No pen can describe the horrors of that night and the silent suffering of the wounded. Long rows of them, nearly a thousand, lying in pools of water and on the damp ground, for the heavy rains had fallen every day. Then, at night, the tropical dew fell like rain, adding to the general discomfort. In the morning, the great burning sun came out and the mists began to rise. Hotter and hotter it grew, until almost unbearable. To shelter the wounded, palm leaves and branches of leafy trees were placed over them.
The bravery and determined resignation manifested by the men waiting for treatment, and in the hospitals under operation, was worthy of comment. Many times, as the surgeon or nurse was proffering attention to a wounded man, or offering him water or nourishment, he would say, “Oh, give it to Tom first, he’s worse off than I am.” This spirit of kindness and grim courtesy was noticeable all through the campaign.
On our arrival there was no food for the wounded, no tents, no blankets. The men were without change of clothing, and in some cases what little they had required to be cut off on account of the character of the wound.
A message explaining the condition of things at the front was sent back to Siboney, from General Shafter’s headquarters, and immediately army wagons were loaded with supplies by the Red Cross, and the next morning they rolled into the hospital lines, with Miss Barton and some of her staff, accompanied by Private Hassett, who had been detailed from the Thirty-fourth Michigan, all seated on top of the wagons, which carried food enough for the patients in the hospitals for several days. They, too, had to come over miry roads that lead from the coast; of the wheels no spokes could be seen, nothing but one circular, solid mass of mud, like great massive car-wheels.
There was many a moist eye and many shouts of welcome and surprise as the train came into camp. “There’s a woman!” “It’s the Red Cross!” “My God, boys, it’s Clara Barton!” “Now we’ll get something to eat!” And they did. Miss Barton, Mrs. Gardner and others prepared condensed milk, malted milk and other delicacies, and within an hour every man was served with hot gruel, milk and fresh soda biscuits. Later in the evening well-boiled and seasoned rice, fruit, canned meats and other things, including beef tea, were passed around. As the patients from the hospitals became convalescent, they were sent to the transports bound for home.
On July 5, Dr. Gardner and I, after securing an ambulance and loading it with canned meats, crackers, pilot bread, milk, rice and other foods and delicacies, walked beside the loaded wagon, drawn by army mules, until we reached El Caney. We arrived just as the refugees were coming in from Santiago, from which city they had fled, fearing the bombardment that was threatened by the American forces around the place and the ships of the North Atlantic Squadron, lying off the mouth of the harbor.
At El Caney there was not even water to drink, food was very scarce. Hundreds of hungry refugees were coming in. There were poor women with children in their arms, and there were men with hands full of gold which they offered for the food they could not purchase.
A distributing committee was formed at once, including Mr. William Ramsden, son of the English consul at Santiago, the French consul, two Cuban officers, and other gentlemen whose names I do not now recall, and the relief of the refugees began. Following close behind this first ambulance of supplies for the refugees at El Caney, came a well-loaded army wagon in charge of Mr. C.C. Bangs of the Red Cross staff, who worked here, as he always had, with great vigor. He finished his work at El Caney, superintending the relief of the refugees until they could return to their homes, and then joined the Red Cross party at the First Division Hospital. Mr. Bangs was always a hard and enthusiastic worker, but he could not withstand the climate and the constant fatigue. He was at last taken ill and never rallied. He died and was buried on the field, faithful to the cause to which he had pledged his service.
On the evening of the twelfth of July Major Wood announced his intention of breaking camp and moving nearer to Santiago. Miss Barton and staff then returned to Siboney, reaching that place after dark the following day. The Signal Corps were unable to communicate with the ships in the harbor, and so there was no way in which we could join the “State of Texas” that night. Miss Barton slept in a room tendered her by Postmaster Brewer, who subsequently died at the Red Cross hospital of what the doctors said was yellow fever.
Dr. Hubbell and I lay on the floor outside, and enjoyed the sleep we could get, when we were not troubled by a species of shell fish called “land crabs,” which are perfectly harmless, but have a body about four inches wide, six inches long and three inches thick, with legs ten inches long, and, standing erect on their legs, they go up and down stairs at leisure. They always take the shortest road, never go around anything, but hobble over every obstruction.