“Fame Hath Crowned with Laurel the Swords of Grant and Lee.”
ETHINKS to-night I catch a gleam of steel among the pines,
And yonder by the lilied stream repose the foemen's lines;
The ghostly guards who pace the ground a moment stop to see
If all is safe and still around the tents of Grant and Lee.
'Tis but a dream; no armies camp where once their bay'nets
shone;
And Hesper's calm and lovely lamp shines on the dead alone;
A cricket chirps on yonder rise beneath a cedar tree
Where glinted 'neath the summer skies the swords of Grant and Lee.
Forever sheathed those famous blades that led the eager van!
They shine no more among the glades that fringe the Rapidan;
To-day their battle work is done, go draw them forth and see
That not a stain appears upon the swords of Grant and Lee.
The gallant men who saw them flash in comradeship to-day
Recall the wild, impetuous dash of val'rous blue and gray;
And 'neath the flag that proudly waves above a Nation free,
They oft recall the missing braves who fought with Grant and Lee.
They sleep among the tender grass, they slumber 'neath the pines,
They're camping in the mountain pass where crouched the serried lines;
They rest where loud the tempests blow, destructive in their glee—
The men who followed long ago the swords of Grant and Lee.
Their graves are lying side by side where once they met as foes,
And where they in the wildwood died springs up a blood-red rose;
O'er them the bee on golden wing doth flit, and in yon tree
A gentle robin seems to sing to them of Grant and Lee.
To-day no strifes of sections rise, to-day no shadows fall
Upon our land, and 'neath the skies one flag waves over all;
The Blue and Gray as comrades stand, as comrades bend the knee,
And ask God's blessings on the land that gave us Grant and Lee.
So long as southward, wide and clear, Potomac's river runs,
Their deeds will live because they were Columbia's hero sons;
So long as bend the Northern pines, and blooms the orange tree,
The swords will shine that led the lines of valiant Grant and Lee.
Methinks I hear a bugle blow, methinks I hear a drum;
And there, with martial step and slow, two ghostly armies come;
They are the men who met as foes, for 'tis the dead I see,
And side by side in peace repose the swords of Grant and Lee.
Above them let Old Glory wave, and let each deathless star
Forever shine upon the brave who lead the ranks of war;
Their fame resounds from coast to coast, from mountain top to sea
No other land than ours can boast the swords of Grant and Lee!
NLY those who know the power of peace can realize the dread of war. For four centuries Spain has borne down upon her colonies, with a heavy hand. The brightest of them, Cuba, “the Pearl of the Antilles,” has been the victim of two cruel and merciless wars at her hands, waged with relentless barbarity. We could not, as a Christian nation, help protesting against her inhumanity to a people whose home was so near our shores.
For thirty years the sounds of war had been silent in our domain, but justice demanded that we interfere in behalf of a people who are struggling against oppression, and in the noble cause of humanity. Spain's cruelty and Spain's greed are matters of history.
On the 25th of January the Maine, an American battleship, entered the harbor of Havana, Cuba, and anchored in her waters at a spot indicated by the harbor-master. The usual exchange of salutes and formal visits expected between two powers, took place, and there was no apparent unfriendliness shown. Just three weeks from that day, in the evening of the 15th of February, an explosion took place, which tore the boat to atoms, killing 266 of her crew and two officers. At once treachery was suspected, but the American people was asked to suspend its judgment until the long and searching investigation which was conducted by the naval board of inquiry was ended, when every evidence was produced proving that the awful calamity was due wholly to Spanish treachery.
This led to a severing of all diplomatic relations, which was ended by the Spanish minister's request for his passport. Spain declared war upon the United States on April 24, 1898, and it took the House of Representatives one minute and forty-one seconds to pass a declaration of war in reply to Spain, and the Senate acted with equal promptness.
Events of such vast importance have rarely followed each other with such rapidity as have those of our late war with Spain. In less than three months a nation which deemed itself invincible, threw down the gauntlet which was as speedily picked up, and engagements and battles trod almost upon each other's heels, until its boast was proved a vain one, and victory was ours.
Our people were ready to accept the challenge. From North and South came the glad response. Once more the blue and the gray fought side by side, as brothers.
Our history would be incomplete if I did not tell my young readers who fired the first shot in our war with Spain. The United States cruiser, Nashville, of the North Atlantic squadron at Key West, can lay proud claim to that honor.
It was a clear and beautiful morning in April when the American fleet left Key West, and proceeding southward across the straits of Florida, first saw the city of Havana and the battlements of the famous Morro Castle, on the afternoon of the same day. The fleet presented a gallant sight, and when at three in the morning Admiral Sampson's flagship, the New York, flashed forth her signal lights, the answering signals were given from all the ships of the fleet, black smoke began to pour from the smokestacks, and the crews needed no further hint that they had work before them.
These volunteers in company with the Sixteenth and Sixth Regiments were ordered to “charge the Block House'” and up the hill they charged with military precision.
After the Nashville returned to Key West, the rest of the squadron proceeded to the Cuban coast. Coming within fifteen miles of Morro Castle, the fleet scattered so as to form a complete blockade of the port. Every day brought new prizes to our squadron, and the blockade of Havana proved effectual.
It is well to call the attention of the boys to a few of the changes in phraseology between the old sea terms and the new. Once in the English navy (and ours was modeled after it) the term admiral was unknown—the word constable or justice was used. So with the title of captain, which is in reality a military one. In the earlier times this personage was called a master. The term commodore we have borrowed from that very nation with whom we have just measured arms—the Spanish, and comes from their word comendador. Cadets were not known by that name, but were called volunteers. Another item which furnishes food for reflection, is the origin of the United States navy. On October 13, 1775, the continental congress voted to fit out two vessels, one to carry ten guns, the other fourteen, for the purpose of taking English supply vessels. The same month it added two more vessels to its extensive equipment. On March 27, 1794, after our troubles with the Algerine pirates, six frigates were ordered, each to carry thirty-two guns. Congress appropriated $700,000 for the purpose of organizing a navy. Compare this feeble beginning with our splendid navy of to-day.
It is proper to explain here what the practice of nations is with regard to prize money. It is a strict rule of war that neutral powers must not interfere nor give help to either party that is engaged in a war. To furnish ships, ammunition, or supplies is a grave offence, and all such goods are termed “contraband of war.”
Any boat at sea suspected of carrying “contraband” articles can be searched, but properly commissioned vessels only can perform this duty. Another thing which will subject a vessel to being seized or confiscated is an attempt at blockade running, or trying to pass the line established by the war vessels stationed in an entrance to a harbor or along the coast. These are rules of war common to all nations, and must be rigidly observed.
All neutral governments are notified that such blockade exists, and exactly how far it extends. But “paper blockades,” or the mere declaration that a blockade is in force, are of no account. At the treaty of Paris, in 1856, the powers declared that “blockades, in order to be binding, must be effective,” or in plainer words, a force must actually be stationed on the blockaded ground strong enough to make it dangerous to attempt to pass it.
“Prize money” sounds very tempting, and its meaning will be given. When a war is in progress properly commissioned ships are empowered to capture not only the armed vessels of the enemy, but its merchantmen as well. These vessels are taken to the country of their captors, the courts pass judgment upon their value, and if it is proven to be a lawful prize, it is sold, and the proceeds is called “prize money,” and is awarded to the captors, the officers and crew, in proportion to their rank.
The prize money adjudged to them is thus given out in the following manner:
“1. The commander of a fleet or squadron, one-twentieth part prize money awarded to any vessel or vessels under his immediate command.
“2. To the commander of a division of a fleet or squadron, a sum equal to one-fiftieth of any prize money awarded to a vessel of the division under his command, to be paid from the moiety due the United States, if there be such moiety; if not, from the amount awarded the captors.
“3. To the fleet captain, one-hundredth part of all prize money awarded to any vessel of the fleet in which he is serving, in which case he shall share in proportion to his pay, with the other officers and men on board such vessel.
“4. To the commander of a single vessel, one-tenth of all the prize money awarded to the vessel.
“5. After the foregoing deductions, the residue is distributed among the others doing duty on board, and borne upon the books of the ship, in proportion to their respective rates of pay.
“All vessels of the navy within signal distance of the vessel making the capture, and in such condition as to be able to render, effective aid if required, will share, in the prize. Any person temporarily absent from his vessel may share in the captures made during his absence. The prize court determines what vessel shall share in a prize, and also whether a prize was superior or inferior to the vessel or vessels making the capture.
“The share of prize money awarded to the United States is set apart forever as a fund for the payment of pensions to naval officers, seamen and marines entitled to pensions.”
On April 27 our forces bombarded the important city of Matanzas, a rich and flourishing point, the outlet of the agricultural districts. April 29 the city of Cienfuegos yielded to our shells, and on the 30th of April the frowning batteries of Cabanas were attacked.
The first great naval battle of the war took place on the 1st of May. Those whose opinion was considered valuable, declared that on this battle depended the result of the war—some even prophesying that a victory here would practically end it.
Another matter which engrossed the attention of the governments abroad, was the fact that this encounter would serve as a test of the merits of the modern fighting machine. Should it prove all that was claimed for it, then in truth, a new departure in naval warfare had come.
The eyes of the world were upon the fleet, which, under the command of Commodore George Dewey, was hastening toward Manila, the capital of the Philippines. Just after daylight, Sunday morning of May 1, Manila time, 6 p.m. Saturday, Chicago time, the Olympia opened fire, when two miles away from the enemy. As she drew nearer, she trained every battery upon the Spanish fleet, with deadly effect. When the battle was almost decided, the Reina Christina came out to engage our flagship.
She advanced with great bravery, but to no purpose. The big guns on the Olympia struck her fore and aft, totally wrecking her and setting fire to her magazine. The Spanish Admiral, Montejo, was standing on the bridge of his boat, when it was shot from under him. The Spanish sailors escaped into their boats, fleeing from the burning ship. Montejo carried his pennant to the Castilla, but five minutes after that ship was set on fire by the shells.
After two hours' hard fighting, a rest was taken, when the attack was renewed, and at the expiration of a half hour the long-dreaded and much-boasted of Spanish fleet was a name only—nothing was left to tell the tale of her greatness save the transport Manila.
This battle was fought off Cavite, ten miles to the southwest of Manila. The Spanish fleet, of which so much was predicted by Spain, and which met with such a crushing defeat, consisted of the following vessels: Reina Mercedes, cruiser; Reina Christina, cruiser; Isla de Cuba, cruiser; Isla de Luzon, cruiser; Castilla, cruiser; Don Antonio De Ulloa, cruiser; Don Juan de Austria, cruiser; Velasco, cruiser; Elcano, gunboat; General Lezo, gunboat; Marquis del Duero, gunboat; Quiros, gunboat; Villalobos, torpedo gunboat; General Alava, transport; Cebu, transport; Manila, transport; Isla de Mindanao, converted cruiser.
The United States fleet was composed of the Olympia, (flagship), first-class cruiser, Captain C. N. Gridley; Baltimore, protected cruiser, Captain N. M. Dyer; Boston, protected cruiser, Captain Frank Wildes; Raleigh, protected cruiser, Captain J. B. Coghlan; Concord, gunboat, Commander Asa Walker; Petrel, gunboat, Commander E. P. Wood; McCulloch, dispatch boat; Nanshan, collier; Zafiro, collier. The magnificent victory of the American Admiral has made his name famous. His achievement is unparalleled in naval annals, and entitles him to the proud rank of being the greatest of fleet commanders, a worthy pupil of his invincible teacher, David G. Farragut.
The gratitude and admiration of the nation are his. President McKinley, as a fitting acknowledgment of his splendid deed, at once appointed him Rear Admiral in the United States Navy, with access of pay.
When the Stars and Stripes were hoisted over the Philippine capital, the rejoicings at home were unbounded. But when the news reached Spain, it produced a contrary effect; the indignation of that power was profound. An uprising of the people was feared, and the governors of all provinces were ordered to place them under martial law at the first serious outbreak. The cable at Manila was cut by orders of Admiral Dewey, and thus the court at Madrid was kept in uncertainty as to what was actually transpiring.
The victory so bravely won was but the predecessor of others which gave every true American a thrill of pride. Admiral Sampson, commander of the North Atlantic squadron, arrived at San Juan de Puerto Rico on the 12th of May, making an early call, as he commenced operations before sunrise, bombarding the fortifications. The first shot was fired from the Iowa, captained by Bob Evans (“Fighting Bob”), and it was followed by the Indiana.
From the halyards of the flagship New York the signal flashed forth—“Remember the Maine!” The big guns pealed forth seven shots, and the works felt their force. Fort Morro was left full of gaps, where the shells had struck it, and torn away the masonry. The frightened populace fled to the interior, beyond the range of the guns. Word had been sent ahead by the commander of the American squadron that the works were to be attacked, thus giving the non-combatants a chance to seek safety.
The first blood on our side was shed at Cardenas, May 12. After a short encounter of thirty-five minutes between the torpedo boat Winslow, the tug Hudson and the gunboat Wilmington on the American side, and the batteries at Cardenas and four Spanish gunboats, our arms were again victorious. Five Americans fell in this engagement. Ensign Worth Bagley of the Winslow, a brave North Carolinian, was the first officer to yield up his life. It is stated that even after the Winslow's starboard engine and steering gear were useless, the crew kept hurling shot at the Spaniards on shore, until she was totally disabled.
On the next day, May 13, the Flying Squadron left Hampton Roads, and made Key West on the 18th. Santiago was the intended point of attack, and on the 18th also Admiral Sampson thought it time to turn his attention to that place. The second squadron sent out by Spain, under Cervera, lay at that time in the harbor of Santiago, in fancied security.
On Friday, June 24, a desperate engagement took place between four troops of the First Cavalry, four of the Tenth and eight of Roosevelt's “Rough Riders,” who attacked a force of 2,000 Spanish soldiers, twice their number, and sixteen men were killed, among whom were Captain Allyn M. Capron and Hamilton Fish, Jr., belonging to the Rough Riders.
The Rough Riders followed the trail over steep hills that towered many hundred feet high. The weather was intensely warm, and each man carried 200 rounds of ammunition and his heavy camp equipment. On they toiled up the narrow path, often so narrow that they could only go in single file, while the sharp thorns of the prickly cactus tore and scratched them as they passed through the thick underbrush.
As the day grew hotter they threw away blankets and tent rolls, and even emptied their canteens. Soon they heard a call like a cuckoo. Every man was on the alert. They knew now that Spaniards were near, for that was their cry. A charge was ordered, and they dashed into the thicket. The rush was so sudden and bold that a panic ensued among the Spanish soldiers, and after fighting about an hour, they fled, firing as they ran, leaving fifty dead upon the field.
The crack of the Mauser rifles was heard, and the leaves flew from the trees and chips from the fence post were showered over the heads of the Rough Riders. The fire was a heavy one. Sergeant Fish was the first man to fall on our side—shot through the heart. Although the enemy was but 200 yards away, yet they were so securely hidden in the brush that only a glimpse of them now and then could be seen. Colonel Wood showed remarkable coolness, walking along the lines as he gave orders. Lieutenant Roosevelt rushed into the thicket cheering his men on, who were as anxious as he to reach the hidden foe. Captain Capron held his revolver in hand, and sent several of the Spaniards to the ground. Suddenly his weapon dropped from his hands and he fell, shot through the body. With his dying breath he cried—“Don't mind me, boys, go on and fight.” After fifteen minutes more, of hot fighting Lieutenant Roosevelt ordered his men back, and just missed a bullet which buried itself in a tree alongside his head. The Spaniards fell back, and ran down one hill and up another to the blockhouse, it was supposed with the intention of making a stand there. Instantly the Americans followed them closely, and poured a storm of bullets into the blockhouse; the Spaniards fled in haste, and the battle was over. This was the first battle which the Rough Riders had taken part in, and they proved their valor and bravery in a brilliant manner.
One of the most brilliant exhibitions of pure, unselfish courage ever exhibited was the act of Lieutenant Richmond P. Hobson. That officer, who was assistant naval constructor, had succeeded in convincing Admiral Sampson that there was but one way to prevent Admiral Cervera's escape. His daring scheme gave the fleet of the Spanish admiral its death blow. Under the direction of Admiral Sampson he volunteered to take the collier Merrimac into the channel leading into the harbor, and sink it, so as to prevent his escape with his ships; In other words, he literally “bottled” the unlucky Admiral up.
He needed but six men to help him accomplish his purpose. Admiral Sampson explained to the brave sailors that it was a desperate mission, that death was almost certain, and yet when only six volunteers were asked for, over 1,000 responded, anxious, glad to be of service to the cause. Tears filled their eyes as they begged for the honor of going with the brave commander who had been chosen for the perilous undertaking, and dying, if need be. It was a gallant deed, and as the Merrimac steamed into the channel, a furious cannonading from the Spanish forts greeted their coming, but on they went into the “very jaws of death,” and amid shot and shell Lieutenant Hobson went to the point indicated by Admiral Sampson, anchored, and swung across the channel. Then a hole was blown in the ship's bottom, and a dash was made for a boat. They were loudly cheered by the Spaniards, who were lost in admiration of their heroism, and Cervera himself, although he took them prisoners, sent a flag of truce to Admiral Sampson, by his chief of staff, Captain Oviedo, in honor of their bravery, offering to exchange them without delay for Spanish prisoners in the hands of the United States.
The names of the gallant men who offered their lives so freely were—Daniel Montague, George Charette, J. E. Murphy, Oscar Deignan, John P. Phillips, and John Kelly.
After being kept prisoners from June 2 until July 6, Lieutenant Hobson and the six men who were made prisoners with him, were surrendered by the Spanish military authorities in exchange for prisoners which we held. Captain Chadwick, of the New York, escorted them through our lines. The soldiers were wild with joy, and paid no attention to discipline or order, so anxious were they to see the heroes of the Merrimac, whom they wildly cheered. Lieutenant Hobson talked very little about his experiences, but said the Spanish authorities had treated them well, and their health was excellent.
The bombardment of Santiago's forts was vigorously kept up. On the 22d and 23d General Shafter landed at Baiquiri, and moved toward Santiago. He attacked the Spanish outposts July 1, and a fierce fight raged all day. He demanded the surrender of the latter place. General Lawton carried the heights of San Juan, after a determined charge.
Another notable victory, and one of the greatest naval battles ever recorded, was the total destruction of Cervera's proud fleet, which was accomplished by Commodore Schley, on the 3d of July. The American fleet's commander, Sampson, was absent conferring with General Shafter regarding future movements. Meantime the government at Madrid realized that the city must fall sooner or later, and it had ordered Cervera to make one bold dash out of the harbor. This he attempted to do, but was received so warmly by Schley that in two hours the “invincible” fleet of the Spanish admiral was a series of wrecks, strewn along the beach for fifty miles, with a loss of 600 killed, and 1,100 prisoners taken by our forces, among whom was Cervera himself. The attempted escape was made with great courage on the part of the Spaniards, who fought to the last, and when hope was gone, threw themselves upon the mercy of their captors, who accorded them protection from the Cuban insurgents who had watched the battle in all its terrible earnestness.
Santiago had not yet yielded, however, and on the 10th of July bombardment of that town was resumed.
The 14th of July saw the long-expected surrender of Santiago to General Shafter, and at 12 o'clock noon, the glorious Stars and Stripes were hoisted over the Governor's palace, and we held the situation. The American general rode into the city escorted by the Second Cavalry. The people were very quiet, many of them even showing satisfaction at the event. Courtesies were exchanged between the Spanish and American officers, and General Shafter returned to General Toral his sword. The Spanish flag was displaced by the American—the eternal symbol of liberty.
On the 26th of July the Spanish government made overtures for peace, through the French ambassador, M. Cambon, who called on our President and by proper authority stated that Spain was willing to treat with the United States, and would like to consider terms. After discussing the proposal with the Cabinet, President McKinley notified the French ambassador of his ultimatum. The terms of the protocol were these:
“1. That Spain will relinquish all claims of sovereignty over or title to Cuba.
“2. That Puerto Rico and other Spanish islands in the West Indies, and an island in the Ladrones, to be selected by the United States, shall be ceded to the latter.
“3. That the United States will occupy and hold the city, bay, and harbor of Manila pending the conclusion of a treaty of peace which shall determine the control, disposition and government of the Philippines.
“4. That Cuba, Puerto Rico, and other Spanish islands in the West Indies shall be immediately evacuated, and that commissioners to be appointed within ten days shall, within thirty days from the signing of the protocol, meet at Havana and San Juan, respectively, to arrange and execute the details of the evacuation.
“5. That the United States and Spain will each appoint not more than five commissioners to negotiate and conclude a treaty of peace. The commissioners are to meet at Paris not later than the 1st of October.
“6. On the signing of the protocol hostilities will be suspended, and notice to that effect will be given as soon as possible by each government to the commanders of its military and naval forces.”
The government of Spain sought to evade the payment of the Cuban debt, but President McKinley was firm, and declined to discuss the matter until Spain had accepted his ultimatum. Days passed before our government received notification through M. Cambon that the Spanish ministry had approved of his management of the negotiations, and he had been authorized to sign the protocol. At 4:33 of the same day the agreement was signed by Secretary of State Day on behalf of the United States, and M. Cambon, of France, on behalf of Spain.
Our President at once issued a proclamation stating that the United States and Spain had formally agreed upon terms for negotiations through which peace between the two countries should be established, and official orders were sent to the various commanders of the forces of the United States, that all military operations be suspended.
But the latter order did not reach Admiral Dewey in time to prevent his adding more luster to his name by uniting his naval forces with the land forces of General Merritt.
July 31 a battle was waged at Malate, a small town half way between Cavite and Manila. Here General Greene was posted with 4,000 men. Our troops were strengthening their position, when the Spaniards attempted to give the Americans a surprise. The rain was pouring down in sheets, the typhoon was raging furiously, and it seemed a most auspicious time for the attack. Three thousand Spaniards were massed in the vicinity. They forced the American pickets in, and assaulted the soldiers in the trenches. But they did not know the men they attacked. The Tenth Pennsylvania stood their ground, and were reinforced by the First California and two companies of the Third Artillery. The mud was up to the axles, the rain and wind raged wildly, and the enemy was on top of the trenches, while they sent a withering fire into the ranks of the Americans, who never wavered, but returned it with earnestness.
The Spaniards retreated in confusion, but were not pursued, as our infantry had exhausted its ammunition. The scene was a thrilling one. Darkness covered the earth, save when a flash of lightning lit up the faces of the dead and wounded, who lay side by side, in the trenches half filled with water which was red with their blood. Not a cry was heard from the lips of the wounded, but they spoke words of cheer to those who were still able to fight.
The fighting began again August 1, but the enemy kept at long range. The next night they made another attack, but were repulsed, with severe loss, 350 killed, 900 wounded, while we lost fourteen, and forty-four wounded.
August 8, Admiral Dewey and General Merritt notified the authorities in Manila that unless they surrendered the city to them in forty-eight hours a combined attack by the land and naval forces might be expected. When that time had expired the Spanish officials asked one day more so that they might remove the women and children, which request was granted.
When the foreign warships were appraised of the intended attack, they prudently got out of range. The English and Japanese warships joined our fleet at Cavite, while the French and German ships went to the north of the city, where they were safe. At 9:35 on Saturday, the 13th, a shell was fired from the Olympia and hissed dangerously near the fort at Malate. The other boats began a rapid fire upon the intrenchments. A few feeble replies came from the Spaniards.
The battle was short. In half an hour General Greene ordered an advance, and six companies of a colored regiment sprang over the breastworks and sought the shelter of some hedges about 300 yards from the Spanish lines. Then the remaining six companies moved along the shore, partly hid by a ridge of sand and at 11 o'clock were in the stronghold.
At this critical moment 2,000 Spanish soldiers came on the scene, but they did not engage the Americans. As soon as the white flag was seen, General Merritt, who had made the steamer Zafiro his headquarters, sent General Whittier, with flag lieutenant Brumby to meet the captain general and discuss a plan of capitulation. The terms were agreed to by Jaudenes, and were as follows:
“An agreement for the capitulation of the Philippines:
“A provision for disarming the men who remain organized under the command of their officers, no parole being exacted.
“Necessary supplies to be furnished from the captured treasury funds, any possible deficiency being made good by the Americans.
“The safety of life and property of the Spanish soldiers and citizens to be guaranteed as far as possible.
“The question of transporting the troops to Spain to be referred to decision of the Washington government, and that of returning their arms to the soldiers to be left to the discretion of General Merritt.
“Banks and similar institutions to continue operations under existing regulations, unless these are changed by the United States authorities.”
At once Lieutenant Brumby hastened away to take down the Spanish flag. Two signal men accompanied him. At Fort Santiago, in the north part of the city, they, were vigorously hissed when the flag of Spain was hauled down, and the flag of the free rose grandly in its place.
This day's battle resulted in a loss on the American side of eight killed and thirty-four wounded, while the Spanish had 150 killed and 300 wounded.
The Americans captured 11,000 prisoners, 7,000 of them being regulars; 20,000 Mauser rifles, 3,000 Remingtons, eighteen modern cannon, and many of the old pattern.
Thus ended a war which has covered us with glory—a war we did not invite, but which was forced upon us in the interests of humanity; a war which has taught European nations to respect us as a great power. May it be the last which our nation is drawn into. May the dawn of peace herald the day when wars shall be no more; when wise counsels and generous arbitration shall decide questions of moment between nations.
War has a terrible meaning; it means desolated homes, and bitter tears shed for those who come not; it means angry passions and cruel expressions of them; it means want and suffering and the humiliation of defeat for one side or the other. May the days of rancor end forever!