This was immediately responded to by Captain Chadwick, who came on board, assuring me that our place was at Santiago—as quickly as we could be gotten there.

On Saturday, the sixteenth, feeling that it might still be possible to take the supplies to Guantanamo, requested by Captain McCalla, a letter was addressed as follows:

Reply to the above:

It was after this that we turned back again and steamed to Guantanamo to unload our supplies at night and return the next morning.

These were anxious days. While the world outside was making up war history, we thought of little beyond the terrible needs about us—if Santiago had any people left, they must be in sore distress, and El Caney—terrible El Caney—with its thirty thousand homeless, perishing sufferers, how could they be reached?

The diary at this point says: On returning from our fruitless journey to Guantanamo we stopped at Siboney only long enough to get our dispatches, then ran down directly in front of Santiago and lay with the fleet. A personal call from Admiral Schley, Captain Cook and other officers served to show the interest and good will of those about us. Between three and four o’clock in the afternoon a small Spanish steamer—which had been among the captures of Santiago—ran alongside and informed us that an officer wished to come aboard. It proved to be Lieutenant Capehart, of the flagship, who brought word from Admiral Sampson that if we would come alongside the “New York,” he would put a pilot on board. This was done and we moved on through waters we had never traversed—past Morro Castle, long, low, silent and grim—past the Spanish wrecks on the right—past the “Merrimac” in the channel, which Hobson had left. We began to realize that we were alone, of all the ships about the harbor there were none with us. The stillness of the Sabbath was over all. The gulls sailed and flapped and dipped about us. The lowering summer sun shot long golden rays athwart the green hills on either side, and tinged the waters calm and still. The silence grew oppressive as we glided along with scarce a ripple. We saw on the right as the only moving thing a long slim boat or yacht dart out from among the bushes and steal its way up half hidden in the shadows. Suddenly it was overtaken by either message or messenger, and like a collared hound glided back as if it had never been. Leaning on the rail half lost in reverie over the strange quiet beauty of the scene, the thought suddenly burst upon me: Are we really going into Santiago—and alone? Are we not to be run out and wait aside and salute with dipping colors while the great battleships come up with music and banners and lead the way? As far as the eye could reach no ship was in sight. Was this to remain so? Could it be possible that the commander who had captured a city declined to be the first to enter—that he would hold back his flagship and himself and send forward and first a cargo of food on a plain ship, under direction of a woman? Did our commands, military or naval, hold men great enough of soul for such action? It must be true—for the spires of Santiago rise before us, and turning to the score of companions beside me I asked, “Is there any one here who will lead the doxology?” In an instant the full rich voice of Enola Gardner rang out: “Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.” By that time the chorus was full, and the tears on many a face told more plainly than words how genuine was that praise, and when in response to a second suggestion “My Country, ’Tis of Thee” swelled out on the evening air in the farewell rays of the setting sun, the “State of Texas” was nearing the dock, and quietly dropping her anchors she lay there in undisputed possession of the city of Santiago.

It has been remarked that Mr. Elwell had been a resident of Santiago and connected with its shipping for several years. It was only the work of an hour after landing to find his old-time help. A hundred and twenty-five stevedores were engaged to be on the dock at six o’clock next morning, to work for pay in rations.

The dock had its track and trucks running to its open warehouses. As we had entered we saw it bare of every movable or living thing. Want had swept it of all that could be carried away, and the remaining people dared not approach us. Six o’clock next morning changed the scene. The silence was no longer oppressive. The boxes, barrels and bales pitched out of that ship, thrown onto the trucks and wheeled away told the story of better days to come; and it was something to see that lank, brawny little army of stevedores take their first breakfast in line alongside of the ship.

The city was literally without food. In order to clear it for defence, its inhabitants had been ordered out, ten days before, to El Caney, a small town of some five hundred people, where it was said thirty thousand persons were gathered, without food, shelter, or place of rest. Among these were the old-time residents—the wealthy and the best people of Santiago. Its British consul, Mr. Ramsden, and his family were of them, and the care and hardship of that terrible camp cost his life. A message from the headquarters of General Shafter, telegraphed to us even after leaving Siboney, said:

“The death rate at El Caney is terrible. Can you send food?”

Word went back to send the thirty thousand refugees of El Caney at once back to Santiago;—we were there and could feed them—that the “State of Texas” had still on board twelve hundred tons of supplies for the reconcentrados. That day poured in upon us all that had strength to make the journey, of the thirty thousand starving wrecks of El Caney. If there were any at night who had not received food, no one knew it. The fires were rekindled in the great steam soup kitchens of Mr. H. Michaelsen—that name should be carved in marble and lettered in gold in Santiago—that had run uninterrupted for nearly two years, until within a few weeks of the surrender, when there was no more food for its kettles. Ten thousand persons had hot soup there the first day, and it was estimated that ten thousand more had dry food of crackers, meat and meal. To the sick were distributed condensed and malted milk as fast as it could be gotten to them.

Of the districting of the city, the formation of committees for the distribution of food, the care, the justice, and the success with which it was done, I leave to the reports of my experienced staff officers and assistants and to the committee of Santiago, which nobly volunteered its aid. These persons performed this work—they were a part of it—and no one can describe it so well as they. I refer the reader to the reports of Dr. Hubbell, Dr. Egan, Mr. Cottrell, Miss Fowler, now the wife of Baron Van Schelle of Belgium, and the committee of Santiago composed of H. Michaelsen, vice-consul for Germany, Robert Mason, Chinese consul and vice-consul for England, and Wm. Ramsden, son of the late Frederick Ramsden, British consul. With these latter gentlemen, together with twenty of the leading ladies of Santiago, was left, one month later, the supplies remaining in our warehouses, and the oversight of the poor of the city, over whom their care had extended so tenderly and so wisely in the past, and on whom as helping them back into citizenship it must largely devolve in the future.

Returning to our first day in Santiago, it is remembered that this narration has thus far left the navy, its flagship and commander at the entrance of the harbor in obscurity. It would seem but just that it reproduce them.

Until ten o’clock on Monday the eighteenth we saw no sign of life on the waters of the bay—neither sail, steam nor boat—but suddenly word passed down from the watch on deck that a ship was sighted. Slowly it came in view—large, fine, full masted—and orders went to salute when it should pass. At length here was something to which we could pay deference. The whistles were held, the flag was ready for action, ropes straight and without a tangle—all stood breathless—but she does not pass, and seems to be standing in. In a minute more a stout sailor voice calls out: “Throw us a rope,” and here, without salute, whistle or bell, came and fastened to the stern of our boat this glittering and masted steamship from whose decks below Admirals Sampson and Schley and their respective staffs shouted up their familiar greetings to us.

The view from their ship enfiladed, to speak in military parlance, our entire dock. There was every opportunity to see how our work was done and if we were equal to unloading our ship. The day was spent with us till four o’clock in the afternoon; and when about to leave and the admiral was asked what orders or directions he had for us, the reply was, “You need no directions from me, but if anyone troubles you, let me know.”

Many months have passed since that day, and I write this without ever having seen again the face of the commander who had been so courteous and kind, and so helpful in the work I went to do.

Under date of July 23 is found the following entry in the diary which sums up the entire matter of facts, dates and figures in few words:

“The discharge of the cargo of the ‘State of Texas’ of over twelve hundred tons, commenced at six o’clock Monday, July 18. One hundred and twenty-five stevedores were employed and paid in food issued as rations.

“On Thursday, the twenty-first, at six o’clock p.m. the discharge was completed, and the following morning, Friday, July 22, the ship left for New York.

“During that time the people had returned to Santiago, numbering thirty thousand, and all were fed—ten thousand a day from the soup kitchen of Mr. Michaelsen, the others with bread, meat and milk.

“The present general committee was formed, the city districted into sections, with a commissioner for each district, selected by the people themselves living there.

“Every family or person residing in the city is supplied by the commissioner of that district. All transient persons are fed at the kitchen, the food being provided by the Red Cross.

“Although the army has entered the city during the latter part of that time, there has been no confusion, no groups of disorderly persons seen, no hunger in the city more than in ordinary times. We wait the repairs of the railroads to enable us to get food and clothing to the villages enclosed within the lines of the surrender.”

We had done all that could be done to advantage at that time in Santiago. The United States troops had mainly left; the Spanish soldiers were coming in to their waiting ships, bringing with them all the diseases that unprovided and uncleanly camps would be expected to hold in store. Five weeks before we had brought into Santiago all the cargo of fourteen hundred tons of the “State of Texas,” excepting the light hospital supplies which had been used the month previous among our own troops at Siboney, General Shafter’s front and El Caney during the days of fighting. To any one accustomed to apportioning food, it would be at once apparent that these twelve hundred tons of heavy supplies, of meal, meat, beans and flour, etc., were too much for distribution at one time for a little town of thirty thousand, which naturally partly fed itself. But it must all be stored.

The “State of Texas” discharged her cargo and left for New York on the fifth day, leaving us without a particle of transportation, and in the pressure and confusion none could be obtained. Let those who tried it testify. The two railroads leading out of the town were destroyed. The ports were not open, and the country portions of the province reached only by pack mules. Later, forty large, fine healthy mules were shipped to us, but the half score of fully equipped ambulances, harnesses and between four hundred and five hundred bushels of oats were on the transports which brought them, could not be lightered off, and up to the time of our departure were never seen.

The schooner “Morse,” which, following the behest of an angelic thought of some lovely committee of home ladies, had come in laden with a thousand tons of ice. The tug “Triton,” which towed her all the way from Kennebec, and was to have been held for our use, was at once seized by the government. Santiago had neither an ice house nor a pile of dry sawdust, and the ice remained on the “Morse” till discharged order by order among the transports of sick, wounded and convalescing as they sailed one after another with their freight of human woe. Slowly, painfully waiting, but gladly, piece by piece, the ice went out, filling to repletion the box of every transport sailing north, and something glistened on the weather-beaten bronzed cheek of more than one of those long-serving, faithful, north Atlantic captains, as he tried to say what it would be to the poor fever-burnt sufferers he must take.

Visions, of the schooner “Morse” when she should be unloaded constituted our only transportation up to the day we left Santiago. I cannot say that other visions did not obtrude at times. In our perplexity, memory pictured, as in another life, the hundreds of strong-built, luxuriantly-furnished, swift-running steam tugs, yachts and house boats of the restful “Thousand Islands,” and the health and pleasure-giving resorts of the lovely Jersey coast; but they were only visions, quickly put aside for the stern realities of the inevitable surroundings. The “Morse” did well its blessed work, but never came to us.

Neither for love nor money could transportation be gotten. I did, however, near the last, obtain the use of a leaky lighter for two hours to get off some mules, but I might specify that it was on neither of the above considerations.

Some reporter is responsible for the statement that a large ship seen floating near the dock that morning had been seized. While it might not be possible to verify this statement by actual facts, it was not so very far out of the way in theory.

These were the last days of General Shafter in Santiago, who was, as he had at all times been, the kind and courteous officer and gentleman.

General Wood, alert, wise and untiring, with an eye single to the general good of all, toiled day and night.

The government warehouses were so filled with supplies that there seemed no room for more. The harbor filling with merchant ships for the trade, would soon come to regard with a jealous eye any body of persons who dispensed anything without price to even the poorest and most destitute.

But all this did not stay the marching stride of the native fever, so persistent in its grasp as scarcely to merit the appellation of intermittent. Day by day I watched my little band ever growing less; out of twenty which the good “State of Texas” brought, seven were on their feet; twelve had sickened, been nursed and gotten off home, and one had gone to heaven. Of our own band of the national Red Cross workers, none had actually gone down; of those who had joined us as assistants, few remained.

At this juncture news came that Havana was open. In all the country I knew but one person who had the power to order one of those waiting transports to take myself, staff and some supplies to Havana, and my dispatch went to President McKinley, with the suggestion kindly and thoughtfully made by Major Osgood who had just come in on the “Clinton,” that in order to economize time and labor, possibly the President might furnish a ship already loaded with government supplies, and let us repay from our supplies on shore. This dispatch brought the following prompt reply from the Secretary of War. It was a glad reminder of the kindly courtesy and friendship of many years. I give the text of both the dispatch of the Secretary and my reply, in order to set right a misunderstanding on the part of the public, which I have observed with pain:

The reloading was quickly accomplished, the direction of our remaining affairs placed in proper hands, and on the twenty-first of August, just five weeks to an hour since entering the harbor, we retraced the waters we had sailed over coming from Siboney to Santiago. The same golden sunshine rested on the hills and tinged the still waters of the bay, but we were no longer the only ship. The transports to take our soldiers home lay there; the great Spanish liners to take the Spanish soldiers to Spain; the hospital ships with their fevered weight of glad woe “going home,” dotted the sea and skirted the shore.

All who understood our movement saluted, and with tearful glances back to the little spot of earth which had given so much pain, made so many homes in both lands desolate, we ordered on full steam and glided away. Five days of continuous sunshine and scarcely wind to fill a sail brought us to Havana. I had cabled the Spanish authorities on our departure from Santiago and notified them of our arrival, and was courteously referred to the Civil Governor of Havana, on whom I called and received in return a most cordial visit, with the added respect of bringing his entire staff with him.

No supplies from Port Tampa having arrived we spent the second day in Matanzas, receiving from the good Governor and his amiable household such a welcome as one might expect from those they had known longest and loved most. We then hoped to go there at once and leave the supplies they so badly needed.

Next day there came into harbor the steamship “Comal,” from Port Tampa, laden with sixteen hundred tons of government supplies for distribution. We exchanged visits with her gentlemanly and sensible officers, who had governmental instructions to take their cargo to Havana and distribute it, but no instructions to act in conjunction with us or with any one; and we, on the other hand, received no intimation that her supplies were in any way intended for our use.

Both ships alike met the restriction of the customs duties, and while I felt that it might be well for a governmental cargo to test its position with the law of nations, under the circumstances, it was by no means the course for the Red Cross to take—an organization which never leads, but follows, in all military matters.

No commissioners had arrived, and feeling that we might become a source of irritation to them by remaining, and being unable to distribute our supplies, we decided to withdraw. Our captain, having been trained in the merchant service and being unaccustomed to military shipping, had neglected some little formality on leaving Santiago, which admitted, or perhaps called for, a fine of five hundred dollars. This we promptly paid, and with the best understanding with all parties, Spanish, Cuban and our own, no coercion on the part of any one, impelled by nothing but our own sense of the situation, we decided our course. In fact, strenuous efforts were made by the Spanish officials, notably the Secretary of State, to open the way for us; and while they could not override the law and positively remit a duty, they offered in this case to pay the duty themselves, and take part in the distribution. We appreciated the courtesy, but still felt that we might in some way become a hindrance to the pending negotiations by remaining, and after careful consideration, decided to draw anchor and steam for Port Tampa, leaving the “Comal” with its full cargo and efficient officers to meet the situation in the good governmental way, we were sure they would do.

This explanation is given to set right the general impression that the “Comal” was a Red Cross ship. There was no connection whatever between the “Comal” and ourselves, excepting through good will and good fellowship; and again the impression that we were mistreated by the Spanish government at Havana, subjected to discourtesy or requested to leave is a mistaken one. The facts are quite the contrary. We entered under the supposition that Havana was open, as Santiago was open; but it was not an open port. We were in Spanish waters, subject to Spanish laws and customs, and so regarded them, as we should have expected to do in any country, remembering experimentally that our own country is not too much inclined to easily remit its custom duties.

Dividing the time of our Cuban campaign into sections, the incoming days fall exclusively to Santiago. Days of an army in one sense inactive, in another rushed and crowded beyond its powers to meet or control. Days when everything is needed and nothing can be gotten at. No one knows where anything is—must have a formal order to obtain it when it is found, and cannot get the order. Officers clamor for their needy men, the sick list increases, complaints are rife, patience gives place to desperation, and a time of general confusion follows.

Again I would say that to those taking the first lessons in army life, all these things seem incomprehensible, to say the least, and “Who’s to blame?” seems to be floating in the very atmosphere about them.

Deplore such a state of things as we will, it is still a part of army life. It belongs to war, and the grey-haired military chief, whom all would recognize were I to name him, was correct when he once said to me: “Strange as it may seem, the days of ‘rest’ at an active field are its hardest days.”

The ofttimes perplexed officers at Santiago will neither exclaim nor disclaim against this little statement, if it should ever meet their eyes. They will realize, however, that there were others, near them having no power, or scarcely place, who could yet comprehend their perplexities, and sympathize with the distressing conditions surrounding them.

They will also recall that from this source no unreasonable request was ever made of them, no impatient word spoken—only thanks for needed facilities that could be granted, for those withheld, respectful acquiesence.

To every officer on that first conquered field of Cuba, who extended to the organization I had there the honor to represent, or to myself personally, the smallest recognition or kindness, if it were only a mere courtesy, I tender in behalf of the Red Cross, honoring gratitude and heartfelt thanks. As soldiers, they performed their duty; as men, they sustained their own manly self-respect.

Knowing that several of my aides have kept their own notes during the entire campaign, especially as pertaining to the department occupied by each, I have for the sake of accuracy and perspicuity, invited them to contribute, from their notes, reports to this hastily written volume. These reports must perforce so completely cover the time of this rather uneventful period, until we should again enter upon some more active operations, I decide to leave this space to them, referring the reader, if he have the interest to follow, to these reports, and especially to the letter from our Santiago committee, composed of the leading men of the city, whose faithful service, wisdom and care for the interests of their community, lends a halo of grateful remembrance to the very mention of their names.

REPORT OF DR. A. MONAE LESSER.

In response to a call from the president of the American National Red Cross, I left this city with Mrs. Lesser for Key West on June 15. On my trip South, a train of recruits commanded by First Lieutenant Heavey, First Infantry, joined us on their way to Tampa. There were a number of sick on this train; I offered my services to the lieutenant, which he accepted, and I attended the sick. Most of them had bowel troubles; either diarrhœa or constipation; several had fever, and some sore throats. One private was very ill, and lay on a short bench in a Southern Railroad coach. His temperature was high, and his condition somewhat alarming. I engaged a section in a sleeping car, saw that he was made comfortable, gave him medicine, and Mrs. Lesser nursed him until we arrived in Tampa. The lighter cases as well as the one special case were much improved when we arrived at Tampa, still I mentioned that the patient be taken in an ambulance which the lieutenant ordered by telegraph before we reached Tampa. We then proceeded to the steamer “Mascot,” bound for Key West. On board were a number of marines of the United States Navy, several of them suffering from the same troubles as Lieutenant Heavey’s recruits. Among them was one case of erysipelas, due to improper care of a vaccinated pox. We attended him, and left him and all the others comparatively well in Key West, where Mrs. Lesser and myself joined Miss Barton and staff on the steamship “State of Texas.”

The following morning, June 20, we started for Cuba, reaching Santiago after a six days’ journey. On June 26, Mr. George Kennan, vice-president of the American National Red Cross, interviewed Admiral Sampson for instructions, and the steamship “State of Texas” was directed to Guantanamo, where we remained over night.

The following morning, June 27, a correspondent of a New York paper boarded the “Texas” and informed Miss Barton that a battle had been fought at the front, and that there were a number of sick and wounded at Siboney.

Miss Barton gave orders for the ship to return immediately to Siboney (a little village between Santiago and Guantanamo), at which place we arrived at 9.20 p.m.

Work in the Field.

Upon arriving at Siboney, although it was late in the evening, I was directed by Miss Barton to go ashore to inquire into the needs of the hospital, and if any, to present her compliments, and to make the following offer:—Although the “State of Texas” was sent to feed the refugees and starving Cubans, it carried some persons and articles that might serve for hospital purposes, and that the Red Cross considers its first duty to be to help those who are nearest.

There was a large barn to which I was directed when I asked for the hospital. I introduced myself and staff to the physician, extended the compliments of the president of the Red Cross offering the services of her staff, as well as needed supplies. The physician in charge very courteously answered that he had been ordered to go to the front the following morning, and not needing anything, thanked the Red Cross for its offer.

Westward from the landing place was a pond of stagnant water. Upon a little hill across a railroad track stood a number of wooden cottages. The first large one, which seemed to have been some kind of a store, and a barn westward from it was pointed out to me as another hospital. (It was the same house which later was used as a post-office, in which Postmaster Brewer contracted yellow fever, but which was never used by the Red Cross.) There were a number of sick soldiers lying around on the floor, Surgeon-Major Havard being in command. I made the same offer to the major as I had made in the first place, and the condition of affairs being apparent, I tendered him the services of the Sisters, as well as cots and blankets for his sick; for which he thanked me, adding that he would accept the cots and blankets, but that he did not require nurses. I invited him to the steamship “State of Texas” to see Miss Barton, so that he might select such articles or service as he desired. From there I went with the staff to Dr. Virano, surgeon-in-chief of the Cuban Hospital, making the same statement and offers to him. He introduced us to General Garcia and his staff, and thankfully accepted the offer of the Red Cross. His patients were lying on cots and on the floor, little care apparently having been given to put the house in fit and proper condition. This ended our duty of the evening, and we returned to the ship.

The next morning, June 28, Major Surgeon Havard visited Miss Barton on the “Texas,” as also did a Cuban delegation; the former made a request for cots, and the latter for the assistance of nurses, and food for the sick. Sister Isabel, Sister Minnie, Sister Annie and Sister Blanch under the direction of Mrs. Lesser went to the Cuban Hospital, taking with them proper nourishment for the sick, and utensils for preparing the same. The work of relief then began at the Cuban Hospital, and beds and blankets were sent on shore for Major Havard.

The same morning Miss Barton directed me to go to the front and find out if anything was needed at the camps, and accompanied by Mr. George Kennan and Mr. Elwell I started about 10.00 a.m. A large detachment of infantry which the night before had camped along the shore of Siboney, had gone on the road up the hill about a thousand feet in height, while another detachment of infantry and artillery took the lower road in the valley, being the only road for vehicles which leads from Siboney to Santiago. The men looked well, although the heat prostrated a number of them on the march. We walked along the latter road as far as the Camp of Rough Riders, which on that day was the furthest in front, a distance of eight miles from Siboney. It was several days after the battle between the Rough Riders and the Spaniards.

The next day, June 29th, I returned to the shore with the Sisters, whose work and value had been observed by others. Siboney with a large water supply and a sea breeze was selected for the Reserve Divisional Hospital of the Fifth Corps. Surgeon-Major La Garde, of the regular army service, was the chief of the department. His supply was small, and conveniences still smaller, which he said was owing to the fact that through military necessity medical and hospital supplies of the army were still on the transports, with no means of unloading. There were but few hospital tents, and the cots in them were occupied by a number of patients, in whom Dr. Fauntleroy took great interest. I offered the services of the Red Cross, as directed by the president. The major, a man with humane ideas, unable to get such supplies as were needed, accepted any reasonable aid that he could receive.

Our offer came at a moment when we could be of help. Surgeon-Major Havard with his staff had been ordered to the front and was unable to place the cots we had landed. His patients, who were suffering from typhoid fever, measles and other diseases, were transferred to Major La Garde’s camp. Battle was expected every day, and the major in order to be as well prepared as possible, accepted the offer of assistance made by the Red Cross, and placed a house at our disposal to serve as a hospital. He addressed a formal letter to Miss Barton, who answered at once in kind words and deeds. We also immediately sent word to Miss Barton, describing the requirements. The Sisters cleaned the muddy house, then disinfected it; Miss Barton sent from the “State of Texas” cots and bedding; food, stoves and utensils to prepare the same. In a few hours our house was disinfected and in order, and about thirty-nine patients were carried to it; most of them had typhoid fever and a few had measles.

The night of July 1, however, our work had to be changed. The major called for all assistance possible to attend the wounded who were arriving from the battlefield of Santiago. Large numbers of the wounded were brought down, many of whom walked miles. Men with bullet wounds through their lungs walked and crept for hours to get to the hospital. There were hospitals nearer to the front, but all seemed to have been overcrowded by the work of that day, and many soldiers had lost their way in the undergrowth and wandered about until they found the nearest road to a hospital. Many walked because they complained that the rough roads and heavy wagons increased their pains with every jolt. Surgeon-Major La Garde’s management can never be too highly praised. The wounded men that came down in the wagons were examined by him and laid somewhere to be comfortable until they could have attendance. By “comfortable” I mean as far as the situation would permit.

Every surgeon and nurse was put to work. Mrs. Lesser and the Sisters were called to assist at an operating table, and Sister Annie McCue and Mrs. Trumbull White were left in charge of the hospital building. At first I had the pleasure of assisting a very able army surgeon, Dr. Fauntleroy, but the same evening a table was assigned to me by Major La Garde. There were six tables in the tent, which were in charge of the following surgeons: Drs. Fauntleroy, Ireland, Nancrede, Munson, Parker, Howard and myself, some coming later than others. The work continued all night, each operator having one assistant and one of the Sisters at his table, continuing all of the following day. As the wounded came down in numbers, and there were not cots for them, they had to be left in any position around the ground. Major La Garde and Chaplain Gavitt were at all times kept busy having long flies put up to protect them in case it should rain.

Every moment news of another battle was expected; the experience of the first, with no better means as yet at hand, was a matter of great concern and worry to all present. Suggestions were made and discussed. Finally it was agreed to request more Red Cross aid by telegraph. A call for one hundred Sisters was suggested, and Mrs. Lesser was consulted in the matter. We had fifty trained nurses and assistants on our lists, also women to act as matrons to distribute nourishment; we promised to send for that number immediately, as we had sent for twenty-five already. That morning Miss Barton, with Mr. Kennan and several of her staff, had gone to the front, and before leaving, Miss Barton instructed her secretary, Mr. C.H.H. Cottrell, that, at our request, he should cable in her name for such persons and material as should be needed in the Hospital Department. We cabled for fifty nurses, ten assistants, a number of immune physicians, complete hospital equipment, and a quantity of surgical material, sufficient to make at least five hundred patients comfortable.

The work was performed almost without intermission, every surgeon employing all his energies. The feeling in the hospital among the members of the surgical staff was an excellent one.

The night of the third we expected to be able to rest a few hours, but during the day the fleet had fought its battle, and a number of Spanish wounded prisoners were taken off by the various ships. Dr. Lewis, chief surgeon of the “Harvard,” who assisted in attending the wounded at the hospital at Siboney, invited Dr. Parker, myself and the Sisters to help him in attending the wounded Spaniards, to which we gladly responded and spent the night on the “Harvard.”

The wounded continued to arrive for four days, many of them telling that they had been shot on the first day of the battle, July 1, and as yet had received no care except from some comrade who had with him the little emergency package.

Permit me to say here that I believe the little emergency package has saved many a man from death through bleeding.

Most notable and commendable was the desire of the surgical staff to save limbs when at all possible; and I have seen and often joined Drs. Fauntleroy, Nancrede, Ireland and Parker in the work, spending an hour for resection of the part in order to prevent amputation. Of course all endeavored to do the same, and out of the total number of 1415 wounded treated in the Siboney Hospital after the battle, there were but three amputations of the thigh, two of the leg and one of the forearm, that I observed in the camp. The death rate was also very small, as most of the shots made clean wounds, and only when they affected most vital parts did they cause death.

The dressing of wounds and the operating upon the wounded, however, were not all the service required by the injured. Shelter, comfortable cots and blankets were needed, very few of which had been landed. Still, as the wounded came, and the needs became greater, I saw Surgeon-Major La Garde, most ably assisted by Chaplain Gavitt, hunt about for canvas or anything that would act as cover for a tent, and have it put up along the tents and flies. Their work was unceasing. In those days every officer and member of the medical staff gave up his cot and tent that the wounded might find some kind of shelter and proper resting place; but in spite of that they were inadequate. The largest number of wounded lay on the ground, some on blankets, others on canvas, or if very severely wounded, on a litter.

The steamship “State of Texas” had a number of cots (I believe 350) which were originally meant for Cuban relief, many of which we used in the Red Cross Hospital at Siboney; when I informed Miss Barton of the condition of affairs, all cots that were in the ship were unloaded and sent to the hospital, and the most seriously wounded received comfortable resting places.

The gauze, particularly the iodoform gauze, and bandages soon gave out. The “State of Texas” carried a quantity of surgical dressings. All that was necessary was to ask Miss Barton for them, who immediately sent on land any article needed if in her possession.

Among our patients were several cases of gunshot wound through the skull and brain near the eyes; the eyes were inflamed, and ice had to be applied continuously to relieve excruciating pain. Dr. Fauntleroy suggested that the cases be sent to the Red Cross Hospital, we had there the only ice in the field at that time; it also came from the “State of Texas,” from which we received a daily supply. The eye cases were carefully attended by Mrs. White, the wife of Dr. Trumbull White, of the Chicago Record, who deserves much praise for the constant attention which she gave them. It was necessary to make continuous application of ice every few minutes, which she did with constant and unceasing care. Mrs. White is not a trained nurse, but a gentle, wise woman. I agree with the remarks of Dr. Fauntleroy when he said that her attention and the ice relieved much suffering and saved quite a few from blindness. Captain Mills, who was one of the wounded in that manner, may tell of his own experience.

Most of the cases of gunshot wounds gave very little work to the surgeons, as the bullet entered at one place and made its exit at another, thus leaving a clean wound. Even through vital parts of the body, such as the brain and abdomen, bullets passed without apparently giving the patient any great distress. The simple cases did not need much attention; cleanliness and a cushioned dressing well protected was all they usually required. In fact, many of the smaller wounds came to us bandaged with a little emergency pad, progressing in healing. These were always shots from the Mauser bullet. Many of the men that I saw were shot in the shoulder, the bullets making exits through the back. Some gunshot wounds had two places of exit and entrance in their course. For instance, I had cases in which the bullet had gone into the upper and lateral part of the cranium, come out behind the ear, went into the shoulder and came out behind and below the shoulder blade; or had made its course through the left arm, again entering the right chest and coming out at the back. It would perhaps be out of place to enumerate or describe in this report the many courses which the bullets have taken, but as stated, most of them required little attention. There were, however, some serious wounds, such as compound comminuted fractures, in the treatment of which great skill was shown by the various surgeons in the hospital. Those were the cases which in former years would have resulted in amputation, but drainage and cleanliness, plainly speaking, have given the patients the advantage of keeping their limbs.

In the simple cases one could work alone, with the assistance of a Sister or a hospital steward, but in the more difficult cases good surgical skill was required, and it was often a source of great gratification to see two eminent surgeons, of equally good reputation, assisting each other in a difficult case; one advising, the other acting; thus the greatest harmony existed among the members of the staff. The Sisters being required in the operating tents as also the stewards there were no nurses in the tents to care for the wounded.

No food had been prepared for the large number of wounded lying on the cots or on the ground on blankets or canvas; a great many of them were too helpless even to turn. Surgeon-Major La Garde did me the honor of consulting me in regard to the nursing, and I suggested that some of the Sisters leave the operating tables, which were by that time supplied with other assistants.

The major then sent for Mrs. Lesser, who suggested that the worst cases be brought into one or two rows of tents, as the small staff of Sisters brought into Cuba was not sufficient to take charge of all and do them justice. The rows of tents were then placed in her charge, and she portioned the work of caring for them among the Sisters assisted by hospital corps men. The soldiers were nearly famished; some had not received a morsel of food for two days. Oatmeal gruel, coffee and quantities of prune juice and other articles of relish were at once prepared at the Red Cross Hospital in big cans which had come from the “State of Texas,” and with the assistance of the ever active indefatigable Chaplain Gavitt, and several newspaper correspondents, the wounded soldiers received such food as their conditions allowed.

Unfortunately the surgeons lost track of the greater number of their cases. The patient marked for redressing was placed on any table, and the surgeon in charge of that table redressed the wound; thus it was hard to say what result one or the other had obtained, with the exception of a few cases, which by special request one was allowed to continue to observe. Some of the patients came down with their wounds dressed in some hospital at the front, and I may here mention that I saw excellent work coming from the hospital in command of Dr. Woods.

When the rush was over, I was called to the camp where the Spanish prisoners were located. I prescribed for their ailments, while the Sisters supplied their food. In addition, I answered the calls which came from Cuban families in Siboney. Some Spanish prisoners were wounded and others suffered from fevers. Those who were wounded had their wounds dressed at the scene of battle, and although some of the dressings were temporary, they feared to have any person touch them, until assured that they would be treated as gently as possible. The patients had now all been operated upon and attended; only some of the wounds needed redressing. They were taken to the transport hospital ships as soon as their condition permitted. It was about that time the hospital ship Relief arrived, bringing more food for invalids and more equipped cots.

Dr. Guiteras, who visited all the hospitals daily, informed me one afternoon that he had found a case of yellow fever in camp (not in our hospital), developed in a place near Siboney. There were two or more suspicious cases which he had watched, and he believed that yellow fever would develop very rapidly. I called the Sisters together, presented the situation to them, that they might decide whether to stay in the field or return to the “State of Texas.” Their unanimous decision to stay and face the consequences made them continue their work without any hesitation. The Red Cross Hospital building became crowded, one room was set aside for doubtful cases, while the other rooms were occupied with typhoid patients. The porch in front of the house, shaded with canvas, and a little isolated room to the right, sheltered the wounded.

My work at the Red Cross Hospital became continuous, as a large number of patients came from the various camps to receive attention, and still a larger number from our camp came for consultation and treatment. The number of such consultations I discontinued to write down after three hundred were attended, Americans, Spanish and Cubans together.