On the stones of the deserted street the
galloping hoofs sounded like the advance of a whole regiment of
cavalry. Their clatter gave us a most comfortable feeling. We
almost could imagine the townspeople believing us to be the Rough
Riders themselves and fleeing before us.
And then, the empty street seemed to threaten an ambush. We thought
hastily of sunken mines, of soldiers crouching behind the barriers,
behind the houses at the next corner, of Mausers covering us from the
latticed balconies overhead. Until at last, when the silence had
become alert and menacing, a lonely man dashed into the middle of the
street, hurled a white flag in front of us, and then dived headlong
under the porch of a house. The next instant, as though at a signal,
a hundred citizens, each with a white flag in both hands, ran from
cover, waving their banners, and gasping in weak and terror-shaken
tones, "Vivan los Americanos."
We tried to pull up, but the ponies had not yet settled among
themselves which of us had won, and carried us to the extreme edge of
the town, where a precipice seemed to invite them to stop, and we
fell off into the arms of the Porto Ricans. They brought us wine in
tin cans, cigars, borne in the aprons and mantillas of their women-
folk, and demijohns of native rum. They were abject, trembling,
tearful. They made one instantly forget that the moment before he
had been extremely frightened.
One of them spoke to me the few words of Spanish with which I had an
acquaintance. He told me he was the Alcalde, and that he begged to
surrender into my hands the town of Coamo. I led him instantly to
one side. I was afraid that if I did not take him up he would
surrender to Paget or to Jimmy. I bade him conduct me to his
official residence. He did so, and gave me the key to the cartel, a
staff of office of gold and ebony, and the flag of the town, which he
had hidden behind his writing-desk. It was a fine Spanish flag with
the coat of arms embroidered in gold. I decided that, with whatever
else I might part, that flag would always be mine, that the chance of
my again receiving the surrender of a town of five thousand people
was slender, and that this token would be wrapped around me in my
coffin. I accordingly hid it in my poncho and strapped it to my
saddle. Then I appointed a hotel-keeper, who spoke a little English,
as my official interpreter, and told the Alcalde that I was now
Military Governor, Mayor, and Chief of Police, and that I wanted the
seals of the town. He gave me a rubber stamp with a coat of arms cut
in it, and I wrote myself three letters, which, to insure their safe
arrival, I addressed to three different places, and stamped them with
the rubber seals. In time all three reached me, and I now have them
as documentary proof of the fact that for twenty minutes I was
Military Governor and Mayor of Coamo.
During that brief administration I detailed Titus and Breckenridge to
wigwag the Sixteenth Pennsylvania that we had taken the town, and
that it was now safe for them to enter. In order to compromise Paget
they used his red silk handkerchief. Root I detailed to conciliate
the inhabitants by drinking with every one of them. He tells me he
carried out my instructions to the letter. I also settled one
assault and battery case, and put the chief offender under arrest.
At least, I told the official interpreter to inform him that he was
under arrest, but as I had no one to guard him he grew tired of being
under arrest and went off to celebrate his emancipation from the rule
of Spain.
My administration came to an end in twenty minutes, when General
Wilson rode into Coamo at the head of his staff and three thousand
men. He wore a white helmet, and he looked the part of the
conquering hero so satisfactorily that I forgot I was Mayor and ran
out into the street to snap a picture of him. He looked greatly
surprised and asked me what I was doing in his town. The tone in
which he spoke caused me to decide that, after all, I would not keep
the flag of Coamo. I pulled it off my saddle and said: "General,
it's too long a story to tell you now, but here is the flag of the
town. It's the first Spanish flag" - and it was - "that has been
captured in Porto Rico."
General Wilson smiled again and accepted the flag. He and about four
thousand other soldiers think it belongs to them. But the truth will
out. Some day the bestowal on the proper persons of a vote of thanks
from Congress, a pension, or any other trifle, like prize-money, will
show the American people to whom that flag really belongs.
I know that in time the glorious deed of the seven heroes of Coamo,
or eight, if you include "Jimmy," will be told in song and story.
Some one else will write the song. This is the story.
IV - THE PASSING OF SAN JUAN HILL
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.
