The Rough Rider (21 page)

“Yes, Colonel. I hope you’ll find a place for us. We’re anxious to serve with you.”

Roosevelt crumpled the letter up and closed his mouth for a moment over his prominent teeth. He stared at the two men, his smallish eyes gleaming. “Got no time for excess reporters,” he snapped vigorously. “But if you can soldier I can use you. Can you ride?”

“Yes, sir, we both can,” Aaron said quickly. He knew Lewis was a poor horseman, but this was no time to bring that up. “We’re fit and in good shape, Colonel. And we’re good shots, too!” He hoped that Roosevelt would not ask them to prove their marksmanship, for he himself was only mediocre with a gun and Lewis was not much better.

Roosevelt jammed the letter in his pocket and said, “Not a bad idea—getting the reporting from a soldier’s point of view. That’s what Hearst wants,” Roosevelt explained to his
two lieutenants. “Put these men in a good squad where they can be close to the action.”

A wave of relief washed over Aaron, and he nodded quickly, “Thank you, sir!”

Roosevelt yanked his horse’s head around and rode off in a wild gallop, calling out directions to a group who were assembling a small herd on the perimeter of the camp.

“You two come with me,” the officer said. “I’ll get you fitted out. I’m Lieutenant Baines and you’ll be in my company.”

The rest of the day went like a whirlwind. Aaron and Lewis received uniforms, rifles, and were given a chance to prove their horsemanship. Lieutenant Baines was not overly impressed by what he saw.

Lewis was given a mount that had been barely broken in, and he almost got bucked. The officer shook his head in disgust and grunted, “Most of the fighting will wind up being done on foot, anyhow. There is too much of a jungle for cavalry. Go on down to the rifle range and tell Sergeant Hawkins I said to teach you how to shoot.”

As they walked away, Lewis said, “I can’t believe it!” His eyes were gleaming, and he was practically jumping up and down with excitement. “We’re actually Rough Riders, Aaron! Why, there must be twenty million fellows that would give anything to be in our shoes!”

Aaron could not help feeling a little infected by Lewis’s excitement. He’d reached this point under duress, but now that it was started, he found himself drawn to it. “Well, we’ve got one job that’s more important than anything else,” he said cautiously.

“What’s that, Aaron?”

“To come out of this thing alive. Dead is a long time!”

“Oh, we’ll be all right,” Lewis explained cheerfully. “Let’s go down and start shooting.”

They took their turns at the firing range, faring better there than they did at riding green broke mounts. When they finished, they walked to the large mess tent that had been
set up and ate a supper of tough, poorly cooked beef, along with the inevitable beans. Lieutenant Baines assigned them a small tent on the outer perimeter of the encampment. Lewis went to sleep at once, but Aaron lit a short candle and sat up with his back braced against a pole. By the flickering yellow light, he pulled out a small notepad and began to write with a stub of a pencil:

He paused and looked at what he’d written.
I don’t have any idea how to write about this,
he thought wearily.
There’s never been a war like this.
Weariness caught up with him and he put his writing materials away and lay back on the narrow cot. The sounds of the camp came to him, horses milling in the corral not far away, sometimes one of them lifting a shrill whinny over the night. The call of a guard floated to him from far down the line. Hundreds of men all sleeping, waiting to set sail and head into battle. There was something about
the quiet and the peace of the air that seemed deceitful. The world was not really like this—quiet and peaceful; it was full of hardships, danger, death, and heartache. A man had to savor these peaceful times when they came—put them in a secret part of his mind so that he could draw on them when things got really tough.

Glancing over at Lewis, Aaron felt a sudden wave of affection for this younger brother of his.
I’ve got to keep him safe,
he thought almost desperately.
I’ve just got to!

****

The response to President McKinley’s call for a hundred and twenty-five thousand volunteers had been overwhelming. Over a million men had wanted to enlist. However, two men were singled out and promptly drafted. Fitz Lee, nephew of General Robert E. Lee, was a portly sixty-three-year-old West Pointer who had not worn a uniform since that day in April 1865 when he’d led the last Confederate charge at Farmville, Virginia. He was chosen because he’d acquired a comprehensive knowledge of the Cuban situation.

But the most unusual choice of all came when President McKinley sent an invitation to a former Confederate. Joseph Wheeler arrived at the White House one day in a fine black Brewster Phaelon buggy, pulled by a large black gelding. He looked like a frail, little old man as he was helped down. He was sixty-one years old, and he drew himself up to his five feet five inches. His hair was neatly trimmed and his beard was snowy white. The dark-suited doorman took his hat and cane and ushered Wheeler in to meet with the President. McKinley came around from the large desk in his office and shook Joe Wheeler’s hand, saying, “General, I’ve sent for you to ask if you want to go—and if you feel able to go.”

At once, Joseph Wheeler heard the sound of bugles from his youth. He’d led charges against the Federals with all he had in him, and now said briefly, “Yes, Mr. President. I’m
honored that you’ve considered me. And I will serve this country that I love so much to the best of my ability!”

Later on when one of his former Confederate officers saw Wheeler in his blue Federal uniform, he said, “General Wheeler, Robert E. Lee’s going to be mighty surprised seeing you come up to heaven wearing
that
uniform!”

The Commanding General of the army was Nelson A. Miles. He had a distinguished and heroic service in the Civil War, and had been the premier Indian fighter in the Southwest. At fifty-nine, he was a big, athletic man, the ablest of the commanders who would direct this new army—but according to all accounts, he was a hard man to get along with.

As far as the actual assembly of the army, General Rufus Shafter was the most significant factor. Shafter was a huge man, weighing three hundred pounds—or as his enemies liked to put it—almost a sixth of a ton. In Tampa, where he began to pull his army together, the heat, which was well over a hundred degrees, almost brought him to a halt. Two privates had to hoist him onto his horse, but it was still his responsibility to pull this army into a fighting force.

Tampa was not the place for organizing such an army. Tampa and Fort Tampa, where the transport ships swung at anchor, were nine miles apart. The intervening country, for the most part, was very swampy, and no one was satisfied with the site as a training grounds or even a point of departure for the army.

Dr. David Burns arrived at Tampa, accompanied by Gail Summers and Deborah Laurent, and found the city in a general state of upheaval. Every hour, it seemed, volunteers were pouring in from all over the country. The three walked along the tents strung out along the sandy shores, noting that the wooden houses were crumbling, their paint having been removed by sand and the wind off the Gulf. Gail looked around and said, “This is awful! I thought the beach was supposed to be pretty!”

Deborah smiled, saying, “Well, as Jefferson said, ‘God
made the country and man made the town.’ Everywhere you get a lot of people together, they’ll manage to uglify their world.”

“Uglify?” Burns cocked one eyebrow. “Is that a word?” Without waiting for an answer, he looked around, trying to detect some order in all the confusion. But everywhere soldiers and militia were milling around, while officers shouted out orders above the din. Supplies were stacked everywhere beside the tracks—huge piles of guns and ammunition, tents, cases, and cartons of all sizes. Finally Burns said, “Let’s see if we can find someone in authority.”

They eventually found their way to the Tampa Bay Hotel. It was filled to capacity with soldiers, including foreign military observers wearing brightly colored, gaudy uniforms. Finally, Burns managed to locate a major named Sievers—a tall, aristocratic man with frosty blue eyes and silvery hair. “Burns? Dr. Burns, you say?” he said, giving a careless look at the three. “And your nurses? Well, we’ll see what can be done. Make the best of it till we find a place for you.”

This proved to be rather difficult. The three finally managed to find a lowly lieutenant, a good-natured man named Baines, who sympathized with their predicament. He took them to a large barn-shaped building where supplies were being sorted out and said, “Your medical supplies will come here eventually—I hope!”

Burns looked around with discontented eyes. “There doesn’t seem to be much order around, does there, Lieutenant?”

“Always that way with a war,” Baines grinned. He looked over and said, “You ladies won’t find a hotel room, not in Tampa. All the hotels and boardinghouses are already overcrowded with officers and civilian volunteers.”

“That’s all right, Lieutenant. We’ll make out fine in tents.”

When the lieutenant had gone, the three of them made their way to a cafe filled with sweaty, loudly talking privates. Gail and Deborah were the object of some careful scrutiny,
and several remarks like “Hello, sweetheart!” flew across the crowded room.

Finally, Burns managed to commandeer a table in a corner, and the three ate a meal of sandwiches and apple pie, washed down by tepid water. “I’m not sure about this water,” Burns muttered, staring at it warily. “With this many men aboot, sanitation’s got to be a problem. I’d better check on it.”

“If it’s bad here,” Deborah said, “think what it’s going to be like when we get to Cuba.” She looked almost cool in the sweltering heat. It was a quality that she had, a way of making the best of things. Even back at Water Street Mission when things were a challenge, she met them with a calm maturity, letting little trouble her.

Somewhere,
Burns thought,
she has learned how to endure difficulties without complaining.

Deborah looked at Gail and said, “I suppose you and I better learn how to put up that tent. Have you ever done it?”

“No,” Gail grinned. “But we’ll learn how!”

As it happened, they did not have to know a great deal. As they were attempting to pull the tent into a standing position, the poles fell and the whole thing collapsed. Standing to the side watching was a group of eager volunteers—red-faced young men—all of them cowboys, so it seemed. They were more than willing to help two pretty young nurses put up their tent. By nightfall, Burns and his two assistants had managed to secure a place to sleep, but before they went to bed, he said, “This is not what I thought it would be.”

“Things usually aren’t,” Deborah said quietly. “But we’ll do fine.”

“I wish I could take it as easily as you do,” the physician shrugged. “But we’re here to do a job, so let’s do our best.”

That night, as Deborah and Gail lay in their tent, trying to ignore the sultry humidity and heat, Gail said, “I wish I knew what Jeb was doing. I’m worried about him!”

“Shall we pray, then?” Deborah asked quietly. Without waiting, she began to pray a simple prayer for the boy.

Gail felt her eyes grow dim with tears, and when it was her turn to pray, she began to feel a sense of companionship with Deborah that she’d not felt before. Finally, the two women lay quiet, and it was Gail who said aloud, “I’m glad we came, Deborah.”

“So am I,” came the answer sleepily. “We’ll see what will happen.”

****

The Rough Riders were a rowdy, loud bunch, and Lewis reveled in it. Here he was in the most sought-out unit that everyone in the country was trying to get into. He threw himself into the brief and rugged training period with all the enthusiasm of a beginner. By the time he and Aaron left San Antonio on a train bound for Tampa, they’d made great progress—both in riding and shooting.

When the overcrowded train pulled into Tampa, there was a waving and yelling far up the track. Colonel Roosevelt grinned from his position on a flat car; his khaki uniform looked as if it had been slept in—as it always did. He wore a polka dot, blue bandanna, the hallmark of the Rough Riders, except the soldiers all wore red.

When the train stopped they all piled off, and Roosevelt was everywhere, trying to shout orders to his officers. There was no one to meet him and his troops to tell them where to camp, and no one to issue food for the first twenty-four hours. The railroad people simply unloaded them wherever they pleased, or rather wherever the jam of all kinds of trains rendered it possible.

But Roosevelt possessed great administrative ability and sheer resourcefulness. He brought some kind of order out of the chaos of Tampa. Soon rows and rows of tents were pitched, men were appointed to police the camp, and drilling started again in order to keep the troops in top shape. Roosevelt was infuriated when he received the news that the
Rough Riders would
not
be a cavalry outfit in Cuba—only the officers’ horses would be transported.

Aaron and Lewis worked hard, along with their fellow soldiers, to get settled in. On the second day, however, Lewis said, “Let’s go see if we can find Dr. Burns.”

“All right.” Aaron joined his brother and the two of them began to search for the young Scottish physician. They began asking around, and after a few false leads, they finally ran into a stocky, red-faced corporal who said, “Oh, the Doc? Yeah, he’s over by the tracks in a big red barn-looking building, kind of a storehouse.”