by RICHARD HARDING DAVIS illustrated CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS NEW YORK::::::::::::::::::::::::1911 Copyright , 1897, by HARPER & BROTHERS * * * * * Copyright , 1898, 1900, 1910, by CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS Contents: The Cuban-Spanish War   The Death of Rodriguez The Greek-Turkish War   The Battle of Velestinos The Spanish-American War   I.    The Rough Riders at Guasimas   II.  The Battle of San Juan Hill   III. The Taking of Coamo   IV.  The Passing of San Juan Hill The South African War

Adolfo Rodriguez was the only son of a Cuban farmer, who lived nine miles outside of Santa Clara, beyond the hills that surround that city to the north. When the revolution in Cuba broke out young Rodriguez joined the insurgents, leaving his father and mother and two sisters at the farm.  He was taken, in December of 1896, by a force of the Guardia Civile, the corps d’élite of the Spanish army, and defended himself when they tried to capture him, wounding three of them with his machete. He was t

On the day the American troops landed on the coast of Cuba, the Cubans informed General Wheeler that the enemy were intrenched at Guasimas, blocking the way to Santiago.  Guasimas is not a village, nor even a collection of houses; it is the meeting place of two trails which join at the apex of a V, three miles from the seaport town of Siboney, and continue merged in a single trail to Santiago.  General Wheeler, guided by the Cubans, reconnoitred this trail on the 23rd of June, and with the posit

After the Guasimas fight on June 24, the army was advanced along the single trail which leads from Siboney on the coast to Santiago.  Two streams of excellent water run parallel with this trail for short distances, and some eight miles from the coast crossed it in two places.  Our outposts were stationed at the first of these fords, the Cuban outposts a mile and a half farther on at the ford nearer Santiago, where the stream made a sharp turn at a place called El Poso.  Another mile and a half o

This is the inside story of the surrender, during the Spanish War, of the town of Coamo.  It is written by the man to whom the town surrendered.  Immediately after the surrender this same man became Military Governor of Coamo.  He held office for fully twenty minutes. Before beginning this story the reader must forget all he may happen to know of this particular triumph of the Porto Rican Expedition.  He must forget that the taking of Coamo has always been credited to Major-General James H. Wils

When I was a boy I thought battles were fought in waste places selected for the purpose.  I argued from the fact that when our school nine wished to play ball it was forced into the suburbs to search for a vacant lot.  I thought opposing armies also marched out of town until they reached some desolate spot where there were no window panes, and where their cannon-balls would hurt no one but themselves.  Even later, when I saw battles fought among villages, artillery galloping through a cornfield,

“Were you the station-master here before this?” I asked the man in the straw hat, at Colenso.  “I mean before this war?” “No fear!” snorted the station-master, scornfully.  “Why, we didn’t know Colenso was on the line until Buller fought a battle here.  That’s how it is with all these way-stations now.  Everybody’s talking about them.  We never took no notice to them.” And yet the arriving stranger might have been forgiven his point of view and his start of surprise when he found Chieveley a pla

After the defeat of the Boers at the battle of Pieter’s Hill there were two things left for them to do.  They could fall back across a great plain which stretched from Pieter’s Hill to Bulwana Mountain, and there make their last stand against Buller and the Ladysmith relief column, or they could abandon the siege of Ladysmith and slip away after having held Buller at bay for three months. Bulwana Mountain is shaped like a brick and blocks the valley in which Ladysmith lies.  The railroad track s

The Boer “front” was at Brandfort, and, as Lord Roberts was advancing upon that place, one already saw in the head-lines, “The Battle of Brandfort.”  But before our train drew out of Pretoria Station we learned that the English had just occupied Brandfort, and that the Boer front had been pushed back to Winburg. We decided that Brandfort was an impossible position to hold anyway, and that we had better leave the train at Winburg.  We found some selfish consolation for the Boer repulse, in the fa

We knew it was a battle because the Japanese officers told us it was.  In other wars I had seen other battles, many sorts of battles, but I had never seen a battle like that one.  Most battles are noisy, hurried, and violent, giving rise to an unnatural thirst and to the delusion that, by some unhappy coincidence, every man on the other side is shooting only at you.  This delusion is not peculiar to myself.  Many men have told me that in the confusion of battle they always get this exaggerated i

I am going to try to describe some kits and outfits I have seen used in different parts of the world by travellers and explorers, and in different campaigns by army officers and war correspondents.  Among the articles, the reader may learn of some new thing which, when next he goes hunting, fishing, or exploring, he can adapt to his own uses.  That is my hope, but I am sceptical.  I have seldom met the man who would allow any one else to select his kit, or who would admit that any other kit was