Merline Lovelace (8 page)

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

He knew as well as anyone else that Wood had chosen San Antonio as the staging and training site for his volunteer cavalry, a colorful group variously labeled the Rocky Mountain Boys, Teddy’s Terrors or the Rough Riders after the shoot-’em-up cow
boys in Buffalo Bill Cody’s Wild West Show. Still, he wasn’t prepared when his father pulled a crumpled telegram from his pocket and laid it on the table.

“Colonel Wood has filled all his company-level command billets,” the general informed his son calmly. “So have the commanders of the Wyoming and Dakota regiments. But Wood desperately needs a good regimental supply officer. He’s holding the job open for you. It’s the best I could do at this late date, son.”

Sam’s chest squeezed. He felt as though he was caught in a vicious vise.

“Thank you,” he said with quiet sincerity. “I know what it must have cost you to beg a place on the colonel’s staff for me. But I can’t— I won’t—”

His mother gave a small sigh. “You can and you will. You’re your father’s son.”

Julia had seen enough of death during the War of Rebellion to wish the blasted Cubans had never dragged the United States into their struggle for freedom. She hated the idea of Sam going off to fight and perhaps die on foreign shores, but hated even more watching him slowly wither inside.

“Your father and I have talked about this, Sam. We don’t know what we would have done this past year without you here to take care of things while we consulted with doctors and surgeons.”

“I’m only too happy to help! You know that.”

“Of course I do. But there are no more doctors to consult and we must learn to cope as best we can. And you must do whatever you and Victoria decide is best for the two of you.”

“Victoria?”

From his startled expression, it was apparent that Sam hadn’t considered his fiancée to this point.

“Yes,” his loving mother answered rather tartly. “Don’t you think the possibility you might go off to war could be a matter of some interest to your future wife?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

Stunned by this unexpected turn of events, Sam could barely form two coherent thoughts, much less consider Victoria’s possible reaction. Although he longed to let loose with a joyous whoop, jump up from the table and rush upstairs to pack his gear, the sense of duty that had brought him home held him firmly in his chair.

“We need to discuss this more fully,” he said to his parents.

“We can discuss it as much as you wish,” Andrew answered with a shrug, “but unless I’ve misread the man my son has become, he’ll board the train to San Antonio tomorrow. Now, fetch me those damned crutches, would you? I think I’ve almost got the hang of them.”

It still ripped Sam apart inside to watch his
proud, once indomitable father struggle to move his useless legs an inch, only an inch.

He would have helped, supporting the general as he had during his previous attempts to walk, but his mother waved him off. They must learn to manage, she insisted.

After an hour of intense discussion and another spent pacing the floor, trying to sort through his jumbled thoughts, Sam still hadn’t reached a decision. Mindful of his mother’s strictures, he realized he’d have to inform Victoria of the possibility he might be leaving.

He caught her just as the Parkers’ carriage returned her from the Grange Hall and the meeting of the Ladies’ Auxiliary. Begging a few moments alone with her, he drew her into the front parlor and delivered his news.

“Your father’s secured a position for you with the Rough Riders? Oh, Sam, how wonderful for you! When do you leave?”

Her enthusiasm took him aback. “Tomorrow, if I decide to take it.”

“You will! You must!”

A wry smile tipped his mouth. “Are you so anxious to see me leave?”

“No, of course not.” She bit her lip. “It’s just that you’ve been so unhappy. I’ve seen it, Sam. You won’t talk to me about it, but I’ve seen it.”

Ashamed that he hadn’t done a better job disguising his feelings, he tweaked her nose. “Well, if you’re sure you won’t miss me…”

“I shall miss you desperately.”

Her eyes held his. Sam glimpsed a maturity in their blue depths that surprised him.

“I want only for you to be happy,” she said simply. “I shall always want only that.”

“I can see now I’m going to be the most fortunate of husbands.”

His teasing tone covered layers of intense relief. He’d made his decision. He would rejoin the ranks, even if only as a volunteer.

“My father thinks this little fracas can’t last more than six months at most. Just enough time for you and your mother to make your trip to New York and complete your trousseau. With any luck, we’ll have a September wedding after all.”

“With any luck, we shall.”

Victoria joined Sam’s parents and his sister and her family at the train depot the next morning to see him off.

The din was indescribable. Train whistles shrilled. Horses being led aboard freight cars whinnied. Porters shouted and strained to load crates of equipment. Regulars sweating in their blue wool uniforms marched in precise ranks to the troop cars. Volunteers garbed in everything from homespun to
buckskin whooped and hollered and generally gave their harried sergeants a time of it.

When the whistle signaled last call to board, the regimental band struck up a rousing martial air. The tide of the music quite carried Victoria away…until Sam made his final farewells to his family, then swung her into his arms.

As his mouth came down on hers, the stark reality of the moment gripped her. This might be the last time he held her. The last time his warmth and strength enveloped her. On a swift rush of terror, she clung to him. Quite suddenly, the call to arms had lost all hint of romance or excitement.

Although she tried to hide it, her desperation must have shown in her face when Sam set her on her feet.

“No tears now,” he chided. “I want to carry your bright, beautiful smile with me all the way to Cuba and back.”

Swallowing, she blinked the tears from her stinging eyes and managed to curve her lips. “Sam, I—”

A hiss of steam stole her words.

“What?”

“I—”

At the screech of metal on metal, he threw a quick glance over his shoulder. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’ve got to climb aboard.”

Planting another hard kiss on her mouth, he
jumped aboard the now rolling train. Victoria stood unmoving, a small, still island amid the sea of humanity that waved and shouted and cried unashamedly.

Fingering the gold-and-sapphire locket pinned to her lapel, she whispered what she’d tried twice without success to tell him.

“I love you, Sam.”

S
am arrived in San Antonio on May 7 with the second contingent of the First United States Volunteer Cavalry. The men swung down from the train to wild cheers and a booming welcome by a brass band.

The press had congregated en masse at the station, anxious to weave more stories about the men they persisted in dubbing Teddy’s Boys despite the fact that Colonel Wood commanded the regiment. A good number of San Antonio’s citizens had also turned out. Women stood on tiptoe and men lifted children onto their shoulders to see the latest addition to the cavalry unit that was already gaining near-legendary status.

Sam had to admit the Rough Riders more than lived up to their reputations. He’d met a good number of his fellow recruits on the train ride south. The motley group included a lawyer, a Texas
Ranger, a Presbyterian minister, the mayor of Prescott, Arizona, two miners down from Montana, a full-blooded Dakota Sioux and a host of wranglers. These Westerners carried names like Rocky Mountain Bill, Rattlesnake Pete, Bronco George and Dead Shot Jim.

More First Volunteer Cavalry recruits boarded the train at junctions in Dallas and Austin, only these hailed from the East. Pressed on all sides, Mr. Roosevelt had squeezed a small number of his friends and acquaintances into the company ranks. These dandies wore straw boaters and striped jackets and included such luminaries as a Yale quarterback, ex-captains of the Harvard and Columbia rowing crews, a Princeton tennis champion and several famous polo players. A few tough New York City policemen were sprinkled among gentlemen with names like Tiffany, Knickerbocker and Kane. Like the Westerners, the Easterners were driven by the all-consuming desire to do their duty to God and country and get a taste of combat.

In addition to the eager Americans, a sprinkling of adventurous foreigners had also argued or cajoled or bamboozled their way into the Rough Riders. As Sam learned during the long train trip, the swarthy Italian reporting in as chief trumpeter had formerly served with the French Foreign Legion in both Egypt and South China. A tall, sinewy Aus
tralian had once held a commission in the New South Wales Mounted Rifles.

When this extraordinarily diverse group detrained in San Antonio, a number of them good-naturedly agreed to demonstrate their skills to the crowd. One gave an exhibition of dazzling lasso twirling and rope-dancing. Another whipped out a buffalo-skinning knife with a razor-sharp twelve-inch blade and put it right through the center of a playing card held up by an intrepid friend. Bill Larned, twice United States tennis champion, dug his racket out of his valise and lobbed balls to squealing children.

Finally the cheering crowd allowed the new arrivals to claim their baggage. A new major with bright, shiny shoulder pips formed them into loose ranks. The long, rather undisciplined column marched on foot to the Exposition Grounds just outside the city. There they were met by their commander, Colonel Leonard Wood.

Wood strode out onto the Exposition’s dusty main square and greeted the recruits with the news that they’d be issued uniforms of sorts, but half of the horses and most of their weapons had yet to appear. Evidently Mr. Roosevelt, still in Washington, was working furiously to direct supplies and equipment to the newly formed regiment. With a silent groan, Sam realized he was going to have his work cut out for him in the next few weeks.

“I don’t know how long we’ll remain in San Antonio,” Wood warned. “Our orders are to train with all diligence and be prepared to move to a point of embarkation immediately upon notification. So you men must all apply yourself and work hard.”

Narrowing his eyes against the dust and glare, he skimmed the ranks.

“Some of you come from wealth and privilege. Each of you is used to acting independently and with great courage. But now you must learn to think and act not as individuals, but as a company. We’ll drill you hard, both afoot and in the saddle. You’ll take your turn at kitchen and latrine duty. Promotions to fill company positions will be based solely on merit. If any man among you wishes to leave, he should do so now, because I shall begin making cavalry troops of you before sunrise tomorrow.”

Not a single individual so much as blinked.

“Good,” Wood said after a moment. “We’ll sort you into companies now and turn you over to your sergeants. Captain Garrett, you’ll come with me and meet the rest of the regimental staff, if you please.”

Shouldering his canvas bag, Sam left the ranks and followed Wood to the building designated as temporary headquarters. There he was introduced to the harried adjutant and assistant adjutant, the chaplain, the bandmaster, the acting regimental surgeon, the sergeant major, the saddle sergeant and
the quartermaster sergeant, who greeted Sam with profound relief.

“Heard tell you were regular army,” the Denver native confided when they went to inspect the equipment that had arrived with the troop train.

“That’s right.”

“Well, I sure hope you know how to read these blasted tables of organization. I can’t make heads nor tails of ’em.”

“We’ll sort them out,” Sam promised, blessedly unaware that those were the last calm moments he’d enjoy for the next three weeks.

By the following dawn, Sam and the rest of the new arrivals were wearing a bastardized uniform of slouch cap, standard-issue dark blue flannel shirt, suspenders, khaki-colored canvas pants, leggings and black leather boots with spurs. Some knotted their handkerchiefs loosely around their neck, cavalry-style. Others tucked them under the back of their hats to protect their necks from sunburn while they drilled.

Although regulars would never be caught off post in the canvas pants normally worn only for stable duty, Sam soon discovered the Rough Riders paid little attention to such fine distinctions of dress. They were, however, intensely interested in their weapons.

The canny Colonel Wood had anticipated equip
ment shortfalls as hundreds of thousands of volunteers were mobilized. Knowing army stocks of the time-honored cavalry saber would quickly run out, he’d secured authorization for the emergency purchase of Cuban-style machetes. He’d also wrangled the prized Krag-Jorgensen carbines for his men instead of the Springfields being issued to other volunteer units. Delighted with the smokeless repeating rifles, the sharpshooters among the ranks soon organized shooting competitions and raked in considerable amounts of extra cash.

With more First Volunteer Cavalry recruits reporting to San Antonio each day, Sam and Quartermaster Sergeant Douthett worked almost around the clock locating and issuing uniform items, arms, cartidges, rations kits, two-man shelter tents, blankets, saddles, fodder bags and, finally, mounts. They fell into their cots long hours after midnight each night, only to roll out when the bugler sounded reveille at four-thirty. While the recruits drilled and performed kitchen, police and latrine duties, Sam and his cohorts bought, borrowed or traded with local merchants for everything from mustache wax to lamp oil. But whenever possible, they joined the ranks for drill. No one on QM staff intended to spend his time in Cuba issuing mustache wax!

Sam had shed a good ten pounds and burned to dark brick when his brother-in-law arrived in San Antonio a week later. Jack rode out from the train
depot with one hundred and fifty prime mounts and a dozen hands from the Sloan ranch to string them along.

“Jack!”

Striding through the clouds of dust around the corrals, Sam pounded his brother-in-law on the shoulder.

“You old dog, I didn’t know you intended to bring these nags down yourself.”

“Actually,” Sloan replied with a grin, “my primary mission is to deliver letters from your mother, your sister, your niece and your fiancée. Fulfilling my contract with the army is only a secondary charge.”

Reaching into his saddle bags, he extracted a packet of letters tied with a ribbon. A delicate lilac scent rose from Victoria’s. Sam tucked the envelopes into his shirt pocket to savor later.

“What’s the latest from home?” he asked, eager to hear the news firsthand. “Are my parents well? How about Suzanne and those brats of yours?”

“Everyone’s as well as can be expected. Elise mopes about the stables because her lieutenant shipped out last week and the general—”

Worry stabbed into Sam. “What about the general?”

“Your father’s as ornery as ever,” Jack drawled, having survived a number of run-ins with his father-in-law over the years. “He’s also determined to
master those blasted crutches. He goes down at least once or twice a day while trying, which, unfortunately, doesn’t improve his temper.”

“Damn!”

“I know.” Rolling his neck to remove the kinks, Jack surveyed the neat rows of tents. “What’re the chances a man can get a cold beer around here?”

“This is a cavalry regiment. I’d say your chances are pretty good.”

Shaking off his guilt at leaving his father crippled in body, if not in spirit, Sam escorted Jack to the officers’ canteen. The one-time gunslinger needed little introduction to the men in the canteen. Most had read the lurid stories about him published by the penny presses in his more notorious days. With a wry grin, Jack verified some of the tall tales and flatly denied others. Finally he and Sam claimed two wooden chairs in a quiet corner.

“What’s the word?” Jack asked. “Do you think you’re headed for Cuba or Puerto Rico?”

“No one knows yet. There’s talk that two separate expeditionary forces will be launched.”

“I hear Roosevelt is about to join you.”

“We expect him by the end of the week. We’ve been put on notice that we could move to Tampa at any time for embarkation, and Roosevelt’s worried to death he’ll miss the opportunity to train with the regiment before we ship out.”

“You’re not the only ones headed for Tampa.”
Downing another long swallow of foaming beer, Jack slouched back in his chair. “Suzanne got a letter from Mary. Now that the Hospital Corps has been officially established and the first nurses recruited, Mary’s decided to join the ranks.”

“The devil you say!”

“She’ll be in Florida when you arrive.”

Sam felt a sudden jolt just under his ribs. When he leaned forward eagerly, the letters in his pocket rustled. A delicate lilac scent wafted up.

Victoria. He was engaged to Victoria.

Deliberately, he sat back and lifted his beer.

Former Assistant Secretary of the Navy Theodore Roosevelt arrived in San Antonio on May 15 to great fanfare. The bluff, colorful character had already generated so much intense public interest that reporters followed him in droves out to the training camp.

Since organizing and equipping the thousand-man regiment left Wood little time for drill and teaching tactics, he turned that responsibility over to his second-in-command. Shrewdly, Sam guessed Wood wanted the inexperienced Roosevelt to learn right along with the men.

At first the horse-savvy Rough Riders weren’t quite sure what to make of the bespectacled politician with the neighing laugh and exuberance of an overgrown puppy. Roosevelt soon won their re
spect with his superb horsemanship and utter dedication. Sam was present the day he also won their hearts.

As he did whenever he could snatch a break from his quartermaster duties, Sam had joined the troops for mounted drill. On this occasion, Roosevelt led the three companies far out into the dusty Texas countryside, where they practiced column formations, sometimes at a trot, sometimes at full gallop. More than once Sam had to bite his tongue at the irregular line intervals and wild charges, but the consummate horsemanship of the men more than made up for their lack of discipline.

It was on the way back to San Antonio that Roosevelt himself committed a serious breach of discipline.

“I say!” Squinting through his thick, pinch-nose spectacles at a bustling inn, he instructed the bugler to sound dismount. “I’ll stand the men to a mug of beer. I could use one myself!”

The regular officer in Sam winced, but he said nothing. It wasn’t his place to lecture a senior officer about fraternizing with the troops.

Colonel Wood, however, had plenty to say on the subject. He heard about the stop at the inn shortly after the company returned to camp. Immediately, he called his long-time friend to his tent. As the troopers listening outside later reported, Wood delivered a blistering lecture to Roosevelt
about becoming too friendly with men he might soon have to order into a murderous crossfire.

The New Yorker’s cheeks glowed beet-red when he marched out of Wood’s tent. When he marched back in again less than an hour later, the whole camp held its collective breath. At least a half-dozen different sources later quoted his reply.

“I wish to say, sir, that I agree with what you said. I consider myself the damnedest ass within ten miles of this camp!”

Saluting smartly, he wheeled and departed again.

After that incident, the troopers admired and respected Colonel Wood, but they loved Teddy. Within days, most of the regiment had purchased blue polka-dot neckerchiefs like the one Roosevelt wore. The distinctive scarf became identified with the Rough Riders almost as much as the rousing “There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight,” which the men belted out night and day.

On May 27, the U.S. Navy blockaded the port of Santiago de Cuba, trapping most of the Spanish fleet inside the big, curved bay. On May 28, the First Volunteer Cavalry received orders to report immediately to Tampa.

Unfortunately, every other unit received the same order. Rail lines became clogged overnight with hundreds of thousands of troop transports all heading south. The estimated twenty-four-hour trip from
San Antonio to Tampa took four hellacious days. Sam and his harried quartermaster staff raced around at each stop to procure fresh food and water for the one thousand hot, tired Rough Riders and more than twelve hundred horses and pack mules.

Roosevelt and the wealthier recruits in the regiment paid out of their own pockets for fodder for the horses and fresh meat for the men. Thankfully, crowds turned out by the hundreds at every station to cheer and wave flags. The more enterprising among them passed buckets of milk, pails of water and fat, ripe melons to help the troops relieve the raging thirst engendered by the heat and dust.