by one and all whose duty, love or pleasure it was to record the details of the fighting that took place in the environments of Santiago de Cuba.

But what shall we say of all those many regiments of colored men who were raised in many different States, and drilled and put in a state of readiness to march forward to the war, and assist in knocking down the tottering powers of old and bigoted Spain? Did those men do nothing for their country, after all their drillings and other mighty preparations for the purpose of going to the field? What was the use of Camp This, or Camp That, or Camp the Other Place to them? Either for good luck, or bad luck, as it turned out, all those camps were of no use at all to them. And it was just the same with the white volunteers and their camps. All, indeed, were drilled, and lay to be called away at any moment—all were in perfect readiness to go, and even very greatly desired to go; but few went, for their services were not required, as the war came to an end on the 12th of August, because "Old Spain" was fast going to the wall, as the Bible says of the wicked, "I will laugh at your calamity, and mock when your fear cometh." In fact, most that had been done in the war so far had been done upon the sea. Dewey and Schley had sunk Spain's best war ships, which circumstance placed the Spanish peninsula entirely at our mercy. Then she was bankrupt and inferior to the United States in every way. We had lost 264 men in the war, who were killed outright; but how many thousands Spain lost, she is probably too proud ever to let us know. She probably lost at least fifty to our one.

A great deal has been written about the hospitals in and around Santiago, and the conduct and sufferings of the patients who were treated there. It has been universally stated of the colored men who were treated for wounds that they were most exemplary and patient in every way, and even ready and willing to give way in favor of those white soldiers who lay side by side with them, waiting to be treated by the doctors on hand. It is really touching to read in the public papers how our own men insisted on their unfortunate suffering neighbors being treated first, and that they themselves would wait. "He is worse than I am, I can wait!"—and—"He is shot through the body, while I am only wounded in the arms; save him first!" This is the very essence of all generosity. This, indeed, is the most tender-hearted mercy and Christianity. If there is any bravery and nobility of character upon earth, this, indeed, is it. And the white Americans in the hospital were quite as generous as the colored men—to both their colored and white companions, according to the direct testimony and eye witness of foreign and domestic correspondents right there and then on the ground. There was no color line even dreamed of in the fields and hospitals of Santiago. It is only in the day of health and pride that people can afford to draw that line. But in the day of distress, and when death is hovering over us, then all that kind of foolishness is driven far away, and we only know that God has made of one blood all the nations upon earth.

It is quite refreshing to look back even now, and think upon the grand times we had when flags were raised on our houses, or flags were presented to regiments of volunteers getting ready to go to fight the Spaniards. I here select from the Southwestern Christian Advocate, of New Orleans, an organ of the M. E. Church, the following vivid description of the presentation of a flag to colored troops at New Orleans:

"A GLORIOUS DAY AND A GREAT CROWD.

"On Wednesday of last week, July 20th, there took place in this city, the most patriotic demonstration that it has ever been my privilege to witness. It was the occasion of the formal presentation of the regimental flag, the national colors, and a Red Cross flag to the Ninth Infantry Regiment of United States Volunteers, by the Afro-American citizens of New Orleans. Fully ten thousand people took part in what has been said to be the most enthusiastic gathering around the Nation's flag that has ever assembled in the Crescent City for years, if ever before. Political parties and denominational antagonisms were lost sight of in the fixed purpose to do honor to our boys in blue. It was thrilling, inspiring, to see a thousand black soldiers standing in line before the grandstand, with eyes to the front, and ears attentive to the words of the speakers.