as a background for half a dozen leaf-thatched Cuban huts, an iron
railway-bridge painted red, and a great encampment of white
shelter-tents through which roamed thousands of blue-shirted soldiers,
Cuban insurgents from the army of Garcia, and dirty, tattered refugees
from all parts of the country, attracted to the beach by the landing of
the army and the prospect of getting food. On the eastern side of the
cove, near the ruins of an old stone fort, the engineer corps had built
a rude pier, thirty or forty feet in length, and on either side of it
scores of naked soldiers, with metallic identification tags hanging
around their necks, were plunging with yells, whoops, and halloos into
the foaming surf, or swimming silently, like so many seals, in the
smoother water outside.

As the sun rose above the foot-hills and began to throw its scorching
rays into the notch, the whooping and yelling ceased as the bathers came
out of the water and put on their clothes; the soldiers of the Second
Infantry struck and shouldered their shelter-tents, seized their rifles,
and formed by companies in marching order; the Cubans of Garcia's
command climbed the western bluff, in a long, ragged, disorderly line,
on their way to the front by the mesa trail; small boats, laden with
food and ammunition from the transports, appeared, one after another,
and made their way slowly under oars to the little pier; and the serious
work of the day began.

In order to ascertain what progress our forces were making in their
march on Santiago, and to get an idea of the difficulties with which
they were contending or would have to contend, I determined, about nine
o'clock, to go to the front. It was impossible to get a horse or mule in
Siboney, for love or money; but if our soldiers could march to the
front under the heavy burden of shelter-tent, blanket roll, rifle,
rations, and ammunition, I thought I could do it with no load at all,
even if the sunshine were hot. Mr. Elwell, who had lived some years in
Santiago and was thoroughly acquainted with the country, agreed to go
with me in the capacity of guide and interpreter, and, just before we
were ready to start, Dr. Lesser, who had returned to the ship after
setting the nurses at work in the Cuban hospital, said that he would
like to go.

"All right," I replied. "Get on your togs."

He went to his state-room, and in ten minutes returned dressed in a neat
black morning suit, with long trousers, low shoes,