THE FLOWER OF THE HACIENDA
Two days after the memorable attack on San Juan the American cause seemed in as hopeless a condition as possible. From El Caney to the coast the troops held a long line of trenches and faced a series of works, all of which were manned by determined, though half-starved, Spaniards. To the north and west Santiago was free and open to the enemy, while, where the invading forces besieged it, their line was so thin as to be practically useless. To attempt now to press an attack home to the walls of Santiago would be to court disaster, for large re-enforcements were needed for such an action; while, if the Americans could but hold the line that they had won, they would be doing well.
The shortcomings of an army raised in haste were beginning to show. Rations from the first had been poor, and as a natural consequence men fell ill under the hardship and exposure. To these hundreds of wounded were already added, and to attend to them all there was a medical staff that was hopelessly insufficient. No provision, in fact, worthy of the name had been made. No stretcher-bearer corps had been organized, and when the wounded came crowding in, even drugs and dressings were found to be lacking. Could anything be more discouraging? No wonder that General Shafter thought the situation serious. No wonder that he telegraphed urgently for re-enforcements.
And now the strangest and most unexpected move in the campaign occurred, and altered the prospect of the war. To describe it fully, one must once more turn to Hal and Gerald, for this lucky pair had a splendid opportunity of observing everything. Both had taken part in the attack upon San Juan, and both had been wounded—Hal through the fleshy part of the thigh, and Gerald in the hand. Some hours passed before either went to obtain the services of the surgeon.
"This is rather late, young fellow," the latter said to Hal, as he rolled up his trousers and showed the wound. "I suppose you couldn't get here before?"
"Yes, we could have come earlier," Hal answered; "but you were busy, and neither of us was badly hit. But I'd be glad if you'd look at my wound now. It's painful and I feel feverish."
"Which is exactly what I was thinking. Put that under your tongue, and we'll see what the temperature is."
An examination of the thermometer showed that Hal's temperature was high, and a searching inspection of the wound revealed that it was inflamed.
"You are both feverish and out of sorts," said the surgeon, as he dressed Hal's leg. "Both with flesh wounds, which will get worse if something isn't done. I'll send you to the coast for a day or two. A blow aboard ship will set you up again."
Neither Hal nor Gerald objected, for it was already known that no active engagements would take place till re-enforcements arrived, so that if they went to sea for a day or two, they would lose none of the fun. They trudged to Siboney, therefore, and that evening were resting on board the gunboat Gloucester, a converted yacht, which happened to be lying close in beside the town when they arrived.