Spanish-American War - Letters Home

(Letters are posted alphabetically)

LETTER FROM CHARLES L. BEALL
16th U.S. Infantry
Source: Alton Telegraph, June 16, 1898
Mr. Charles L. Beall of the 16th U.S. Infantry, writing from Tampa under the date of June 07, gives the following account of army life:

“I read in various papers about the terrible heat here. I don’t know just the temperature, but as far as the effect is concerned, it is nothing as compared to the August days at home. There is always a breeze here, and it is always cool in the shade. At night it is cold; you need a double blanket over you. We sleep on the ground – white sand – and put our half shelter tents under us, and a blanket or improvised mattress – coffee sacks stuffed with moss, quilted. We have sixteen men in our tent. It rained a few days ago. I say it rained. It doesn’t rain in Alton – not like it does here. It just drops here, for the whole dose at once.

Uncle Sam seems to think his sons are all very fond of bacon. In the start we had beef more than bacon, and really fared very well. It was reported we were to have beef seven days out of ten. Since that report, I don’t believe we have had anything but bacon, and good and fat too.

It is said there are 30,000 soldiers here, and the town is in confusion. Saturday was payday, and today very few of the soldiers have any money left. We are informed unofficially that we leave here tonight. We received orders yesterday to turn in our knapsacks and all extra clothing, and to keep only one blanket, one blouse, etc. and that we would probably leave today, for where we don’t know. The men who are to go are already picked. We are to carry blanket rolls and haversack with mess kit and ten days rations, gun, and 100 rounds of ammunition. One coming in the field wants no clothing but that on him, and not over two pounds of extra.”

LETTER FROM CHARLES L. BEALL
In the Thick of the Fight of the Battle of Santiago
Source: Alton Telegraph, July 21, 1898
Mrs. Charles Beall received two letters this morning from her son, Charles L. Beall, of Company B, 16th Infantry. One letter was written several days before the battles of July 01 and 02, and the other was written July 04. The letter is as follows:

Tuesday, June 28 – “Before I could mail the letter here Sunday evening, the detail to the town left. We moved out Monday morning at 5 o’clock, and marched until 10:30 a.m. It was a pretty hard tramp, but we would rest every half mile or so, and got through in good shape. We marched about eight miles, and are now encamped on the top of a small mountain, extending in a ridge for some distance. The balance of the corps is below us. We came up last night for picket duty. I was on two hours from 6 to 8 last evening. Santiago is in plain sight some four or five miles southwest of us. It will probably be ten miles by the road. The town is in a broad valley, surrounded by mountains, excepting on the south side, where the bay comes in from the sea. With a glass, you can see the guns and soldiers. In the fight Thursday (La Quasina), the Rough Riders lost about 40 men. They were re-enforced by the 10th Cavalry, who saved the day for them. The Spaniards lost 130 men, whom we buried. The Cubans say they lost many more whom they carried into Santiago themselves, beside the wounded.”

July 04 – “Well, I was unable to mail the letter after all, and so I am writing more. I have got through my first battle, and did not get a scratch. We left camp Friday at 5 a.m., and started for Santiago. We rested about three miles from our present position and advanced. When within a mile of here we passed through a murderous fire in the woods. We could not locate the exact position of the enemy, as they were just pouring a heavy artillery fire of shells and grape shot. Our men were falling on every side, and at places we laid down and crawled forward, dead and wounded all around. We maneuvered back and forth in the woods and brush, sometimes exposed to a crossfire. Finally, we got immediately in front of the enemy. We were in a ditch behind a barbed wire fence, and the bullets were raining over and among us. We, the 16th Infantry, were supposed to be the support, but we would lay our guns on the fence and fire as we could. The 6th Infantry was ordered to advance. They went to the right, and found an opening in the fence, and lay down in the high grass and started firing. The plain in front of them was about 600 yards wide, and there was the position of the enemy on a hill (San Juan), as steep as State Street [in Alton, Illinois], covered with grass and stony; on the top entrenchments, a block house and artillery. The 6th Infantry could not hold the position in the grass, and were routed and came in confusion toward us, trying to come through the fence. Some got over, some only half way through and stuck there. The 16th was ordered to charge the Spaniards and take their fortifications. We, with fixed bayonets and some machetes some of the men had picked up, hammered and pulled the fence down, and stopped only when we reached the top of the hill, and the enemy was in confused retreat toward the town. Our colors were the first and only ones to fly from the summit of San Juan hill. Our company was in front and center, and we feel very proud of ourselves. We have lost 24 men; we had 84, and now have 60. You see what a great loss we had. We are now in the position the Spaniards held, and have them about surrounded with three lines of entrenchments. They tried to surprise us Saturday night, July 02, on the left flank, but were repulsed by the 21st Infantry with a loss of 500 men.

Both our Captain and Lieutenant are wounded, but seriously, we think they are very brave, as they were in the front of the company all the time. An English officer, who was on the field Friday, says the charge was the finest he ever saw. We had no artillery until the position was ours. We were halfway up the hill when the gatling gun opened, but the Spaniards were all gone then. Of course, in charging there were other regiments, the 6th Infantry in the rear, and the 10th Infantry on the right.

Sampson has allowed Cervera’s fleet to go out and has destroyed it. Since 12 o’clock yesterday noon, we have been under an armistice to last until tomorrow morning at 10. It seems strange – no firing of rifles or cannon. It has been continuous. We slept Friday and Saturday in the hot sun with rifle shots and shells falling among us. We had no food but hard tack during Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. My tent mate and I cooked supper last night, the first since Friday morning. We slept Friday and Saturday nights on the ground, soaking wet and no covering over us, nothing under us.” Signed, Charles L. Beall.

Charles says nothing concerning the other Alton boys. Dr. E. C. Lemen also received a letter from his son, and he is well, but says nothing of the boys. It is, therefore, presumable that all the Altonians escaped. Had any of them been injured, it would have been mentioned.

LETTER FROM CHARLES L. BEALL
Source: Alton Telegraph, August 18, 1898
Mr. Charles Beall received a letter today from his son, Charles L. Beall, at Santiago. All the Alton boys were well, although some of them had suffered with malarial fever but recovered in a short time. The soldiers are in a camp that is well located; they are being well cared for, and are getting the finest rations ever served out to any army. He says the boys were at first short on blankets and waterproof coverings, but they fell heir to the property of the killed and wounded, and manage to make themselves very comfortable. He sees all the Alton boys every day, as he is a clerk in the commissary department, where the boys must go for supplies. All of them are heartily sick of soldier life, and will gladly welcome discharge from service. The letter was written August 03, taking only nine days to make the trip from Santiago.

LETTER FROM CHARLES LOUIS BEALL
16th Infantry in Long Island, New York
Source: Alton Telegraph, August 25, 1898
Mr. Charles B. Beall received a letter from his son, Charles Louis Beall, a member of the 16th U.S. Infantry, now at Montauk Point, Long Island, New York. The 16th left Santiago on last Sunday morning onboard the Grand Duchess, an 18-knot ship. In an hour, they were out at sea. They passed the Merrimac in Santiago Harbor. The masts and smokestacks were still above water. They also saw the remains of the wrecked Spanish warships Viscaya, Oquenda, Maria Theresa, and Christobol Colon. There were two deaths on the voyage, and the burial was at sea. All the soldiers enjoyed the trip to New York, which did them a great deal of good. Mr. Beall, in company with others, had a fine stateroom, plenty of good food, and altogether the voyage was delightful. The Grand Duchess arrived at Montauk Wednesday. She had to stand to out at sea for a few hours until her machinery, which had been damaged slightly, could be repaired. There were a number of sick soldiers onboard, but they were all from the 71st New York, which journeyed with the 16th. Mr. Beall reports himself in perfect health.

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LETTER FROM FRANK SNOWDEN BOALS
Source: Alton Telegraph, June 23, 1898
“I promised you that I would write to you, but until now I had time to write postals only. The boys are getting on fine. You will find enclosed a list of the Alton boys and their assignments. After we leave Hampton Roads, Virginia, papers will not be sent to the ship, so it will be of no use to send the papers. Only first-class mail, such as letters, will be sent to the ship. The vessel we are on is the old wooden ship “Franklin,” and was Admiral Farragut’s flagship for a time, so of course has a history behind it. You have probably seen the picture of Farragut in the rigging with an ironclad on the port quarter. As near as I can learn, this scene took place aboard this ship. This picture, I believe, was published in one of the Saturday Evening Telegraph’s of about four or five weeks agi. The vessel was armed with 70 Dahlgren guns, and must have been a terror for a wooden ship. These guns shot a 9-inch solid ball. The officers onboard are very nice, most of them being retired officers. I have learned another thing from the Chief Master-at-Arms. He says Farragut made his famous trip to England on the Franklin. It was on this trip that he was taken sick. He was brought home, and died shortly after. His seat back of his barge is onboard.

We had hoped to get ashore, but Mr. Webb, the executive officer, has ordered that no Harvard man shall go ashore, as they are liable to be called at any minute to the Harvard. Congratulate Messrs. Ash and Paul on their promotions. We thought the “grub” onboard pretty hard at first, but we are getting used to it now.” Signed, Frank S. Boals.

The following is a list of the names of seamen and the ships to which they are assigned:
U.S.S. Harvard
Frank S. Boals, Frank Brice, Charles Swain, Clay Butler, Charles Herb, Gus Volz, Laurance Robidou, Ed Johnson, Phillip Leyser, Charles Gildersleeve, Wyllis Neal, Si. Maxfield, Ed A. Haight, Edgar Rice, William Brubach, Charles E. Smith, Alen Challacombe, John Bruner, and Frank Still

U.S.S. Yale
Harris Smith, Ward Lane, Charles, Lyons, George Leach, John Lively, H. D. Williams, H. E. Bradley, Perry Topping, Walter Cobeck, William Montgomery, Lucien Baker, William Grenzeback, George McVey, Frank Squires, Charles Head, John Lind, Ben Halsey, and Wilbur Streeper.

U.S.S. Newark
William Gradolph, J. Forman, A. Barth, and George Dickey.

U.S.S. Cincinnati
William Hagerman, D. D. Young, W. A. Morris, and William Jacoby.

The following seamen had not been assigned when the letter was written, but were still on the receiving ship, the Franklin:

Lewis Utt, Charles Walters, Harry Rowan, Luke Chapman, John Duncan, H. E. Craig, J. J. Donnelly, William Burris, Emmerson Owens, Fred Buck, Hugh Logsdon, Walter Cook, Charles Atkins, Curtis Hays, William Lyons, Ed Knapp, Bert Hulburt, and William Gray.

Lieutenant W. L. Sparks had not been assigned.

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LETTER FROM CLAY BUTLER
U.S.S. Harvard, at Sea
Source: Alton Telegraph, July 21, 1898
June 28, 1898 – “There is a rumor that a dispatch boat will meet us today, so will write you a few lines. I have been seasick, and a fellow feels rather tough I tell you. Some of the boys were a great deal sicker than I was, but as I was sick to start with, it didn’t make much difference to me anyway.

So far we have done nothing but roustabout work – no gun drill or anything of that sort at all. They say that in a few days they are going to put us on watch, but so far ‘tis nothing but labor. We are not likely to see much service, and unless things change, we will come home as green about naval tactics as when we started.

The journey out of the bay was very interesting. As we passed the warship Minneapolis, the boys cheered and clapped their hands for a long time. Newport News is a beautiful city from the river, and viewed by night, the wharf presents a most beautiful scene.

I worked all day Sunday, and you would never know it was Sunday. We left at 1 o’clock, and didn’t get our dinner until about 2, and the boys were nearly starved. One thing, we get better food than the boys on the battleships. Now, that doesn’t mean anywhere near what we get at home, but still, it is much better than lots of men get. One of the stewards told me this morning that the ship’s company feed us on contract with the government, and in that way we get different stuff. The troops have to eat beans, ham, sardines, a little canned tomatoes, and hardtack and coffee. It is all canned stuff, but good. They get very tired of it, three times a day, though. The troops are a jolly lot, and you never hear any disputes or anything like that. They sing in the evening, and last night someone was singing, ‘The Palms,’ and he had an elegant voice. An old fiddle was going too, so the effect was fine. There are plenty of good voices among the boys, and in the evening they do enjoy themselves.

Off coast of Cuba, June 30. We expect to reach Santiago sometime tonight. I am feeling much better, and getting along first-rate. The climate is very pleasant, and not so hot but that we can be comfortable when on deck. We had our first gun drill today, and I am No. 4 on the gun. My duty is to take the shells out of the gun. We are provided with gloves for that purpose, and the boys are all anxious for a fight. This afternoon as we were approaching the island, a collier [coal ship] was coming creeping along the shore, and the bugle blew ‘general quarters.’ That means ‘everyone to his place as soon as he can possibly get there.’ All guns were loaded, and we were ready for a fight, when we found out the vessel was a U.S. ship.

Our first sight of land after leaving Newport News was Salvador. It is a beautiful island with its white beach, and hill and mountains in the background. A very tall monument stood on one end, which we were told was the place where Columbus landed. The coast of Cuba is very fine, as the mountains are covered with a heavy foliage, and in all conceivable shapes. We are running not more than half a mile from shore, and we have plenty chance to see it. I can very easily see how a few determined men could hold the country against heavy odds. I hope we get into a fight and capture a prize or two, so that we can have some money when we get home. We have the nicest man to serve under, and when we are in drill, it is all right, but when we are under some of them, we are nothing.

The troops are so sick of beans, etc., that they hang about the doors to get anything they can get their hands on, or beg. I always take out more bread when I can, but lately they have been cutting us down. This morning we had hardtack, and it is as hard as hard can be. The only way to eat it is to grind away like a cow, and then try it again.

Off Santiago, July 8 – Tonight is the first opportunity I have had to write for the last week. We are all well and kicking like mules. But I am not as unhappy as you might imagine, and make the best of things. All the old men have been very kind to me, and when they see a lad trying to do his best, they help him all they can.

Sunday and Monday were very interesting, and I shall try and tell you all I saw. To begin with, Sunday we started to unload stuff at a landing place about eight miles below the entrance to the bay. About 9 o’clock, we saw the warships firing away, and about 10 we were all sent onboard in a great hurry. We went up above and by that time our ships had sunk the Infanta Maria Teresa, Oquendo, and Viscaya, the torpedo boats Terror Pluton and Mercedes. They came out of the harbor, and our vessels went right at them, and none of them got more than five miles away. All the Spanish vessels were beached but one, and we saw them all. We steamed up as far as the Viscaya, and when we were within a half mile of her, the magazine exploded. The sides of the vessel hung together, but all the upper decks were blown out. After running around the shore a half hour or so, we received orders to go to the Oquendo and Maria Teresa, and take on the prisoners. I was in a boat that took on some, and they were a great looking lot. The two ships were lying close together, and both afire, and the men were huddled on the shore, as the Cubans were firing from the woods, and we had no trouble taking them aboard. We would stand off the shore a little way, throw them a line, and they would plunge in the water and into the boats. The Captain of the Oquendo shot himself and locked some of his men down in the hold, and of course they were all burned to death. Our boat was lying within a hundred feet of the Oquendo, when a shell exploded, and fire and smoke rolled up. It is a shame not to be able to save such fine boats. They had good guns, and were fine-looking vessels.

The worst thing was the fight onboard. Monday night about 12 o’clock, we were aroused by the noise of guns, and the orders were ‘every man to his place.’ The prisoners had made a rush, I suppose to escape. The guards fired into them, and about 50 soldiers left here to guard the stores, rushed back and opened fire. Six men were killed, and a dozen or so badly hurt. I was one of the boys detailed to go back among them after the fight and carry the dead and wounded down to the sick bay. I was barefooted, and just think of wading into a deck all covered with blood, and men lying around shot in all sorts of places. But a fellow get used to it, and we hustled them down as if they were so many sacks of flour. Those Springfield rufles tear awful holes in a man’s body, about the size of a half dollar. They were a hard lot of fellows, and they looked at us as if they would like to kill us.

Oh, I tell you war is an awful thing, and I can’t tell you all I have seen and see every day. The boys got all the Spanish things they could lay hands on, and I have quite a few. I have been pretty bad, but am all over my seasickness now, and can be out all day in a little boat, jumping around like a cork and not be the least bit sick. Some of the boys can’t stand it all.

Camp McCalla, Cuba, July 10 – I am working in the sick bay, taking care of the sick and wounded. We wear the red cross on our arms. The way some of the Spaniard are hurt is a caution. They suffer mostly from fever caused by the heat, lack of proper food, and water. They cry ‘I, I, I, I’ all the time. In English it means a swear word. If one sees water, they all want it and cry ‘aqua, aqua.’ We have about 40 in the bay.

The condition of the Spanish soldier in Cuba is beyond description. They have no food, no water, and are forced to fight by their officers. We have taken sixty more marines aboard here to guard the prisoners. The rifles we use are awful weapons, and if they fire, leave a trail of torn flesh behind. The Spaniards have no facilities for taking care of the wounded. One of the prisoners we took on (we took 300 Thursday) had wounds filled with maggots. Our doctor is such a nice man, and does all he can to help them get well.

Now I am in here, I do not have to do anything else, and I get better food than before. We are supposed to eat at regular mess, but we eat the same as they serve out for the sick men. That, of course, is much better than what the boys get. I had some oranges today, and they tasted so good. There are four or five of us in here, and when scrubbing time comes, we go and get a couple of well Spaniards and make them do the work while we stand over them and see that it is properly done.

We leave this place at 4 o’clock, and go to Portsmouth, New Hampshire. I hope this is our last trip. Rumors are floating around that Spain has sued for peace, and I hope it is true.” Signed, Clay Butler.

LETTER FROM CLAY BUTLER
U.S.S. Harvard
Source: Alton Telegraph, August 04, 1898
Clay Butler writes home from the Harvard that the Alton boys had a unexpected call last Wednesday from Mr. E. P. Wade, President of the Alton National Bank. Clay had been downstairs spraying the steerage quarters with disinfectant to kill Spanish microbes, and had just stepped on deck to get some fresh air when he saw the familiar face of Mr. Wade, as its owner climbed over the side of the Harvard. Clay lost no time in making himself known to Mr. Wade, and then called all the Alton boys up to shake hands. Mr. Wade held an impromptu reception on the deck, and left the boys feeling much happier at having seen a familiar face.

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LETTER FROM WILL CHALK
Source: Alton Telegraph, September 01, 1898
Will Chalk has written home from Montauk Point some of his memories of Cuban life and characteristics. He writes:

“The battles I have gone through seem like a dream to me, but when I come to realize it, I wonder how I ever got through alive. I have a very different idea of the Cubans from what I had when I started. The Spaniards are the better people to deal with. After the fall of Santiago, the Spaniards treated us finely. We could have anything we wanted, but we had to watch the Cubans, or they would steal everything we had. After the battle of San Juan, they robbed the dead and wounded of even their clothes. But all the papers said of their starving condition was true. In some of them you could have counted every bone in their body.”

Will is anxious to come home, and says the boys are expecting a furlough of one month. All of them are well.

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LETTER FROM JOHN A. COUSLEY JR.
Source: Alton Telegraph, August 25, 1898
Puerto Rico, august 09 – “The Cherokee, with the 19th U.S. Infantry, came into port Sunday, August 01. We landed Monday afternoon. The trip was very tiresome, and we were all glad when we set foot on dry land, even if it was the enemy’s country. After a march of three miles, we camped on a plain on the outskirts of Ponce. The first night in camp we experienced our first battle scare. A shot was fired just after ‘taps,’ and the command was given to fall lin line. It was thought that the Spanish had attacked, but it proved to be a false alarm, one of the sentries accidentally discharging his gun.

Tuesday night about 10 o’clock, companies C (my company) and D broke camp and left for Yauca, a small town twenty miles from Ponce, to act as garrison for the place. We went on a narrow gauge railroad, arriving there at 3 o’clock the next morning. We found the 6th Massachusetts (colored) there. They are all fine fellows and make excellent soldiers. The 6th Illinois also came on the same train with us. We stayed there until last Monday night, returning to Ponce over the route we came. When I got back to Ponce I found several letters from home and four papers. I also found a box of candy kisses. They were just in the nick of time, as we did not get any supper that night. They were fine, and went like hot cakes. I passed them around, and the boys all said they could nothave been made any nicer. This paper (on which he writes) is very much soiled, but it is the best I could do, as there is none for sale here. For the last three or four days rumors have floated around that peace has been declared. No one here knows whether it is true or not.

On the passage down, I did not get seasick, and am now in fine health, and have developed an enormous appetite since coming here. I sleep on a rubber poncho (raincoat) and a blanket. While at Yauca, I, with three others, was placed on outpost guard. The outpost is on the top of a high hill or low mountain, and is a mile away from camp. We were on duty from 3 p.m. to 9 a.m. It rained during the night, and we had no means of shelter.

When my home papers arrived, everybody wanted to see them. The Alton Telegraph was the only paper in camp, and all were anxious to see and hear the war news, which, however, was about two weeks old. All mail addressed to Ponce, Puerto Rico, Company C, 19th U.S. Infantry, will reach the regiment.

On the way to Puerto Rico, we were met by the U.S. cruiser Dixie. Our ship, the Cherokee, was not in convoy of any other vessel, and our Captain had orders to steer clear of all vessels. When he saw the Dixie, not knowing what it was, he started to run away. The Dixie fired a blank shot at us, but our Captain paid no attention to the call of the Dixie. She then fired a solid shot, but still our Captain heeded not. The Dixie then put a solid shot over our bow, and the Captain soon hove too, and received a ‘calling down’ from the Commander of the Dixie. I was on the bow of the Cherokee, and the shot seemed dangerously close.” Signed, J. A. C. Jr.

LETTER FROM JOHN A. COUSLEY JR.
19th U.S. Infantry
Source: Alton Telegraph, September 01, 1898
From Ponce, Puerto Rico, August 19 – “The Telegraph comes regularly, and when I get it everybody flocks to my tent and reads the war news, or rather the peace news, to them. The Telegraph has quite a “circulation” in camp, as I pass the papers around and they are eagerly read. I received two copies of the Republican last night, for which the sender will please accept my thanks.

I learned today the first definite news of peace, the Ponce paper publishing the President’s proclamation in English, Spanish, and French. I would like to send you one, but they cost five cents, and that is beyond the extent of my finances. The paper is the size of a Sunday school lesson paper (8x10 inches), printed on one side, and is a one-sheet affair. However, I read the most welcome bit of news in it that ever came to me – that of peace. I am in excellent health, and have developed a tremendous appetite and eat more than anybody else in the regiment. We get very good food here, and have fresh meat three times a day. The army does its own slaughtering, killing three cows every evening. We had fried liver for breakfast this morning, and we have beefsteak regularly. There is no complaint to be made on the food. The only kick coming are the restrictions placed on us, but as peace is declared, these will be relaxed and we will be more at liberty. I think we will soon be placed in a barracks, and that will be pleasanter than camp life.

Puerto Rico is a very pretty place, and when the United States gets possession, it is destined to become a great commercial center. The land is very rich, and yields abundantly wherever cultivated. Sugar cane is the leading product. The factories are nearly all sugar refineries. The natives are of a shiftless class, the women doing the work, and the men doing the “rest.”

Under the prevailing custom, a boy or girl’s furnishing house would not prosper, as most of the children of both sexes from the time they are able to walk until about ten or eleven years of age, run around without clothing of any kind. The streets are the best I ever saw, and surpass the paved streets in Alton.

The other night, 150 prisoners passed through Ponce. They were captured by the Sixth Illinois Infantry. They were a hungry-looking lot, and seemed pleased at the prospect of getting something to eat once more.

We buried three soldiers yesterday. I was a pallbearer for one of them. It was the first time that I have acted in that capacity. They were buried in common pine boxes. The Chaplain of the 19th read the burial service, and when he uttered the words ‘earth to earth,’ ‘ashes to ashes,’ ‘dust to dust,’ it was my duty to cast a handful of earth on the coffin. It was a solemn occasion to me, and to all present.

The Spanish money is the genuine ‘rotten money,’ of which so much was heard in the campaign of 1896. It would not be taken, hardly, as a present in the United States. I had the laugh on my tentmate. He is a Democrat and free silverite. Coming here on the transport, he said that I was a knave or a fool because I claimed that our money was good in Puerto Rico and the world over. When the boat anchored out in the harbor of Ponce, a number of the natives came alongside in small boats offering to sell bananas, mangoes, sugar cane, etc. My tentmate was the first one I saw buy anything, and the natives took American money more eagerly than they did their own. A United States dollar here will buy two dollars of Spanish money.

The recruits in the 19th are all eager to get home, now that the fighting is over and peace has been declared, and when I again set foot in Alton at Union Station, I may be like Admiral Montejo at Manila – uncle to restrain my emotions.” Signed, John A. Cousley Jr.

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LETTER FROM HARRY E. CRAIG
Source: Alton Telegraph, June 16, 1898
H. E. Craig writes Lieutenant Crossman as follows: “What a glorious good send-off the people of Alton gave us! It was most cheering to every soldier-sailor boy, and such an enthusiastic goodbye will help to make every one of the boys brave and more enthusiastic at the front. There wasn’t any sleeping done by anyone on the trip from Alton to Chicago, as all were more or less excited with thoughts of coming events. Upon arrival at Chicago, we all had a good breakfast at Union Depot Hotel, after which the company was divided into squads of eight and dismissed until 12 p.m. when we met at Depot Hotel again, and after dinner, marched to the armory, 20 Michigan Avenue, joining the Chicago company of 135 recruits, together with 11 from St. Paul, and headed by a good band, we all marched to Union Depot, cheered by crowds along the line. We took a special train of seven Pullmans, and one baggage car, over the Pennsylvania Railroad for Cape Charles, our destination by rail, arriving there about 6 a.m. Saturday. We touched Fort Wayne, Indiana, Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, and saw the famous Horse Shoe Bend, thence to Altoona, Harrisburg, Lancaster, Philadelphia, thence to Wilmington, and on to Cape Charles, where we left train and boarded steamer Old Point Comfort, where we breakfasted and then steamed across Chesapeake Bay to Old Point Comfort, thence across the James River to Norfolk, thence to training ship Franklin, which is our temporary home. All the boys were joyful and enthusiastic, all the way through, and with our frequent yell of ‘Ship a Hoy! Ship a Hoy! We’re the boys from Illinois!’ we woke up the natives all along the line. It is a little crowded onboard ship here, but we have assurances that we will all be assigned by tomorrow to either the Harvard or Yale, and of course that pleases all. We were assigned our hammocks and mattresses yesterday, and slept in the air last night – about 300 altogether. While here we have to go to our roost by 9 o’clock and arise by 5:30 a.m., when we roll up our hammocks, bed, etc., and get ready for ‘mess.’ While not what we have been used to, we’ll do without much kicking, for we are good soldier-sailor boys, and too proud of our country to complain. I wish you were with us, but though absent, you will be kindly remembered by all of us, for we all appreciate your efforts in our behalf, which were arduous and persistent, which finally brought us our hearts wish to get to the point. All the boys send love and best wishes along with mine. And I beg to remain yours most sincerely, H. E. Craig, Norfolk, Virginia, U.S. Receiving Ship Franklin.”

LETTER FROM HARRY E. CRAIG
U.S.S. Yale
Source: Alton Telegraph, September 15, 1898
The following letter is from Mr. Harry E. Craig, a member of the Alton Naval Reserves onboard the U.S.S. Yale, to Captain Crossman in Alton:

U.S. Receiving Ship, Vermont, Brooklyn Navy Yards, September 05, 1898
“When I wrote you last, all the Alton boys were eagerly awaiting assignments, and for an opportunity to secure some Spanish scalps. I believe that all (unless perhaps a few) were duly assigned as you know, but not one of us will return with a Spanish scalp in the way of a souvenir, much to our regret. We have been disappointed also in not reaping a harvest in the way of prize money, but while opportunity has not given us a change to become especially heroic, we all feel that we have done our duty with what chance we had to serve country and home. And now, while peace negotiations are pending, with assurances of being settled amicably, Uncle Sam has concluded that he can dispense with the services of the Illinois sailor boys, and is now mobilizing them here preparatory to sending us back in a body, as he brought us away.

The boys from the U.S.S. Harvard arrived here last Wednesday, and we of the Yale came the next day, and some from other ships have been coming in since, making the total thus far arrived at 48 out of the 64, and we hope that everyone may be able to report in due time and go back with us with not one of us missing.

We were informed this morning that in all probability, the Illinois boys would leave here on a special train for Chicago, either next Thursday or Friday, and since it is not likely that we will be detained long in Chicago, you may look for us to report in person within a week or so, and when we come you will find that our yell has not grown less vociferous. On the way to the front, our yell was ‘Ship Ahoy! Ship Ahoy! We’re the boys from Illinois,’ but on our return, it will run something like this: ‘Ship Ahoy! Ship Ahoy! Thank God we’re back in Illinois!’

While the papers are full of accounts of neglect, blunders, etc., resulting so disastrously to the army boys, very little, if anything, has been chronicled by way of complaint from the sailor boys, and yet we have a great big kick coming too, against harsh treatment from officers – some of them at least – and the unwholesomeness of our rations. We of the Yale, anyway, went hungry most of the time because the food served out to us, day after day, was rotten, and would have been refused by any ordinary tramp, but with it all it is remarkable how well we have all been. Most of us are much thinner in flesh, but not one of the 48 now here is unable to eat his three meals a day, and I am happy to state that the food here is all right and good. With it all, however, I do not think there is one of the boys who regrets his experience in the recent little brush with the Spaniards.

We have all learned a good deal we did not know before, and knowledge we could never have learned from reading. It ought to make each of us a better man in the future – more appreciative of life as it comes to us with liberty. If a son, he ought to and surely will be more appreciative, kind and devoted to his mother; if a husband, he will be more patient, tender, sympathetic and loving toward his wife. And what about some of us who have no wives to return to? Well, those who ‘left a girl behind’ will make better husbands to the girls who are lucky enough to have a sailor lover. This is a suggestion I offer, a sort of hint, to those who haven’t to get one as soon as possible before they are all gone; and I’ll further suggest that I am one of the single ones.

Well, while we of the Yale have not realized fully our hopes and ambitions, yet we are pleased with the part we took in the war. We made three trips in all – two to Santiago, Cuba, and one to Puerto Rico – and while we did no killing, yet we saw some of the shooting and smelled powder all right. We had the honor of having General Miles with us on the Puerto Rican expedition, and we had the satisfaction of seeing Old Glory planted on Puerto Rican soil at Guanica, there to remain forever.

We were at Santiago during a part of the bombardment of old Morro Castle and surroundings, and helped to celebrate the surrender there also.

And now that the war is over, and there is no further need for us to serve our country and homes as warriors, we shall return to home and loved ones, and as good citizens still continue to serve our grand and glorious country of which each and all of us are so proud. Expecting to be with you soon, when we will wear you out rehearsing war stories to you, I beg to remain, Yours most respectfully, H. E. Craig.”

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LETTER FROM WILL GILDERSLEEVE
U.S.S. Harvard
Source: Alton Telegraph, July 28, 1898
Mr. William Gildersleeve Sr. received a letter this morning from his son, Will Gildersleeve, who is one of the Alton Naval Reserves onboard the U.S.S. Harvard. Will enclosed in the letter a chevron taken from the uniform of a Spanish petty officer, after the riot on the Harvard. Will says that he had a hand to hand fight with the officer, and finally hit him on the head with a wrench. He says he guesses he hit him too hard, as he had to help bury the fellow the next day. He is well pleased with his lot aboard the Harvard, and is anxious for another “scrap.”

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LETTER FROM W. E. GRADOLPH
Navy, U.S.S. Newark
Source: Alton Telegraph, June 23, 1898
To Lieutenant Crossman:
Hampton Roads, June 18, 1898 – “I will drop you a few lines to let you know where we are. Agu. Barth, James Foreman, Robert Dickey, and myself are onboard the flagship U.S.S. Newark. All the rest of the boys are on the Harvard and Yale. We have a fine ship. It carries twenty-six guns – ten 10-inch rapid firing, eight 6-pounder Hotchkiss, six Maxim, and several others – and she is loaded down with ammunition to her fullest capacity. It is a wicked-looking ship, and Admiral Sampson, it is rumored, will be in command of her. We are very sorry that we could not be with the rest of the boys, but I am satisfied that this ship will be the first to be in action, and that is what we came for; not for to work hard, eat hard tack, salt horse, and drink hot water. If I can only get into some good battle, I will be satisfied to return and retire from Navy life. I am Captain of a 6-inch gun, and I get to pull the trigger, which is fired by electricity. We have about 400 men onboard of this ship, and there are some old sea-horses among them. We are not in it in seamanship, but in gun drills we are. I see by the papers that the Alton reserves are recruiting again. Don’t let them die out, and if we ever return we will help the boys out. I think you are just the man to keep them together, and the boys can be thankful, as well as the citizens of Alton, for the good aid that Uncle Sam’s Navy has from Alton. Alton was better represented than any other place of its size. A good many of the boys are homesick, but I am getting to be a regular old tar. It is reported that we will cross the ocean. Wherever we go, I will do my uttermost to win honors for the Alton Naval Militia.” Signed, W. E. Gradolph, U.S.S.F.S. Newark.

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LETTER FROM ED HAIGHT
Source: Alton Telegraph, June 16, 1898
Letters from the boys of the Naval Militia, who are on the U.S.S. Franklin at the Norfolk Navy yard, are beginning to be received. The first arrived yesterday, and more came today. Judging from the way the letters read, the boys do not enjoy their fare. One disconsolate letter came today from a young fellow who must have been homesick and hungry at the same time. He had to write it lying on the floor of the vessel in true sailor-boy style, for Uncle Sam doesn’t make provision for the convenience of his nephews in writing home. They are onboard the receiving ship Franklin, the writer says, and it’s a sick crowd, in strong contrast with the happy company that left here last Wednesday. They don’t know how long they are to stay there, and can’t discover where they are to go – Uncle Sam doesn’t confide in the boys as to his intentions. The sun is hot and the nights seem hotter. Some of the young men wish they had never seen the navy. Their food isn’t like what mother used to make, and is of a quality that doesn’t appeal to their pampered appetites. They haven’t had a taste of sea-sickness yet, but when they do have, their feelings will be hard to describe, and they may have some real cause for wishing “they were not in it.” However, in a short time they will become used to seafaring life, and take to it as naturally as a duck to water, singing “Oh, for a life on the ocean wave, and a home on the rolling deep.”

Under date of June 12, Ed A. Haight, son of Superintendent Haight of the Alton public schools, writes his mother as follows: “We are still at the Navy yard, but I hope we won’t be here long. We had a fine trip after leaving Chicago, and also a fine time, but that is over now; at least until we get out of this place and onto a ship. We are upon an old ship that has seen better days. It is chained to the bottom, and also to the shore. Some of the boys are very badly disappointed, and I frequently hear such expressions as these: ‘I had a good home and I left it.’ ‘Home, sweet home.’ ‘Take me back to Chicago’ and the like. As for myself, I know I would fare better at home, but wouldn’t leave here if I had a chance. WE have received a hammock and mattress, and are allowed fourteen inches of sleeping room, and that in a room 8 feet high, 54 feet wide, and 150 feet long. Some have their hammocks swung, and the rest of us sleep on the floor under them. When it is time to eat, everybody flies downstairs and helps himself. Our meals consist of: breakfast – dry bread, rotten coffee, and weiners; dinner – same old bread, meat and coffee; supper – big slice of dog (sausage), cheese, cookies (given him by his mother before he left). Won’t last long if I don’t get out of here soon. There are people here now who have been here two or three weeks, and I think they would light out for home if they had a chance. A half hour before each meal, an old woman and a colored man come onboard, loaded down with pies, oranges, bananas, cakes, and ice cream. I have invested in ice cream twice, in order to get my throat wet, for the water tank is empty most of the time.”

A postal card from Ed Haight states that about thirty of the Alton Naval Militia had been assigned to various vessels. Seamen Maxfield, Brice, Bruner, Swain, and Haight had been assigned to the Harvard, which will leave Norfolk this week. A letter from George McVey states that all but ten of the Altonians have been assigned to the Harvard and Yale. He says the following are on the Yale: George Parker, Ward Lane, William Montgomery, W. Streeper, Harris Smith, Charles Herb, Lucien Baker, and H. D. Williams.

LETTER FROM ED A. HAIGHT
U.S.S. Harvard
Source: Alton Telegraph, June 30, 1898
“I have been onboard the Harvard a little over two days, and this is the first chance I’ve had to write. I like it here very much; everything is so different from the U.S.S. Franklin. Our meals are very good. We have a variety, and all we can eat. Butter just as good as I get at home is plentiful, nice fresh rolls every meal, oatmeal for breakfast, soup, and rice pudding with other good things for dinner, and good tea or coffee twice a day.

Edward Alonzo Haight At 1 p.m. Monday, the U.S. tug Alice drew up alongside the “prison” Franklin, and took onboard over 130 men, hammocks and sacks. All the boys seemed to be in excellent spirits, and one who had ever been on the Franklin could tell the reason for those smiles and cheerful looks. Any man that ever stepped out of prison after a long confinement had the same joyous feeling that we had when we stepped off the Franklin, and knew that we were at last going to leave it. There were 65 Harvard [ship] men in the crowd, and about 70 Yale [ship] men. We found the U.S.S. Yale anchored in the bay about 15 miles from Norfolk. We stayed alongside her for two hours, and saw all the Alton boys who left the Franklin before us.They seemed to be enjoying themselves, and reported good times and plenty to eat. Leaving the U.S.S. Yale, we steamed on to Newport News, five miles further on. We found the U.S.S. Harvard lying along the wharf, and just outside of the dry docks. Marching onboard, we were assigned to the second saloon or dining room. Here we have all our meals, and stretch our hammocks on the floor at bedtime. It is a fine room, and it seems a shame to use such a fine ship for a war vessel. The main saloon is a beautiful room, and the inside work cost over $20,000. The furniture (all mahogany) and the panels, carved, fine statuary along the sides, and the glass ceiling, all make it a work of art. A shell bursting in there would destroy everything.

I saw very little the first night, but went to bed early. We put in all Tuesday morning cleaning up, and in the evening loaded on 24 tons of ammunition. We worked until 8:45 without a stop, had supper at 9, and then turned in at once.

Wednesday morning we were called to muster, and divided up into gun crews and assigned to the different guns, of which there are twelve. I have been assigned to one of the large guns, and so has Cy Maxfield. After muster came breakfast, and then work all day. The work is hard, but helps to pass away the time, and we have plenty of food here to keep us up on any kind of work. The ship is in about the same condition as a new house is in when people get ready to move; everything topsy turvy and plenty of dirt. It will be a long, hard job to get straightened out and cleaned up, but that once done, the work will be lighter. The U.S.S. Harvard is 640 feet long, and so you can see it will be quite a job scrubbing decks. It is like a small city onboard, over 400 people, and about six different nationalties are represented: Greek, African, lots of Italians, English in large numbers, Germans in plenty, Americans, and others. It is a very easy matter to get lost here, and quite a job to find your way around.

Tuesday night was very cloudy and windy, and as I stood upon the forecastle the scene was a beautiful one. Vessels of every description were lying all around us, and all showing their lights. About a mile south of us are the U.S.S. Minnesota and the U.S.S. Cincinnati – both fine cruisers. They were both flashing their huge electric search lights around the bay. They were lying about a half mile apart, and facing in the same direction. The search lights were always on the move, now being flashed on the water and showing the waves piled high by the fierce winds, and here and there a small boat tossed high on some angry wave, and then lost to view behind some gigantic swell. Now they seem pointed toward the sky, but following with your eyes this bright streak (which looks very much like a stream of water shot from some powerful hose) you will see away out in the bay, miles from the boat, its bright beams dancing over the waves, and having lost scarcely any of its brightness. But now it flashes toward us; seems almost to reach us, but suddenly stopping, it starts, and shoots upward, making a long bow across the heavens, and giving one a faint idea of what the beauty of the northern lights must be when seen in their glory. Again it flashes away out at sea, and then slowly turning, it starts toward us, appearing to come on more rapidly as the distance lessens, until it darts forward swift as a meteor, wavers for an instant, and then stops with the whole glow of the light upon our ship, blinding the eyes, seeming to pierce you with its bright rays, and appearing from the darkness like the great eye of God, reaching out to look after and protect you. One cannot help but be awed by such a scene. But now “taps” sound, and we hurry inside to stretch out our beds. Soon all are asleep, some dreaming of victories on the sea, and others of pleasant homes which they are just now beginning to appreciate.

Night wears away, and we are rudely awakened from pleasant dreams by the shrill whistle of the coxswain and the sharp blast of the bugle. The Master of Arms cries out: “Pipe out all hammocks!” We sit up, stare around, rub our eyes with our fists, and long to have another nap (for it is only 5 o’clock), but we know we cannot, so all hurry on their clothes, and every man tries to be first to the washroom. Here we have excellent proof that experience is a wise teacher. We all have heard that the doorways on ocean steamers are not very high, but we forget about it until rushing into some room in a hurry, our heads get a tremendous bump, which almost brings us to our knees and makes us see stars and search lights. We know now just how high that doorway is. We have learned from experience, and we’ll never forget. Catch us getting another blow like that. Well, I guess not. All are learning fast, and we will soon be full-fledged seamen.” Signed, Ed Haight.

LETTER FROM ED A. HAIGHT
U.S.S. Harvard
Source: Alton Telegraph, July 21, 1898
Off Santiago de Cuba, July 04, 1898 – “Folks at Home: I suppose you all know how the Fourth was celebrated in Cuba. It came a day ahead of time, but it don’t matter much. Although our guns on the U.S.S. Harvard were not fired, we had them loaded and were on the scene, and saw the whole business. Sampson’s boats went away, and Cervera’s fleet came out. Our fleet immediately gave chase, and four of the vessels were destroyed before going two miles. I tell you that it was a grand sight; one that cannot be forgotten. It made us feel that we were being paid for enlisting; made us forget our work, although our part was not a fighting part. We carried messages from one vessel to another, and helped by information and many other ways.

The U.S.S. Iowa had some wounded prisoners onboard. Five of them died before 3 p.m., and we attended the funeral. It was an imposing scene. All the sailors were lined up, and the Captain of the Iowa cried out, ‘All hands bury the dead.’ He said this twice, and then taps was sounded on the bugle, and the five bodies sewed up in canvass and weighted down were dropped overboard, one after another. Just as the last one was being lowered, the magazine of the Viscaya blew up, and a few minutes later one of the other burning vessels blew up. We now went to where the prisoners were, lowered boats and took them aboard. We were nearly a mile from shore, and to make a landing we had to pass within 10 feet of and between the two burning vessels. Shells were constantly exploding while we rowed between them, and the heat from the vessels scorched and burned our men. The iron armor of both vessels was red hot, and the flames were shooting out in all directions.

The work of loading the wounded was awful. Many were mortally wounded, and had to be handled with the greatest of care. All were afraid that we were going to kill them, and we had to get most of them onboard by main force. One poor fellow was shot above and below the heart, and had a hole in his back, caused by a shell, big enough to put both fists in, and his left arm was nothing but a mass of pulp. Others had arms and legs torn away, and there were many who died after reaching shore. It was an awful scene, one which I would not have missed for anything (and one which I would not go through again if there was any possible way of getting out of it). It was the first time that I fully realized the horror and cruel desolation of war. Until I saw that scene, I hated a Spaniard, but no one, no matter how hard-hearted, could look on such a scene and help feeling for those poor fellows. Half of them were without a stitch of clothing, some had only rags around their waists, others had on an undershirt, and others just drawers. Everything had been thrown aside in their wild scramble to reach shore. I noticed one thing, the well took no care of the wounded, but let them shift for themselves. They did not help them in or out of the boats, but simply looked out for number one. All the help given to the helpless our men gave. We took about 350 onboard. Out of this number, 27 were officers; nearly a hundred were wounded. All night the doctors looked after them; arms and legs were taken off. The next morning all the very bad cases were removed to the Red Cross ships. All men needing clothes were given white suits. The prisoners are treated well and fed the same as ourselves. The officers are treated like lords, and live as well as our own officers.

We just struck it right when we reached Cuba in time for all these important events. I have two relics from the prisoners – a button from the coat of one of the captains, and a bullet. I don’t know what they do with our mail. The boys put it in the box, but I do not think any has been sent away. I expect that we will carry it back with us, and mail it from the United States.

All our boys are well and in good spirits, although we are worked very hard. I have begun to think that I never did a lick of work before joining the navy. Our food is fair, but could be better. We do not get meals regular, though. Sometimes we get breakfast at 6, 7 or 8, dinner any time from 12 to 4, and lots of times we do not see supper until after 10 p.m. We only get time to wash once a day, and no time at all to wash our clothes.

I expect and hope to be home by Christmas, and I may be home in a few months, because the crews on the Yale and Harvard will be the first discharged. We have boys onboard not 15 years old. We are allowed no privileges, and can get to our sacks only three times a day; restricted to very small places onboard; and not allowed inside to write until 7 p.m. It is now time for taps, so must close.” Signed, Ed A. Haight

LETTER FROM SEAMAN ED. HAIGHT
The U.S.S. Harvard at New York
Source: Alton Telegraph, August 04, 1898
New York Harbor, July 24, 1898 – “Dear Father: We are now at anchor in New York harbor. We reached the entrance about 10 o’clock Friday night, but as ships are not allowed to enter the harbor at night, we had to drop anchor outside. It was a foggy night, and we could see nothing but the lighthouses and other lights. I went on anchor watch from 2 to 4:30 a.m., and was wet through by the mist. I tell you one enjoys these watches. All hands were called at 4:30 to wash down the deck, but the boatswain told me to go below and get some sleep. He did this because he had forgotten to send my relief at 4:00. I slept until mess call, and after mess worked on gun bright work until quarters (10 a.m.). At quarters, we were told that after washing all dirty clothes, we could have the rest of the day to ourselves. I washed two white suits, and then enjoyed life all afternoon.

A bum boatman came alongside with a load of pies, etc., at noon, but as we are in quarantine until tonight, he had to take them back to shore. All the boys stood by the rail and watched his departure with sorrowful eyes. We also viewed another scene much harder to bear than this one. The St. Paul lies alongside us, and we had the pleasure of seeing her crew go on shore in their blue uniforms early in the morning, and not come back until night. I begin to doubt about our crew getting shore leave.

Here as in the other harbors, the U.S.S. Harvard has received an ovation on its arrival. Pleasure boats of every description come past loaded with people. Everyone shouts and waves at us, and sometimes we are treated to music, both vocal and instrumental. Nearly all start with ‘Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean,’ and then by special request they end with ‘Home, Sweet Home.’ We always cheer after each song, and then get another. After supper, when we are not working, we generally have a good time. All gather on the forecastle head and sing sons. Some of the boys have mouth harps, and one a mandolin. They are kept busy and when they tire, some old salt favors us with a solo or story, and we generally have a cakewalk in the last act. At 8, the first watch goes on and the others must go below. At sea, we get two hours at a time, but only one in port. I went to bed Saturday night with the expectation of enjoying a full night’s rest, as my name had not been called. I put in my best licks, and slept soundly until 1, when I was awakened and told to go on anchor watch. Once on deck, I was soon wide awake, and forgot all about the dreams from which I had been disturbed. It was a beautiful sight, and just the right kind of a night to make things appear at their best. The heavens were partly overcast with clouds, but here and there bright stars could be seen shining down upon the water. Few sounds could be heard but those on the vessel. The steady throbbing of the engines, the regular tramping of the sentinel back and forth, and the washing of waves against the ship’s sides; while after the ringing of the bell which tolled off the half hours, the watch in the lookout would cry out in a deep hoarse voice, ‘all is well.’ This cry is taken up by all, and goes from all watches to the bridge. Out near the harbor entrance is a bell buoy, and in the still night its mournful cling, clang, cling reaches your ears and starts the cold chills down your backbone. When facing the entrance to the harbor, the lighthouse, with its huge rotary searchlight, lies on our port bow. During the night this is constantly in motion, and it can be seen for miles. Nearly opposite this is the Statue of Liberty, and this too is crowned with a magnificent illuminating. But this is stationary, and its bright rays look very much like the silver beams of the moon as they sparkle on the tiny waves.

Hundreds of lights shine from the famous Brooklyn Bridge. They are stationed at regular intervals, and form a continuous line from one shore to the other. The effect is beautiful. On both sides are thousands of bright lights, and now and then the headlight of some electric car can be seen as she rounds the curve and comes on swiftly toward the riverfront.

The red and green lights of the government tugs, steaming here and there, lend their beauty to the scene, and tend to make a combination of brightness that would be difficult to beat. But now gray dawn begins to show itself above the horizon, and begins to creep toward the zenith. One by one the lights disappear, and a new day begins. There is a stir on shore, and the noise of bugles comes over the waters from the forts and vessels calling the men from their slumbers to their daily tasks, and the same old routine of duty, if taken up again. Decks are scrubbed, doors and brass work are shined. Then breakfast of spuds, bread, coffee, steak, and onions at 7:20. On Sunday, breakfast is a treat, as it is the only time we get steak. I eat cooked onions just as if I had been living on them all my life. After breakfast, we are again surprised by the declaration that we can have the day to ourselves. It is something new, and sounds too good to be true. Some turn in to make up for lost sleep, and others read or write letters. A newspaper man has just come alongside, and besides papers he has fresh milk in quart bottles. I stopped writing long enough to buy and drink a quart of cool, rich milk, and consider my dime well invested. Before going back to my letter writing, I found that mail was being distributed. A letter and a postal for me, and also my sweater. It will come very handy, and I am very glad that you sent it.

Brooklyn, or what I can see of it, reminds me very much of dear old Alton. It has just such hills, and the buildings that can be seen are similar to ours. So far, everything has been very pleasant here, and we can enjoy ourselves. Night watch becomes a pleasure, and the cool climate causes the boys to put some life and vigor into their work. All we want now to make our happiness complete is 12 hours shore leave. I think we will get mail regular now, and we can find time to read all that is written. Letters from home meet with a warm reception here, and clippings are passed around. We get plenty of news here, and are once more up to date on war news. The Alton boys seem to be favored in this war, and I hope it will continue so. I have not seen the Vulcan since reaching Cuab, and hope I will not see her any more, for she is too slow to keep company with the Harvard. More troops and a trip to Puerto Rico is what awaits us, and then a long period without news from home. I think that we will be away from the States a month, and may be six months."

LETTER FROM ED A. HAIGHT
Alton Seamen in Quarantine
Source: Alton Telegraph, August 04, 1898
In a letter to his mother, Ed A. Haight, a seaman on the U.S.S. Harvard tell how the Alton boys, as well as all the crew on the Harvard, were fumigated on the arrival in New York:

New York Harbor, July 25
“Well, I have been through quarantine, and now I know all about it. I always had an idea it was something to be dreaded, but it isn’t. Yesterday afternoon we got orders to pack everything that belonged to us, dress in blue, and be ready to leave the boat after supper. About 7:30, men and baggage were loaded upon a quarantine tug and taken to Hoffman Island, about four miles distant from the U.S.S. Harvard. None of us had an idea what they were going to do with us, and all were happy. I don’t believe a jollier crowd ever went into quarantine. The trip to the island was delightful and thoroughly enjoyed by all. We passed close to that famous summer resort, South Beach, and I never saw a grander sight. The display of lights was wonderful. I can’t describe it, so I won’t try. We could also see Coney Island and the Ferris Wheel of World’s Fair fame. Upon our arrival at the island, the work was begun. All bags and hammocks (after all leather, glass, rubber, paper, etc. had been removed) were placed in an airtight room, and then all kinds of steam, gases, and fumigating matter was turned upon them. The heat they went through amounted to 240 degrees Fahrenheit. They were in this room 30 minutes, and while they were steaming, we were all treated to the finest bath agoing. Turkish bath, warm water to start with, this kept getting warmer, then a vapor bath with fumigating stuff, and then a shower bath of hot water, and then a shower bath of cold. It was the first fresh water bath any of us had had since leaving home, and the first of any kind for some. It made us all feel like new men, and also made us look better. The clothes we had on all had to be doctored, and so each man was given a suit of gray flannel. We were a queer looking lot with those suits. The nearest that I can come to describing our appearance is that we looked like Chinese laundrymen. Then all were taken into a large room, each man was given a bunk with wire springs and a place to dry clothes. All the clothes were spread out, and then after a midnight meal, we turned in. All we had between us and the wire springs was a red blanket, but nevertheless, I had the best night’s sleep I have had for a long time. In the morning, every man had a checkerboard marked out on his back from the springs. We didn’t have time to stop to play a game, but gathered all things into our bags and loaded them on the boat and went back to the U.S.S. Harvard.

Quarantine makes lots of work, for all bedding has to be taken out of the ship, but I feel repaid for any work I did, and for the sake of the bath would be willing to go into quarantine again. Only half of the crew went at a time. While we were gone, the other half rumigated the ship. In the morning, dozens of dead rats were found in all parts of the vessel.

Now that things are being cleaned up, we begin to hear about shore leave, and I think we may get it. Very little work has been done lately, and when the loading does begin, we boys will put it on in a hurry and show the officers that a little rest once in a while does us good. We scrub down decks now in less than half the time we used to. I heard two officers speak of it. All they have to do is to let the boys know they are trying to help them, and then we take hold of things with a will. There was a time when officers and men didn’t pull well together.

Yesterday was Sunday, and we had our plum duff as usual. I’m going to write a story sometime upon this subject, ‘The mystery of the Harvard, or who found the plum in the plum duff?’ Tomorrow work starts in earnest. You ought to have seen me eat peas for dinner today. Peas, beans, and canned tomatoes are a luxury with me now, and if I can eat these cooked here, what will I do to those cooked at home?” Signed Ed A. Haight.

[Ed’s reference to eating peas, beans, and canned tomatoes is explained by saying that when at home, there was very little of the vegetarian about him. However, seafaring life has taught him to like vegetables.]

LETTER FROM ED HAIGHT
U.S.S. Harvard
Source: Alton Telegraph, September 01, 1898
A letter from Ed Haight, a member of the Harvard’s crew, states that all the Alton boys on that vessel are in good health. We judge from the tenor of Ed’s letter that now that the war is over, a homeward voyage would be most acceptable to all the young sailors. And they will get it very soon. The health of all Altonians in the service, both army and navy, is remarkable. Not one has received serious injury, and not one, so far as we can learn, is ill.

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LETTER FROM ENSIGN HAROLD H. HEWITT
Source: Alton Telegraph, June 09, 1898
Ensign H. H. Hewitt writes his father on June 03 from Key West, that he was to leave that day for Cardenas, on the U.S. steamship Leyden, to which he had been assigned as executive officer. The Leyden carried 3-inch and Maxim guns. The vessel is commanded by Lieutenant W. S. Crosby, and Ensign Hewitt is the only other commissioned officer on the steamship.

Mr. Hewitt writes that as three Spanish gunboats are reported to be at Cardenas, there is likely to be some warm work for the Leyden. He says he has been faring on hard tack, beans and pork, and relishes the food very much. He is enjoying good health. The water on the vessels is distilled, being the purest and best to be had. Onboard the vessels the officers pay for their food, and can, therefore, have whatever they want. Ensign Hewitt states that Lieutenants Porter and Hunt, who took the Chicago militia to Tampa, have been assigned to the Ferm, U.S. dispatch boat.

A LETTER FROM ENSIGN HAROLD HEWITT
Source: Alton Telegraph, June 23, 1898
Mr. Edward C. Paul has received a letter from Ensign Hewitt, dated off Cardenas, which he consented to have published:

“Dear Ed: for my part, I wish you were down here with me, but for your own good, I think it is better that you are in Illinois. It is hot and stormy, and a continual strain down here on the blockade. We had a very pleasant trip down as far as Tampa. Tried to see the Alton boys there, but couldn’t find them. Have ended up here by being assigned to the Leyden, a small boat, about 500 tons, battery four guns, crew of 40 men, two officers and a mate. From all appearances, as far as I can judge, the war will be prolonged. The insurgents do not seem to be well fixed as regards to ammunition or arms, yet there are a lot of them, and they are doing good work. We frequently have some of their officers onboard. They show the effect of hardships gone through, poorly fed and clothed, yet they are a determined people, and seem to be a better class then I expected to find. Two whom we had onboard yesterday were perfect gentlemen; had been educated in the United States, and spoke English, Spanish, and German. They told a hard tale of suffering, both as to themselves and their families. They have been fighting and living around in the brush for two years.

The Naval Militia seems to have created quite a favorable impression down here. There are five of them onboard the Leyden, being Chicago and Moline boys.

You ought to have your soda fountain here; you would have a good thing. You might also bring a grocery store and an ice wagon. We have run out of ice, and need some. We are due to stay out here for ten days from the date June 14 before being relieved. You will notice I am writing this letter part at a time, some one day, some the next. I will mail it as soon as I get a chance. That box of cigars you gave me came in very hands. They are appreciated, and I want to again thank you for them. There is no danger from the Spaniards. They fire at us occasionally, but they might as well fire blanks for all the effect.

Have seen it raining over in Cuba every day since we have been out. It is queer the way it rains on the island and not out here. We have only been in a hard squall twice. Well, I have a chance to send this to Key West, so will quit. Remember me to any of the boys who are in Alton. Most Sincerely, H. H. Hewitt.”

LETTER FROM ENSIGN HAROLD HEWITT
Source: Alton Telegraph, July 21, 1898
A letter from Ensign Harold Hewitt, dated July 10, from Key West, contains the following:
“I have just received letters from home dated July 05, and am glad to know that you had such a pleasant Fourth, and that the boys remembered me early in the morning. Life here isn’t just what one might wish, on account of a yellow fever scare. We are quarantined on the ship. The thermometer is away out of sight, and the ice machine broken down. Still, I don’t complain. I am used to hot weather, and got used to drinking warm water while on the blockade, so don’t mind the absence of ice. I suppose it is pretty hot in Alton. The trouble here is, if it is 110 degrees in the daytime, it stays 110 all night. We have several fat officers onboard, and they are in misery all the time.

The Leyden has been taken off the blockade, and I have been transferred to the U.S.S. Lancaster, and placed in the pay department.

Yellow fever has scared the newspaper correspondents, and everybody who can get away out of Key West. The general opinion here is that the war is over, and the navy having little to do, want it over soon as possible. I expect to be dismissed at any time, and arrive home by August 01. The feeling here is that the navy will have little or no more fighting to do. Isn’t it remarkable how the navy got through Manila and Santiago with such slight loss? My regards to all Alton friends.” H. H. Hewitt.

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LETTER FROM JOHN HUNTER
8th Illinois Infantry
Source: Alton Telegraph, September 01, 1898
Mr. Henry Hunter of Alton has received a letter from his son, John Hunter, who enlisted in the 8th Illinois, and is now stationed at Santiago de Cuba. The letter was written August 17, the day following the arrival of the 8th in Cuba. The young soldier writes that he is much pleased with Cuba. The regiment was transported on the U.S.S. Yale, and he saw some of the Alton boys onboard. All the Alton boys of the 8th are well and on duty guarding the city. He says the climate is not unbearably hot, but he thinks Cuba is not the place for him to stay permanently in.

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LETTER FROM WARD LANE
U.S.S. Yale; June 19, 1898
Source: Alton Telegraph, June 30, 1898
“We have been transferred to the U.S.S. Yale as you no doubt know by this time, and we are having a very good time, having good sleeping quarters and good food, and plenty of it. We have been taking on coal and water for the past three days, which is done by steam hoists, and the rest is done by the coal passers. The Yale is armed with eight 5-inch rapid-fire guns, and six 3-pounders. Dode Parker is Captain of the No. 4 gun (5-inch), and I am Second Captain.

The crew was filled out yesterday by taking on 150 more firemen and coal passers, making a crew of about 450 men. We run 25 knots an hour, faster than any cruiser in the Spanish Navy. She has fifty air-tight compartments below the water line, and can be shot full of holes without sinking, so we are not in much danger when you come to think about it. I bunk with George Parker and Will Montgomery of Jerseyville, having four berths in a room.

Clay Butler has been quite sick with chills and fever, but a letter received this morning from him, written on Sunday morning just before the U.S.S. Harvard sailed, said he was all right again. Writing at 7 a.m., Clay says: ‘We are getting ready now, and will leave about noon on our first voyage. The boys have worked very hard and are pretty well tired out. All kinds of stores and ammunition have been taken on the U.S.S. Harvard. We have all the troops aboard, and they are a great lot of fellows. I have been on the sick list, but am feeling all right now. The doctors are the finest fellows you can imagine. They look after you in such a kind way, and not as if they were doing it because they had to. I hear the mess call, and must say goodbye.’

Frank Boals writes that he has been appointed gunner’s mate, third class, on the U.S.S. Harvard, and will have supervision of a number of guns. It is a non-commissioned office, and is above a gun captain.”

LETTER FROM WARD LANE
Gun Captain on the U.S.S. Yale
Source: Alton Telegraph, July 14, 1898
The following letter was written by Gun Captain Ward Lane, son of Mr. H. Lane, one of the crew of the scout ship U.S.S. Yale:

Key West, Florida, July 03, 1898
“We arrived here from Santiago at 8:30 a.m., and are lying off the harbor waiting for mail. We had a fine trip with fine weather, and all the boys are well and doing fine.

We carried 1500 infantry with us on the trip down, so the ship was crowded to her fullest capacity with the freight, soldiers, and crew. We have 42 marines on here who have charge of the three-pound rapid-firing guns, while we have charge of the five-inch guns. We had to shoot for place on the guns to see who was to command the guns, and also to work on the different parts and to carry ammunition - a shell weighing about 137 pounds. We shot first with one of the small rifles like we had to home, and I made a score of 22 out of 25 at 1,000 yards. At sub-calibre practice with the big guns, I made 23 out of 25 at 4,200 yards. There are 12 men on each gun crew. I am Captain of gun No. 4, and may possibly become coxswain, third class, in a few days.

We had practice with the 5-inch guns with the regular shells out at sea, the first and second captains of each gun taking a shot apiece with their own gun at a float that was dropped by the ship. I made a fine shot at 5,000 yards, striking at the base of the float and raising it out of water. The captain sent his compliments to the gun crew, and said it was an excellent shot.

We arrived in Santiago on Monday morning, and landed the troops and stores and put to sea again as soon as possible to chase a prize. We had received word she had started from along the coast to run the blockade at Santiago.

The battleships do not look the fine ships they do in the books and papers, all being painted a dull gray color. We signaled a man-of-war off the coast of Cuba on the way to Havana, and thought she was a Spanish ship, and we were all called to quarter, the guns loaded with solid shot, and there was a great deal of excitement onboard until we found out it was an American man-of-war, so we were disappointed in not getting a shot at it.

We are to start for Newport News and New York this evening, where we will get more troops and go back to Santiago. This boat is to be used as a troop and scout ship, so I don’t think we will be in much danger, as we won’t see any Spanish ships.”

LETTER FROM WARD LANE
Source: Alton Telegraph, August 04, 1898
Under date of July 19, Ward Lane, son of Mr. G. H. Lane, writes to his parents from which the following is a paragraph or two:

“We arrived here a week ago with troops, but have not had any mails leaving the ship, so it did no good to write until we found out when we could send off mail. We left Charleston on July 08, and headed for Santiago the second time with the 6th Massachusetts aboard and part of the 7th Illinois, and also General Miles and his staff on the way to the field. There was not any excitement on the way down until the Island of Cuba was sighted, and then the troops went crazy. We ran in sight of Santiago on Monday at about 2 o’clock, in time to see the last of the bombardment and the surrender of the city. We were not here when the fleet came out of the harbor, having left the day before for Charleston.

I have been vaccinated, and it has taken good and strong, but is about well now. It will leave a lovely scar, so I will have my war mark to remember my trips to Cuba when the war is over. I don’t think we will be in the navy much longer, as there is talk of discharging the naval reserves. We are laying off the harbor waiting for orders to unload or take the troops someplace else. When we get back to New York, we will all get shore leave.”

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LETTER FROM DR. HARRY LEMEN
Source: Alton Telegraph, September 08, 1898
Dr. Harry Lemen, under date of August 29, writes his father, Dr. E. C. Lemen, that the general conditions of the hospitals at Montauk Point have materially improved the last week. The hospitals are supplied with all comforts, including delicacies. Since the young doctor was relieved from duty with the 71st New York volunteers, he has returned to his old regiment, the 16th U.S. Infantry, as acting surgeon of the regiment, with complete charge. On the day he wrote, he had prescribed for 120 sick soldiers of his regiment, performing many other duties such as making requisitions for supplies, transferring patients to hospitals, making report of sanitary condition of camp, etc. Dr. Lemen expects leave of absence October 01, for fifteen or twenty days.

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LETTER FROM GEORGE PARKER
July 04, 1898
Source: Alton Telegraph, July 14, 1898
On our way to Charleston, South Carolina, from Santiago:
“Dear Sister and Parents: While I have a few leisure moments, I will try and tell you a little of the Navy life. We are now on our way to Charleston, South George Parker Carolina, to get some troops to take to Santiago de Cuba. We left Hampton Roads, Virginia on Thursday, arrived at Santiago the following Monday morning, then unloaded provisions and soldiers. We also carried 1,600 soldiers from Old Point Comfort to Santiago, and I guess they weren’t a sick lot when we got out to sea. Ward Lane, Streeper, and a few more of the boys got seasick, but I stood it all right. The third of July we laid off Key West. We were not allowed to go ashore because they have yellow fever there. All the boys are getting vaccinated.

We thought we were going to have a battle off Havana, but come to find out it was one of the American battleships, so it was all right, but you ought to have seen the boys getting ready for action. It is beginning to get like work on the Yale now, taking coal from the afterdeck and wheeling it forward, working four hours on and twelve off, so you see we get a little rest.

As for Cuba, I wouldn’t have it as a gift. You ought to see Santiago. It is nothing but an old fort, but of course quite a sight for an American to see. Sunday we received orders to go direct to Charleston to get some more troops.

We saw Sampson’s fleet at Santiago. While we were unloading hard tack, pork, beans, corned beef, and tomatoes for the soldiers, the Cubans, on their transfer boat, exchanged coconuts and mangoes for chewing tobacco. The coconuts are not like the ones we get at home, but are fresh from the trees and are much nicer. I was on Cuban shore about five minutes on day, having gone ashore to get the mail for the soldiers. It looks very warlike down here, and the weather is getting rather warm, but the Yale is always on the go, and that makes it much cooler.

There is some talk of the Yale going to Manila, but of course you can’t believe anything you hear onboard ship. When we were going to Santiago, myself and another were in the crow’s nest from 10 o’clock to 12, looking for Spanish vessels. The crow’s nest is a place built on the foremast, about 40 feet above the deck, and they always keep two men there on the lookout. Just imagine being about 70 feet above the water in that nest. One good thing about the Yale, she never stays where there is much fighting going on, so of course we are pretty safe. We have not received any pay as yet, but expect to some day.

Cuba is very mountainous, what I have seen of it, but I guess it is better farther back from the coast.

Tell Galbally and all the boys that I would write, but you see we can’t mail a letter. Some of the boys got very seasick the second day out. Their appetites were poor. They would go into the mess room, look at the grub, and then get up and run for the railing of the ship and give up everything that could come up. I stuck it out, but one day felt kind of shaky, but came out all right. The poor soldiers on deck had nothing to eat but hard tack, pork, and beans. They offered as much as 50 cents for a biscuit, but the boys on this ship ain’t built that way, so every biscuit they could get after eating, they would take out to the soldiers. They were a fine lot of fellows. At present, we are now off the coast of South Carolina, and expect to arrive at Charleston at daybreak. Hoping this letter will find you all well, I am your sailor boy, George, instead of Jack. I have been appointed Coxswain [person in charge of navigating the boat].” Signed, George Parker.

LETTERS FROM GEORGE PARKER
Source: Alton Telegraph, August 11, 1898
Guantanamo, July 17, 1898 – “As this is our day off duty, I will write some to you. We don’t receive any news here at all about the war, and I guess you know more about it than we do. The New York Herald boat came alongside Sunday, and gave us about 1,000 papers, but they were five days old, so you see the news we get isn’t very fresh. WE left Charleston last Thursday and arrived at Santiago harbor Monday morning, with 1,600 Massachusetts soldiers. Santiago harbor is about five miles from a little town called Siboney, where we expected to land the troops as we did the Michigan boys, but yellow fever was so bad there we laid at anchor until General Miles could consult with General Shafter on shore. When General Miles returned to the ship, he burned all his clothes to prevent contagion. We left for Guantanamo, a place with a harbor full of battleships – the place where the first battle took place. There is a fort there which the soldiers have taken, and Old Glory floats over it. Yesterday I went ashore in the whale boat as coxswain, to take General Miles and his staff. It is quite a nice position, coxswain, with nothing to do but steer the boat at the command of the officer. We are sick of soldiers. They are always lying around on the deck, and we can hardly get around at nighttime when we go on duty.

I saw Sappington on the Leyden at Guantanamo. One of the boys was on shore, and met “Sap” and had a long talk with him. He told me of it, and when the Leyden came across our bow I sqw him on deck. I could hardly believe it was him, but it was. I saw Admiral Sampson one day when he came over to see General Miles. He looks like his pictures exactly. The weather is not very hot, and the nights are cool.” Signed, George Parker.

New York, August 01 – We are now anchored in the harbor off Tompkinsville, and we can see the Brooklyn bridge and Liberty statue from where we are lying near the U.S.S. Harvard. It is the first time we have seen the Harvard since we left Newport News, and we want to get over to see the boys. When I relieved coxswain at supper, I went over in a naptha launch to get some fresh beef, and there the first one I saw was Clay Butler. I had on oil skins, and he didn’t know me, but I called and when he saw it was me, he called all the boys to the rail to talk to me. They were asking about the trip and were surprised when I told them we had nothing to eat but hard tack and salt horse for three weeks. They said they had had hard tack one day, but they made only one trip to Santiago, while we had been on the sea all the time. The boys are all crazy to go ashore and get some fruit. Just think of being onboard a vessel for six weeks.” Signed, George Parker.

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LETTER FROM HARRY ROWAN
Injured Twice
U.S. Naval Reserves
Source: Alton Telegraph, September 15, 1898
Mr. Charles Rowan received a letter from his son, Harry, this morning, who is in a hospital at Taunton, Massachusetts, suffering from injuries received in a railroad wreck a week ago. His injuries consist of a broken bone below the knee, concussion of the knee, and severe bruises. He will have a claim for heavy damages against the railroad, whose attorneys are already trying to settle the case.

Harry was a member of the Naval Reserves, and was assigned to duty on the U.S. repair ship, Vulcan. In an explosion on the Vulcan at Santiago, he was severely scalded, and was taken to the hospital at Chelsea, Massachusetts. He had almost recovered and was on his way to join the rest of the reserves at New York, when the last accident happened to him.

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LETTER FROM WILL “SAP” SAPPINGTON
Source: Alton Telegraph, September 15, 1898
Mrs. S. Sappington received a letter yesterday from her son, Will Sappington, who is now a seaman in the U.S. Navy. Sap found it hard to enter the service, and now he finds it equally hard to get out. He will have to remain in the navy for another year, so reports coming with the Naval Militia boys say. In his letter, Sap says he arrived at Newport, Rhode Island on August 20, after a long voyage on the Leyden from Ponce of eleven days. The Leyden went out of commission at Newport, and entered the torpedo service. Since Sap left Key West two months before, he had not set foot ashore until he arrived at Newport.

LETTER FROM WILL SAPPINGTON
Source: Alton Telegraph, September 22, 1898
Mr. George Colonius has received a letter from Will Sappington of the U.S.S. Leyden, giving a personal account of the Nipe affair, where the Leyden had its first fight. Sap says “the Leyden and Wasp were ordered to go into the Bay of Nipe and learn what there was there. We went in at 12 o’clock, the Leyden in the lead. We had not gone far, when we saw a flag on a point about one mile ahead. It was my watch, so I had a good chance to see. We soon discovered it was a signal station, and they were signaling to someone. A little further on, we sighted a ship about four miles in the bay. We steamed slow, keeping a sharp lookout for mines, but saw none. We could see small boats going to and from the ship we were heading for. We steamed slowly until we were 3,000 yards from the vessel, and we saw it was a Spanish gunboat. Our guns were all manned. In a few minutes, we saw a cloud of smoke from the Spaniard, and then a shot struck the water 100 feet from our port bow. We opened on them, and the Spaniard fired about four shots and ceased. Then we saw a boatload of men leaving the vessel, and then we saw the vessel was sinking.” Sap thought there was not great glory in the fight, for his opinion was that the Spaniards sunk the vessel themselves. Sap thinks he will remain in the navy until next June.

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LETTER FROM SEAMAN CHARLES SMITH
U.S.S. Harvard
Source: Alton Telegraph, July 28, 1898
Under date of July 15, Seaman Charles Smith of the U.S.S. Harvard writes his parents, Mr. and Mrs. William Ellis Smith of Alton, as follows:
“We have 1,047 Spaniards onboard the Harvard, and they are dying two and three a day. We have had a funeral every day since we left for the United States. It took us five days from Norfolk to go to Santiago. We got there early Saturday morning. When we turned to and went on deck, the fleet was lying about a mile away in a circular form about Morro Castle, with the flagship New York close to the batteries. You have read how strongly fortified Morro Castle is, but you cannot imagine the half of its strength. Morro Castle is upon a high bluff, and its white walls are very plainly seen, but from the sea one would never think that a city was behind this wall. As we steamed into the fleet our Captain hailed the New York, telling her he had soldiers and ammunition for the fleet. The answer came back, “Unload the troops first,” and the Harvard steamed ahead. We had hardly gone a boat’s length, when the Captain of the New York sang out, “Put your helm hard astarboard, and ketch clear of the batteries.” So you can tell how close we were to the fort. We moved down the coast and started to unload the troops. We lay there four or five days unloading, as the sea was too rough to allow a tug to get alongside, and we had to do it with the small boats. It was an awful job. At times we would have to stop work, and everyone hold onto the life line in order to keep the boat out from the Harvard’s side. Every night we went to sea and joined the fleet, lying just outside of them. One morning we went up on the fore castle deck, and about 5:30 the fleet bombarded the fort. We were out of reach, but could see the whole thing. We saw a puff of smoke and then as a shot hit the fort a cloud of dirt would fly up 40 or 50 feet high. It was a grand sight for about three hours, and then the fleet put to sea again. The Spanish shot flew wild. They are poor gunners, as was proven Sunday morning, July 03. On that morning, we had gone to work unloading stores as usual, when a signal was sent us that the Spanish fleet was coming out of the harbor. The boats with loads going ashore turned back, and soon we were under way. We were too late to get into the fight. In a small bay, just above the forts, the smoke was so thick that for a time we could not make out what was in there. But when we got there, I saw the Infanta Maria Theresa and the Oquendo lying with their bows on shore and with flames and smoke rising from all quarters. We did not stop. The Indiana, coming down, hailed us, and the Captain sang out, ‘Tell the Admiral you passed me; I go to engage the Colon. She has gone eastward.’ The decks were crowded with men, and as we passed a cheer went up that made our blood tingle. Shortly after, the magazines of the Theresa exploded. Soon we saw the Viscaya half under water. As we passed her, her magazine exploded. The Iowa hailed us and told us to follow, as she had 500 prisoners onboard. About fifteen minutes after, the Erricson hailed and said that there were 400 over on the beach dying of starvation, we lowered all the boats and started for there. I was the first man in our boat to get onshore. A heavy sea was rolling. An officer of the Gloucester was there, and he told us to return to the ship and bring a marine force, as there were about 500 Spaniards back in the valley, and the Cubans had threatened to kill them. We went back, but were ordered to go and bring them all onboard. When we got there, one of our boats was beached, and the Spaniards were climbing into it and then into our boat. Some of the Spaniards had only a shirt on; others nothing but a waist cloth on; very few had hats. To get the Spaniards, we went within fifteen feet of the Theresa. On her forecastle deck were four cows. The heat from the fire below was making the hair drop from the cows. The heat was so great that the iron sides of the ship were red hot in places, and as the waves rolled against them, you could hear the sizzle on our boat. We took over some hardtack and the Spaniards almost upset the boat to get it. We were five hours transferring and wet to the skin. About 12 o’clock ‘quarters’ sounded, and everyone jumped from their bunks. When someone cried, ‘the Spaniards are out upon the decks,’ we went and were met on all sides by the marines and soldiers with rifles. Firemen and engineers came from the stoke holes with iron bars. Some of the prisoners jumped overboard, and they were heard calling for the boats. Our Master-at-Arms killed one with an ax handle. He met him coming around the corner of the cabin. The Master told him to go back. The Spaniard kept saying, ‘No, no.’ the Master picked up a club and hit him over the head. He never knew what hit him. After it was all over, and we were picking up the dead and wounded, four of us, with a Lieutenant, went back to the Spaniards, and took out the wounded. The decks were covered with blood. Four of us carried one man to the hospital, having to step over others on our way. When we laid down the wounded, we picked up and carried out the dead and put them with the other dead. Six were killed and twelve wounded. The next morning we went back and unloaded stores, but the sea was so rough we had to give it up. Our boat at one time was carried away, and just at the same time the vessel started so as to get near shore. We were drawn down on the propeller, the propeller struck our boat, and knocked the bottom out of it. Just then a wave lifted our boat clear, and before we came down were out of danger. The next day we went to Guantanamo and took on coal and more prisoners. After loading coal and passengers, we started for Portsmouth."

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LETTER FROM HARRY VANTREESE
Source: Alton Telegraph, July 14, 1898
Harry VanTreese, son of Dr. and Mrs. F. M. VanTreese of 930 Alby Street, writes his parents from Santiago after the first battle, in which the Roosevelt’s Rough Riders, of which he is one, were ambushed by Spaniards on landing in Cuba. The young man came through the fight safely, and writes as follows:
“June 26, 1898 – Dear papa and all the folks, Well, I have been under fire and came out with bullet holes in my clothes, but no wounds. First to organize, first to embark, first to land, and now the first battle of this campaign. We landed without any difficulty, and took up our march to Santiago, the Rough Riders about four miles in advance of the army. We engaged the Spaniards in battle, about 4,000 of them to 800 of us, but we stood like rocks and fired volley after volley into them. They had fortifications built of stones, but we charged them and drove them like sheep. They had some artillery with them and rapid-fire guns. We opened the battle, and after an hour’s hard fighting, we had four troops of dismounted cavalry reinforcements and one squadron of colored cavalry from the 7th Regulars. But Colonel Wood’s regiment made four charges after fighting two hours and a half, and the Spaniards fled carrying their wounded and part of their dead. We killed as many as 200 of the Spanish, and wounded as many more. Our regiment suffered nine dead and 30 or 40 wounded. Our captain was shot down about 10 feet from me, and many more wounded. The bullets sung and spit around me like a swarm of bees, and God only knows how I got out alive. But do you know I like the sound just to get a whack at the Spaniards. We have become the pride of the army, and if I should fall at Santiago, remember that your son fought in one of the most difficult and historical battles ever fought, and camped right on the spot where we sent them below, and not above. I have seen nine of our bravest men fall, and have seen Colonel Wood ride to the front of the firing line, dismount under the heaviest fire, and lead his horse up and down the line in front of the enemy, his horse cropping grass as he walked giving orders. Don’t you think if such men as that can face the enemy, I can afford to fall? My opinion is we shall have a hard time taking Santiago. What the papers said in regard to misery here is all true, and the Spaniards are as cruel as said to be. We gave no quarters to any of them. In three days from this date, I will be either in Santiago or in some other place. The regulars and volunteers are determined to take the city. Our fleet has razed the fortifications at the front of the harbor, and it is said can go in at any moment. Goodbye. Your son, Harry.”

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MISCELLANEOUS LETTERS TO HOME
Luke Chapman; H. H. Hewitt; H. R. Stanford; James Robertson
Source: Alton Telegraph, July 14, 1898
Luke B. Chapman, one of the Alton Naval Militia boys, writes rather discouragingly of the food doled out on the receiving ship U.S.S. Franklin, at Norfolk. Mr. Chapman has now been assigned to another vessel, and no doubt he is in better luck by this time.

Mr. George H. Hewitt received a letter from Ensign H. H. Hewitt this morning, sent from Key West. He said the U.S.S. Leyden had been ordered to Santiago, and it has probably reached that placed by this time. Some direct news from the Alton boys may now be received through Ensign Hewitt.

Mr. Homer Stanford received a letter from his son. H. R. Stanford, Sunday. Reed is an engineer in the U.S. Army, and has been ordered from Washington to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where he will superintend the construction of a military prison for the 1,600 men captured from
Cervera’s ships.

Mr. Charles Beall has received a letter from Secretary of War Alger, relative to the inquiries made as to the safety of Charles L. Beall, a member of Company G, 16th U.S. Infantry, at Santiago. The Secretary of War’s letter informed the father of the young soldier that his name had not appeared in any of the lists of the victims of the battle, and that as soon as any data concerning him could be secured, it would be forwarded.

James Robertson, who is in Co. E, 19th U.S. Infantry at Tampa, writes home that all the Alton boys are well and enjoying camp life as much as possible. The boys think the salt water bath a great treat, and take advantage of every opportunity to bathe in the bay. The Alton boys now in the 19th Infantry are James Robertson, John Cousley, August Eckhard, Percy Abel, Herman Horneyer, William Hebroke, Bartley Hellrung, Albert Golimer. They are not all in the same company.

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