s much heroism as any soldier in the
whole army. He was shot through the spine, a terrible and very painful
wound, which we supposed meant that he would surely die; but he made
no complaint of any kind, and while he retained consciousness
persisted in dictating the story of the fight. A very touching
incident happened in the improvised open-air hospital after the fight,
where the wounded were lying. They did not groan, and made no
complaint, trying to help one another. One of them suddenly began to
hum, "My Country 'tis of Thee," and one by one the others joined in
the chorus, which swelled out through the tropic woods, where the
victors lay in camp beside their dead. I did not see any sign among
the fighting men, whether wounded or unwounded, of the very
complicated emotions assigned to their kind by some of the realistic
modern novelists who have written about battles. At the front everyone
behaved quite simply and took things as they came, in a
matter-of-course way; but there was doubtless, as is always the case,
a good deal of panic and confusion in the rear where the wounded, the
stragglers, a few of the packers, and two or three newspaper
correspondents were, and in consequence the first reports sent back to
the coast were of a most alarming character, describing, with minute
inaccuracy, how we had run into ambush, etc. The packers with the
mules which carried the rapid-fire guns were among those who ran, and
they let the mules go in the jungle; in consequence the guns were
never even brought to the firing-line, and only Fred Herrig's skill as
a trailer enabled us to recover them. By patient work he followed up
the mules' tracks in the forest until he found the animals.

Among the wounded who walked to the temporary hospital at Siboney
was the trooper, Rowland, of whom I spoke before. There the doctors
examined him, and decreed that his wound was so serious that he must
go back to the States. This was enough for Rowland, who waited until
nightfall and then escaped, slipping out of the window and making his
way back to camp with his rifle and pack, though his wound must have
made all movement very painful to him. After this, we felt that he was
entitled to stay, and he never left us for a day, distinguishing
himself again in the fight at San Juan.

Next morning we buried seven dead Rough Riders in a grave on the
summit of the trail, Chaplain Brown reading the solemn burial service
of the Episcopalians, while the