Dewey smiled and shook his head. “No, Billy, I’ve waited for sixty years for this opportunity, and as much as I like you, mines or no mines, I’m leading the squadron in myself.”
Dewey led the Olympia inside Manila Bay. A battery on shore opened up, and artillery rounds whistled around the heads of the sailors on deck. The guns of the fleet returned the fire and the Asiatic Squadron moved ahead. When dawn broke on the horizon, Dewey looked through his binoculars and saw the cluster of black hulls and lofty spars. It was almost five o’clock and daylight was slowly spreading across the bay. “Take her along the fire line, Mr. Catkins. Be careful not to run her aground.” The squadron continued to advance, its guns silent. At 5:40 A.M., the Olympia had approached within two and a half miles of the enemy vessels. Dewey turned to the warship commander and gave the order that would put his name in every American history book: “You may fire when you are ready, Gridley!”
The American squadron steamed past the Spanish line, half hidden by the clouds of gunfire belching from its own guns. Thick clouds of smoke rolled up from burning ships and the losses were terrible. The Spanish gunners, ill-trained and low on ammunition, could barely return a spasmodic fire. Dewey led the fleet carefully and courageously through the blockades. Finally the enemy batteries could not answer the fire any longer. The Battle of Manila Bay was won and America had a new hero—Commodore George Dewey.
****
The American newspapers blazoned the victory at Manila, and at every street corner newsies stood with their bundle of papers and shouted, “Victory Complete! Glorious, the Maine Is Avenged!” The country went wild as the news spread. Roosevelt’s final act of insubordination was to release Dewey’s telegram to the newspapers. Roosevelt had just been commissioned a Lieutenant Colonel in the U.S.’s first volunteer cavalry, an outfit that was soon to be known as the Rough Riders.
While the country sang the praises of Commodore Dewey, young men from all over the country began clamoring for a place in the army that began to take shape.
Lewis Winslow was one of these enthusiastic young men. At the urging of Alice Cates, he went to find a recruiting office. When he signed his name, he felt a sense of pride well up inside him. He felt himself the most fortunate of young men to be able to risk his life in a glorious adventure. He was an idealistic individual, and though he knew that Alice Cates was instrumental in his enlistment, he was no less convinced that it was his duty as an American to lay his life on the line for his country. He could do no less, for his father had put his life on the line for the North so many years ago during a long and bloody war. He did not think of being killed or disabled—instead his mind was full of the glorious adventure that lay ahead of him.
When he walked out of the recruiting office, he hailed a cab and headed for Alice’s home. Not long after, he pulled up in front of the large estate. Expecting to see the butler when the door opened, he was surprised to see Alice’s mother standing there. She was polite at his request to see Alice, but her whole demeanor made Lewis feel that once again he did not meet her “standards” for her daughter.
Alice was coming down the large double stairs that led to the second floor. He looked up and, with pride in his voice, said, “I’ve enlisted, Alice. I’m going to Cuba.”
Running the rest of the way down the stairs, she threw her arms around him and kissed him.
CHAPTER SIX
A Surprising Invitation
Carried away by a wave of euphoria such as he’d never known, Lewis Winslow started each new day with a sense of excitement. He spent every evening with Alice Cates, who was thrilled to escort her “soldier” from one mansion to another. The thought had occurred to him once that with every new introduction, she was only presenting him as some sort of exhibition. She often introduced him as “My brave soldier!” It troubled him somewhat, but her flashing eyes and colored cheeks and obvious pride in his new profession-in-arms quickly dismissed any doubts or misgivings he had.
On one of the few nights he was not with Alice, he had accepted a dinner invitation from Esther. After the meal, his uncle Mark sat him down in the library and, for over an hour, tried to reason with Lewis about his sudden decision to join the army. Lewis respected Mark Winslow greatly, but his uncle’s logic had little effect on the excitement that had built up in him over the last few weeks.
“Don’t you see, Uncle Mark—I’ve got to go!” Lewis exclaimed fervently. “You’ve read the stories of how the poor Cubans have been hunted down like animals. The Spanish are tyrants and the oppression has got to be stopped!”
Mark Winslow patiently tried to explain that much of the furor raised by the persecution of Cuban peasants had been the result of zealous front-page articles written in the papers of Joseph Pulitzer and William Randolph Hearst. Despite his efforts, however, Mark could not dissuade his stubborn nephew. When Lewis left, Mark turned and stared out the window, worried at what was to become of his nephew. Would Lewis perish in a foolish war in Cuba? Hearing a soft step at the door of the library, he turned and saw Lola standing there. “It’s hopeless, Lola. I’ve done everything I can, but he won’t change his mind. I’m wiring Davis and Belle tonight. Maybe they can do something with him!” He spoke pessimistically, however, for Lewis was now twenty-four years old and able to make his own decisions.
****
One bright, sunny day, Lewis made one of his regular visits to the Water Street Mission. He was to meet Alice later for his first trip to Coney Island. While chatting with Gail and Deborah about it, he said, “Why don’t the two of you come with us? Have you ever been to Coney Island?”
“No,” said Deborah, “but we’ve heard a lot about it.”
He spoke of the newest amusement park, which had once been a very posh resort where millionaires anchored their luxurious yachts. It had soon become a popular park, and now it was crowded with bathing houses, dance halls, shooting galleries, freak shows, and eating establishments. Special trolleys brought holiday throngs, and crowds from every walk of life filled the place.
“I don’t think so, Lewis,” Deborah said quietly. A smile touched her lips and she added, “You wouldn’t have two respectable nurses like us go bathing, I hope!”
Lewis was caught off guard, as he often was, by Deborah’s unexpectedly bright sense of humor. It lay beneath her quietness and jumped out at him from time to time. Now he laughed aloud and shrugged his trim shoulders. “That might make quite a headline, mighten it!”
“I don’t think Baxter Hospital would care to see two of its female employees portrayed in Mr. Hearst’s newspaper.”
“Oh, I’ve seen a few of those bathing costumes, at least some of the Gibson girls paintings. It looks like they have at least ten yards of cloth covering them—more than some women wear to a dance,” Lewis argued. “Come on, we can just walk around and see the sights!”
Deborah hesitated, for she was tempted. A time away from the demands of her job at the hospital and the volunteer work at the mission would be a nice change. She had grown very fond of Lewis, though she’d never mentioned her feelings to anyone. But good sense prevailed. She knew Alice would resent any encroachment at what she envisioned as her own private property.
“Thanks for the invitation, though. I hope you have a good time. “
“I can’t go either, Lewis,” said Gail. “I need to go home.” Something about her wan expression drew Lewis’s attention at once. “Trouble at home, Gail?”
“Oh, there’s always trouble, I suppose.”
Seeing that Gail was upset, Deborah drew Lewis’s attention back to herself, saying, “When will you be leaving with your unit, Lewis?”
“I’m not sure—any day, I suppose. It’s really quite a mixed-up affair. The country wasn’t really ready for a war, and now the War Department is scrambling around trying to organize. I’m ready now—I’d like to go today!”
Though Lewis appeared confident about the whole thing, Deborah sensed a subtle anxiety for some reason and asked quietly, “Aren’t
you afraid, Lewis?”
“Afraid?” he said, looking at her somewhat surprised. “Yes, in a war men get killed and wounded.”
“Why . . . yes, I suppose I might be a little afraid when the bullets start flying, but it’s something that has to be done, Deborah. I hope you can see that!”
As a matter of fact, Deborah was not at all sure of the war fever that was sweeping the country. Nevertheless, she had a steady way about her that enabled her to envision the results. Such enthusiastic, idealistic young men, such as the one that stood before her, might be lying in a shallow grave, or blinded, or missing legs or arms. She sensed, however, that to speak of such things to Lewis was a waste of time. “I’ll be praying for you,” she said.
Gail had turned away to speak to someone else, so Lewis was alone with Deborah. He had learned to admire Deborah Laurent, yet he knew there was a wall there that he was never able to penetrate. She was always kind and cheerful, yet something lay behind her dark brown eyes that he could not understand. She was, strangely enough, warm and outgoing at times, while at other times, she seemed almost unapproachable. “What will you do?” he asked abruptly.
“Do? What do you mean?”
“Will you stay on at the hospital?”
“I suppose so—and do my work here at the mission. Now that Rev. Gardner and the others are gone to Africa, the rest of us have to take up the slack.”
“You never go out, do you—I mean with young men?” Lewis asked the question abruptly, for he had wondered about such things. Neither Gail nor Deborah seemed to have any inclination toward romance, and now he studied Deborah as she flushed slightly at his question. He could not understand her embarrassment, for it was a normal thing to ask. Both young women were attractive, yet neither of them seemed to be interested in what he assumed most girls spent their time thinking about.
“I have a job to do,” Deborah said quietly. She lifted her eyes to him, and for a moment Lewis saw a slight break in her demeanor. She seemed vulnerable and open, and he thought she was going to speak about something personal. Her lips parted slightly and suddenly he was aware that, while she was not beautiful, there was a definite attractiveness in her trim figure and smooth cheeks and features. But she said only, “I suppose that might come some day. Have a good day at Coney Island!”
Lewis left, puzzled by the young woman. I can’t figure out what goes on with that woman, he thought to himself. She doesn’t act like any young woman I’ve ever known. But he was on his way to an afternoon of fun with Alice, so he put the thoughts out of his mind.
****
Later that afternoon, after a long day, when the two girls went back to the room they shared at the hospital, Gail asked, “What do you make of Lewis?”
“Make of him? What do you mean, Gail?”
“I mean, his sudden decision to enlist in the army.”
“I think he’s caught up in the same fever that has this whole country dancing.”
“Why? Does it trouble you?”
“I’d hate to see him come to harm. I’ve thought so much about all the young men going off to war. It’s exciting, I suppose, with the drums beating, the flag flying . . .” She hesitated, then added, “And young women inciting men to join up.”
Deborah didn’t mention Alice Cates, but Gail knew at once the girl was on her mind. Gail began dressing carefully, putting on her best dress—her pearl gray affair with maroon ribbons on the collar and sleeves. She took more pains than usual, and finally she turned to find Deborah watching her. “Dr. Burns has invited me to dine with him tonight.”
Deborah had watched the growing attraction that David Burns had for Gail Summers, though she had not commented on it. Being a very sharp observer of human nature, she had wondered what would happen if a romance sprang up between the two. Now she smiled briefly and said, “You look very pretty. I’m sure he’ll be impressed. He always has favored you.”
Gail flushed and pouted, saying, “No, that’s not so—he’s just kind.” She settled a small hat on her honey-colored hair, studied her reflection in the small mirror, then smiled. “I’ll see you later, Deborah.”
When she left their room, she was met almost at once by Dr. Burns, who had just gotten off duty. He smiled when he saw her and said, “That’s a pretty dress.”
“You say that every time you see it,” Gail laughed, her eyes sparkling. “That’s very economical.” She joined him as they walked down the corridor, adding, “Your wife will never have to buy a new dress—you’ll always think the one she has on is new.”
Burns shook his head. “I doubt that! Although it would be a Scotsman’s dream, wouldn’t it!”
Gail smiled at the slight lilt of his Scottish brogue that still colored his words. When they reached the front doors of the hospital, Burns stopped to give the night nurse some instructions, and then they stepped outside. As they turned and walked down the street, she asked, “Are Scotsmen really as stingy as all the stories about them?”
“Every bit,” Burns assured her solemnly.
Gail teased him, knowing it was not so. He was not a rich young man, but she already knew that he was generous almost to a fault. It was common knowledge around the hospital halls that some of the most needy patients who couldn’t afford some medicine were recipients of the doctor’s generosity. She mentioned this now, saying, “Sometimes I think you’re more generous because of all the stories. You think you have to disprove that Scots are stingy!”
“Wait till you see the stingy dinner I’m going to buy you tonight,” he teased, “then you’ll sing a different tune, I’ll bound you!”
He took her to a restaurant a few blocks away, and as they entered she said, “This isn’t an inexpensive place, Doctor!”
“I may make you wash dishes to pay for your meal,” he said with a smile. He was wearing a lightweight gray suit with a spotless white shirt and a narrow lace tie that she’d never seen before. His hair was neatly trimmed, as always, and under his mustache his lips curved in a smile. He turned to the waiter, who seated them at a table near the window. Looking up at the waiter, he said, “Just bring us two pieces of dry bread and two glasses of water.”
Gail looked up quickly at the waiter’s face and burst into giggles when she saw the disgusted expression. “I’ll have to have more than that, Dr. Burns. My work at the hospital of late has given me a hearty appetite.”
Burns smiled at her. “I thought you might! Let’s see what they have.” He made a production out of ordering the special of the day—roast duckling bigarade with chestnut dressing and curried fruit—which turned out to be very good indeed.
Although most people wouldn’t have noticed, Gail could sense a certain tension in the young physician. She’d studied this young man for months now and realized long ago that when he was nervous or uncomfortable, he had a habit of stroking his mustache with his forefinger. When he had done that several times during the meal, she thought to herself, Something’s bothering him—trouble of some sort. She knew so little about his private life, except that he had no family here, that she couldn’t imagine what it could be.
When they had finished their meal, Burns ordered ice cream with creme de menthe sauce along with steaming black coffee. As they sat there sipping it, Burns turned to her and said abruptly, “Gail, I want to ask you something.”
The use of her first name took her by surprise. Although he’d called her that when they first met, he’d kept to a more formal Miss Summers when they were on duty. Now, however, she saw his blue eyes were troubled somehow. “What is it, Dr. Burns?”
He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “Well, for one thing, you can call me David when we’re not on duty.”
“Well, all right . . . David,” Gail smiled encouragingly. She saw that he was trying hard to find the words to say something to her, and impulsively she reached over and put her hand on his. She’d never done such a thing before and it startled him. “What is it?” she said. “You seem bothered by something.”
The warmth of her hand seemed to encourage the young physician. He suddenly seized her hand, held it for a moment, and then looked down at it. Turning it over, he examined the palm. “I remember the first time I saw this hand all scarred from working at the rope factory,” he murmured. “I was very angry when I saw that!”
“I remember that too,” Gail said quietly. “I was very frightened—I had never been in a carriage and had never spoken to a gentleman. You were so kind to me that day. I’ve never forgotten it.”
“Haven’t you now?” he said, looking up and smiling at her.
“No, of course not.” Gail drew her hand back and flushed slightly. “We mustn’t be holding hands in public like this, even if I do use your first name.”
“I don’t suppose the world would stop if someone saw us holding hands,” Burns said almost belligerently.
“No, but I might be dismissed,” Gail retorted. “What’s bothering you, David?” The look on his face made her feel he was going to open up to her, but he changed the subject.
“Young Lewis Winslow’s bound and determined to go fight in the war. What do you think of that?”
Sensing he wasn’t ready to divulge what was troubling him, Gail did not press him. “Well, he’s young and impressionable. I pray that he’ll be safe. Why? Are you troubled about it, David?”
Burns did not answer. He stroked his mustache twice, then lowered his head and clasped his hands. For a moment, he did not speak or look up. Finally he did, and she saw that he was tremendously serious. “I’ve been asked to serve as a physician with the army on the expedition to Cuba.”
Surprise shot through Gail and she stared at him in shock. “Why, you wouldn’t do that, would you—leave the hospital, I mean?”
“Yes, I’ve decided to go.” He was watching her carefully, and his face worked unexpectedly. “You may think I’m a fool. Some do, including the chief medical officer of the hospital.”
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