Later on when one of his former Confederate officers saw Wheeler in his blue Federal uniform, he said, “General Wheeler, Robert E. Lee’s going to be mighty surprised seeing you come up to heaven wearing that uniform!”
The Commanding General of the army was Nelson A. Miles. He had a distinguished and heroic service in the Civil War, and had been the premier Indian fighter in the Southwest. At fifty-nine, he was a big, athletic man, the ablest of the commanders who would direct this new army—but according to all accounts, he was a hard man to get along with.
As far as the actual assembly of the army, General Rufus Shafter was the most significant factor. Shafter was a huge man, weighing three hundred pounds—or as his enemies liked to put it—almost a sixth of a ton. In Tampa, where he began to pull his army together, the heat, which was well over a hundred degrees, almost brought him to a halt. Two privates had to hoist him onto his horse, but it was still his responsibility to pull this army into a fighting force.
Tampa was not the place for organizing such an army. Tampa and Fort Tampa, where the transport ships swung at anchor, were nine miles apart. The intervening country, for the most part, was very swampy, and no one was satisfied with the site as a training grounds or even a point of departure for the army.
Dr. David Burns arrived at Tampa, accompanied by Gail Summers and Deborah Laurent, and found the city in a general state of upheaval. Every hour, it seemed, volunteers were pouring in from all over the country. The three walked along the tents strung out along the sandy shores, noting that the wooden houses were crumbling, their paint having been removed by sand and the wind off the Gulf. Gail looked around and said, “This is awful! I thought the beach was supposed to be pretty!”
Deborah smiled, saying, “Well, as Jefferson said, ‘God made the country and man made the town.’ Everywhere you get a lot of people together, they’ll manage to uglify their world.”
“Uglify?” Burns cocked one eyebrow. “Is that a word?” Without waiting for an answer, he looked around, trying to detect some order in all the confusion. But everywhere soldiers and militia were milling around, while officers shouted out orders above the din. Supplies were stacked everywhere beside the tracks—huge piles of guns and ammunition, tents, cases, and cartons of all sizes. Finally Burns said, “Let’s see if we can find someone in authority.”
They eventually found their way to the Tampa Bay Hotel. It was filled to capacity with soldiers, including foreign military observers wearing brightly colored, gaudy uniforms. Finally, Burns managed to locate a major named Sievers—a tall, aristocratic man with frosty blue eyes and silvery hair. “Burns? Dr. Burns, you say?” he said, giving a careless look at the three. “And your nurses? Well, we’ll see what can be done. Make the best of it till we find a place for you.”
This proved to be rather difficult. The three finally managed to find a lowly lieutenant, a good-natured man named Baines, who sympathized with their predicament. He took them to a large barn-shaped building where supplies were being sorted out and said, “Your medical supplies will come here eventually—I hope!”
Burns looked around with discontented eyes. “There doesn’t seem to be much order around, does there, Lieutenant?”
“Always that way with a war,” Baines grinned. He looked over and said, “You ladies won’t find a hotel room, not in Tampa. All the hotels and boardinghouses are already overcrowded with officers and civilian volunteers.”
“That’s all right, Lieutenant. We’ll make out fine in tents.”
When the lieutenant had gone, the three of them made their way to a cafe filled with sweaty, loudly talking privates. Gail and Deborah were the object of some careful scrutiny, and several remarks like “Hello, sweetheart!” flew across the crowded room.
Finally, Burns managed to commandeer a table in a corner, and the three ate a meal of sandwiches and apple pie, washed down by tepid water. “I’m not sure about this water,” Burns muttered, staring at it warily. “With this many men aboot, sanitation’s got to be a problem. I’d better check on it.”
“If it’s bad here,” Deborah said, “think what it’s going to be like when we get to Cuba.” She looked almost cool in the sweltering heat. It was a quality that she had, a way of making the best of things. Even back at Water Street Mission when things were a challenge, she met them with a calm maturity, letting little trouble her.
Somewhere, Burns thought, she has learned how to endure difficulties without complaining.
Deborah looked at Gail and said, “I suppose you and I better learn how to put up that tent. Have you ever done it?”
“No,” Gail grinned. “But we’ll learn how!”
As it happened, they did not have to know a great deal. As they were attempting to pull the tent into a standing position, the poles fell and the whole thing collapsed. Standing to the side watching was a group of eager volunteers—red-faced young men—all of them cowboys, so it seemed. They were more than willing to help two pretty young nurses put up their tent. By nightfall, Burns and his two assistants had managed to secure a place to sleep, but before they went to bed, he said, “This is not what I thought it would be.”
“Things usually aren’t,” Deborah said quietly. “But we’ll do fine.”
“I wish I could take it as easily as you do,” the physician shrugged. “But we’re here to do a job, so let’s do our best.”
That night, as Deborah and Gail lay in their tent, trying to ignore the sultry humidity and heat, Gail said, “I wish I knew what Jeb was doing. I’m worried about him!”
“Shall we pray, then?” Deborah asked quietly. Without waiting, she began to pray a simple prayer for the boy.
Gail felt her eyes grow dim with tears, and when it was her turn to pray, she began to feel a sense of companionship with Deborah that she’d not felt before. Finally, the two women lay quiet, and it was Gail who said aloud, “I’m glad we came, Deborah.”
“So am I,” came the answer sleepily. “We’ll see what will happen.”
****
The Rough Riders were a rowdy, loud bunch, and Lewis reveled in it. Here he was in the most sought-out unit that everyone in the country was trying to get into. He threw himself into the brief and rugged training period with all the enthusiasm of a beginner. By the time he and Aaron left San Antonio on a train bound for Tampa, they’d made great progress—both in riding and shooting.
When the overcrowded train pulled into Tampa, there was a waving and yelling far up the track. Colonel Roosevelt grinned from his position on a flat car; his khaki uniform looked as if it had been slept in—as it always did. He wore a polka dot, blue bandanna, the hallmark of the Rough Riders, except the soldiers all wore red.
When the train stopped they all piled off, and Roosevelt was everywhere, trying to shout orders to his officers. There was no one to meet him and his troops to tell them where to camp, and no one to issue food for the first twenty-four hours. The railroad people simply unloaded them wherever they pleased, or rather wherever the jam of all kinds of trains rendered it possible.
But Roosevelt possessed great administrative ability and sheer resourcefulness. He brought some kind of order out of the chaos of Tampa. Soon rows and rows of tents were pitched, men were appointed to police the camp, and drilling started again in order to keep the troops in top shape. Roosevelt was infuriated when he received the news that the Rough Riders would not be a cavalry outfit in Cuba—only the officers’ horses would be transported.
Aaron and Lewis worked hard, along with their fellow soldiers, to get settled in. On the second day, however, Lewis said, “Let’s go see if we can find Dr. Burns.”
“All right.” Aaron joined his brother and the two of them began to search for the young Scottish physician. They began asking around, and after a few false leads, they finally ran into a stocky, red-faced corporal who said, “Oh, the Doc? Yeah, he’s over by the tracks in a big red barn-looking building, kind of a storehouse.”
“Thanks a lot, Corporal,” said Lewis, w
ho turned and headed for the tracks.
The two men found the storage depot without too much trouble. They moved inside and at once Lewis called out, “Doctor!” From behind a pile of large wooden crates, Dr. Burns appeared with his hands full of supplies. Lewis rushed forward and shook Burns’s hand, demanding at once, “Where are Gail and Deborah?”
Burns turned from Lewis, saying, “Out back sorting supplies.” He shook hands with Aaron, exposing a badly sunburned face. He smiled, though, and said, “It’s good to see ye both! When did ye get in?”
“Just two days ago,” Aaron said. He glanced at the jumble of supplies and grinned. “It looks like a Kansas tornado passed through here. Can you make any sense out of this?”
Burns’s hair was disheveled and he had a harried look. “We’ll have to,” he said. “We’ll need all of these medical supplies when we get to the field. Come along,” he said. “The young ladies will be glad to see you.”
They followed Burns around some piles of supplies, and he led them through the loose sand to the back of the building, where Lewis called out to Gail and Deborah. The two women looked up, and Aaron took off his hat, remarking, “Look at you two. You’re both sunburned.”
Gail smiled and shook her head. “There’s no way out of it in this place,” she said. She touched her nose gingerly, adding, “I’ll be lucky if I have any skin left if I stay out in this sun much longer!”
Deborah smiled at Lewis, pleased to see him. “You look fit,” she said. “Are you ready for what’s coming?”
“Oh yes,” Lewis said confidently. He looked over at Aaron and said, “We can whip them, can’t we?”
“Sure,” Aaron said, shrugging his shoulders. “Let’s get out of the sun, though. Maybe we can find something cool to drink.”
They stayed only for a brief visit, but Deborah and Lewis went for a short walk. Lewis talked mostly about Alice, unaware that his words brought a twinge of displeasure to his companion. Finally, Deborah said, “I’ll be praying that you’ll be safe in the battle that’s coming.” Her voice held a note of urgency, and she took him unexpectedly by the arm, something she’d never done. “It’s important that you be careful,” she said quietly.
Lewis blinked in surprise and looked at the girl, seeing the seriousness in her face. “Why, I’ll be as careful as I can,” he said. He halted, then said awkwardly, “Nice of you to care.” The two turned and continued their walk and said no more.
As Aaron and Lewis made their way back to their tent, Lewis was very quiet. When they were inside he turned to Aaron and said, “Deborah’s worried about us.”
“She’s a very wise young woman,” Aaron replied. He’d faced death in the Klondike, but he knew Lewis was totally unprepared for the ordeal that lay ahead. Carefully Aaron said, “Don’t be a hero, Lewis. I’ve lost Jubal. That’s enough.”
Lewis cast a quick glance at Aaron, then dropped his eyes. Somehow things were different here, not what he had expected. He went to sleep thinking of Alice—and dreamed of returning to her to lay his triumphs at her feet. But the dream faded as the face of Deborah Laurent drifted into view. He awoke with a start, sat up in bed, and could not make anything of it. Finally he lay down and went back to sleep, wondering what he would do when bullets began to whistle around his head. . . .
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A Fragment of Destiny
The days had crawled by slowly, and no one was more impatient for the invasion to start than Lewis Winslow. It was on June 6 when he finally exploded. Aaron had been sitting on his bunk writing when Lewis stormed in, snatched his hat off, and flung it violently at his bunk. It missed and fell on the floor, whereupon Lewis kicked it, exclaiming, “We’re never going to get out of this blasted sandpit!”
Aaron looked up and took in the flushed face of his younger brother. Putting the stub of the pencil in his mouth, he chewed it thoughtfully, then said, “Calm down, Lewis! It’s just a matter of time.”
“I’d rather be back home watching the wood warp!” Lewis snapped as he snatched up his hat and tossed it under the cot. His face was a light shade of brown, tanned by the southern sun.
Aaron carefully put the pencil in his notebook and wedged it under his bunk. He lay back on the bunk, his fingers laced behind his head, and stared up at the fabric on the tent. A mosquito was snarling busily somewhere around his ear, but he thought wearily, There’s about twenty billion of them in this place—you can’t kill them all. Go on—have a bite! But then, as the mosquito sunk her proboscis into his neck, he slapped the pest and sat up abruptly.
Lewis grinned at him spitefully. “Why don’t you let it go ahead, Aaron? I gave up slapping the pesky things a long time ago.” He slumped down on the bunk and put his chin in his hands. There was a doleful look in his eyes as he said, “I’d like to get out of this place. I didn’t come down here to be eaten alive by bugs! And they say there have been some cases of yellow fever reported.”
“Dr. Burns told you that?”
“Yes, and I don’t want to miss the fight by being sick.”
The two men sat there idly, the heat sapping their strength, and finally through sheer lack of energy, they lay back until they fell into a fitful sleep.
They rose the next morning at the bugle call and were dressing when Isaiah Wilson, a black trooper attached to their unit as a hostler, opened the flap on their tent and stuck his head inside. His eyes were wide with excitement and he said, “Ain’t ya’ll heard the news?”
“What is it, Isaiah?” Lewis demanded. He’d become good friends with the wiry, young trooper over the past few days. Reaching out, he pulled him inside the tent, asking, “What’s happening?”
“While you two wuz sleepin’ yo’ life away,” Wilson grinned, “the orders done come through.” He was at once thrust back and forth between the two as they bombarded him with questions. Shoving them away, he grinned, “Here—don’t jostle me around. I done et breakfast. I don’t like my food to be all roiled after it’s et!”
“Never mind roiling!” Aaron said. “What’s going on?” His gray eyes were snapping and he demanded, “When are we getting out of this place?”
“Today, I hear! So you’d better git dis tent pulled down and git your stuff together.”
Lewis and Aaron piled out of the tent and found the whole encampment in pandemonium. Officers were yelling and troopers were struggling to take their tents down and pull their gear together. “Come on, Lewis!” Aaron said instantly. “This looks like the real thing . . . !”
An hour later, they found themselves with the rest of the regiment, out of breath and waiting for the train that would take them to the coast. However, after over an hour, they all grew restive.
“It looks like we’ve been stood up.” Aaron shook his head in disgust, then suddenly pointed and said, “Hey—there’s the colonel. He looks mad as a hornet!”
Roosevelt came stalking toward the track, accompanied by Major Spotsworth. Aaron was close enough to hear him say, “Major, where’s the train?”
“I don’t know, sir. It was supposed to be here by now.”
Roosevelt stood there, a disreputable-looking figure with his uniform wrinkled as always. Aaron was close enough to see his mouth drawn into a thin line, covering the prominent teeth, and his eyes were pulled almost shut. Suddenly he pointed and blurted out, “What’s that train down there?”
“Coal train, sir,” the major said nervously. “It hauls the coal in from up north. It’s empty now, waiting to go out.”
“We’re taking that train!” Roosevelt snapped.
“Sir?”
“You heard me, Major. We’ll take that train to the coast.” Roosevelt lifted his voice and called, “Officers—get your men in that train on the double!”
Lewis laughed suddenly as he began running along with Aaron and the others. “Looks like we’re going to begin this war by stealing a train!” he yelped. “Can’t think of a better way to do it!”
The men piled into the empty coal cars and wer
e covered immediately by a fine black dust that rose like a cloud. “Well, I sure hope we don’t have inspection today,” Lewis grinned. The two watched as the engineer was literally forced into the cab, accompanied by Roosevelt and two of his officers. Soon the whistle screamed and the train jerked into motion. As they left Tampa, a wild, ragged cheer went up from the soldiers, and it was Isaiah Wilson, standing next to Lewis, who said, “I sure ain’t sorry to say goodbye to this place! Come on, Cuba!”
****
The Rough Riders arrived at the coast and labored all day loading baggage, food, ammunition, and the officers’ horses. As night fell, the transport pulled away from the dock and anchored among the other waiting ships. The boat was overloaded, and the men were packed in like sardines—not only below but topside as well. That night it was only possible to walk about by stepping over sleepers. The travel rations that had been issued to the men were not sufficient, and the meat served at the evening meal was very bad. Roosevelt was heard to have called it “nauseous stuff called canned, fresh beef.”
“Tastes like embalmed beef to me,” Lewis said, spitting out a bite of the stuff and tossing his ration overboard. “I hope we get something besides that to eat before we get to Cuba.”
There were no facilities for cooking and, of course, no ice. They discovered the water wasn’t good, and there were no vegetables or fresh meat. However, as they were all boxed and ready to go on their way, there was remarkably little complaining. That is, until a telegram came from the Secretary of War in Washington. It read, “Wait until you get further orders before you sail.”
They soon discovered that the navy had spotted what seemed to be a Spanish armed cruiser nearby, and through some inexplicable timidity, the navy held up the Spanish-American War until they made certain that there was no Spanish warship. As the troops suffered the heat and crowded conditions for the next two days, Roosevelt jotted down a note to his friend, Cabot Lodge, on June 10:
The troops are jammed together on this crowded ship. We are in a sewer, a canal which is festering. The steamer that we’re on contains nearly a thousand men, and there’s room for only five hundred. Several companies are down in the lower hole, which is much like the Black Hole of Calcutta. The officers were embarked last Sunday with the artillery horses, which have begun to die already under these conditions.
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