Elsie's Young Folks in Peace and War

by Martha Finley

CHAPTER XI.

That morning that Cervera attempted his flight from Santiago, General Shafter sent into the Spanish lines by a flag of truce a demand for the surrender of the city. "I have the honor to inform you," he said, "that unless you surrender I shall be compelled to shell Santiago de Cuba. Please instruct the citizens of all foreign countries, and all women and children, that they should leave the city before 10 A.M. to-morrow."

That flag of truce had been gone only two or three hours when there came a sudden rumor that the Spanish fleet had gone to destruction, depriving Santiago of her chief defence. Our soldiers were so sure of the prowess of our sailors that they hailed the rumor as fact,—as news of a victory,—and when later in the evening the actual intelligence of Schley's glorious triumph reached them they went wild with joy; danced on the crest of the defences, in full view of the Spaniards, venturing to do so because—as there was a truce—no jealous sharpshooter would dare fire on them. And the band played patriotic and popular airs, particularly "There'll be a Hot Time in the Old Town To-night." Bonfires were made and salutes fired.

Drs. Harold and Herbert Travilla, wearied with their labors for the sick and wounded, rejoiced as heartily as any one else over the good news, yet at the same time felt pity for the suffering of those of the foe who had perished so miserably by shot, shell, and fire. They would have been glad to aid the wounded prisoners, but their hands were already full, in giving needed attention to our own men so sorely injured by Spanish shot and shell. So incessant and arduous had been their labors in that line, and so fierce and exhausting was the heat, that they were themselves well-nigh worn out. There had been hope that the city would surrender, but on the night of the 3d—the day of the naval battle—four thousand fresh Spanish troops entered it, and the hoped-for surrender was not made.

The Americans in the trenches were hot, hungry, and water-soaked, and some of them grew very impatient. Said one of the Rough Riders: "Now that we've got those Dagoes corralled, why don't we brand them?"

On the 6th something happened that broke the monotony and gave great joy to the soldiers in the trenches. A cavalcade of men was seen coming from the beleaguered city, the first of whom was quickly recognized as Lieutenant Hobson, who with his seven comrades had gone out one night, weeks before, on a vessel, the Merrimac, to sink her across the narrow entrance to the channel leading into Santiago harbor, and so bottle up the Spanish fleet.

They failed, and were taken prisoners by the Spaniards, and had been spending weeks shut up in Morro castle, but now were exchanged for seven prisoners taken at San Juan. At sight of them the American soldiers seemed to go mad with joy. They yelled, danced, laughed, and even wept for joy. Then the band on the foremost line struck up "The Star Spangled Banner," and all stood silent at a salute. But the moment the music ceased it seemed as if Bedlam had broken loose. The regulars crowded about the heroes, cheering them, shaking them by the hand, while they from their ambulance yelled compliments and congratulations to the tattered and dirty soldiers.

And when those returned sailors reached the fleet after dark, they found the ships' companies turned out as if to greet an admiral at least, coming to visit them, and as their launch was seen approaching from the shore the cheers of their brother tars made the hills of Cuba ring almost as had the thundering fire of Morro and Estrella when levelled against them nearly six weeks before.

The surrender of Santiago took place on the 18th of July. By that time there was a great deal of sickness among our troops, and our friends Harold and Herbert Travilla were kept very busy attending to the sick and wounded. So overworked were they, and so injuriously affected by the malarious climate, that both became ill; Herbert so much so that he could scarcely keep about, and his brother began to question whether it were not his duty to take or send him home, or farther north, to join their mother and a number of the relatives and connections who were spending the summer on the Hudson, or at some Northern seaside resort, which he was at liberty to do, as they were serving as volunteer surgeons, and without pay.