Black History Series
BUFFALO SOLDIERS AT SAN JUAN HILL
Many well-educated people know little about the Spanish-American War. When given clues they recall having heard that this was the war in which Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders charged up San Juan Hill. This, the one thing of which they are certain, will not be found in any history book because it never happened.
The following account is fictionalized, but it is true to eye-witness accounts given by Black soldiers when they wrote letters about their experiences to their hometown newspapers. The account here is not only consistent with these accounts, it is consistent with the account given by Roosevelt in his book, "The Rough Riders," and it is consistent with the book by Secretary of War Alger, "The Spanish-American War."
Early on the morning of June 23rd, 1898 a brigade under command of General Wheeler, consisting of the First United States Cavalry, the First Volunteer Cavalry and the Tenth United States Cavalry were to be the participants in the first battle in the Santiago Campaign, the battle known as the Battle of Las Guásimas.
The men of the First Volunteer Cavalry, the darlings of America known across the nation as the Rough Riders, were the first to advance. They took a rugged bridle path across the comb of a mountain where the brush was so thick in places they could march only in a single file. Some of the Rough Riders were heard to say that the rest of us could remain behind for they were going to thrash the Spaniards and bring back their heads while we stayed at Siboney where it was safe.
Even the volunteers advanced ahead of the Buffalo soldiers. One of the Black soldiers called them rank amateurs: "Not so much as put out a point! And if they laugh and shout up and down the line like this, when they meet up with the Spaniards they will be in for quite a surprise."
The First United States Cavalry, a regiment of White regulars, advanced some fifteen minutes after the Rough Riders; they traveled over a rough wagon road, a road that linked the coastal town of Siboney with the City of Santiago and that ran parallel to the route taken by the Rough Riders. As had been predicted, the Black men of the Tenth Cavalry, the Buffalo Soldiers, also regulars, were held in reserve and advanced in column along the road several hundred yards behind the First Regulars.
The road taken by the two regular regiments and the path taken by the Rough Riders met at a point farther north at a juncture marked by a cluster of guásima trees. Five hundred yards before the road came to this juncture, to the south of it, the Spaniards were concealed in trenches; it was there that the battle of Las Guásimas was fought. The fighting started when the Spaniards fired a volley into the regulars that they say would have routed any but an advancing American. The Rough Riders, hearing the music that came from the road, advanced toward it and were attacked by a second Spanish regiment north of the party engaging the regulars. One observer said of this engagement, "The Rough Riders had more music than they could furnish dancers for."
To their credit, the Rough Riders did not retreat from the Spanish guns but advanced far enough to come into line with the regulars then held their ground, though with casualties. The difficulty facing the regulars and the Rough Riders was that they could not see the enemy. The Spanish Mausers fired smokeless shells that buzzed about the heads of American troopers giving no clue as to their direction or their source. The Rough Riders, with their modern Krag-Jorgensen rifles, had the new smokeless shells also, but not the regulars of the First and Tenth Cavalries. Each time our guns fired, they belched a lingering, heavy cloud of smoke the size of a full grown man, a cloud that hung in the air and precisely marked the shooter's position. In this way, each time the regulars fired they were cut down by volley after volley of accurate Spanish fire and were saved from total annihilation only by the thick vegetation in which they were concealed.
Finding himself in a desperate situation, General Young, who commanded the two regiments of regular cavalry, brought the Tenth Cavalry forward and deployed Troop A to the west in the direction of the Rough Riders and Troops I and B to the east. There was tremendous confusion on the line by this time as we stepped over dead bodies that lay along the road and stepped aside to make way for the retreating wounded and as Mauser bullets whizzed overhead like buzzing, angry hornets. My troop had been ordered to the left, but somehow, in the confusion, I ended up with Troops B and I on the right. Having not discovered my error until we were under way, I knew that I must now remain with the troop I had followed for to break ranks and go to the rear would be taken as an act of cowardice.
There was no road or trail at all to the right where B and I Troops were deployed; we moved through a heavy undergrowth of palmetto scrub and stunted trees with gnarled branches, advancing with great difficulty. Whatever the difficulties, though, I saw that the men of the Tenth Cavalry were bound and determined to live down any prejudice against them due to their color by a fierce determination to do well in any position in which they were put, much as they had done when consigned for a fortnight to the sepulchral hold of a prison-like, slave ship of a transport.
As we advanced on the eastern flank, we came under heavy fire from a ridge to our right. We had been ordered not to return fire because each time our guns belched smoke the Spaniards embraced it as a target with lethal effect. It was going to be Jacksonville all over again, I thought. Now that we had encountered a formidable foe, it was time for the Blacks to go to the slaughter. Facing this horrible prospect I recalled the advice of a friend that I should not fear death. It was good advice, and though I yearned to embrace it, I did indeed fear the imminent likelihood of being struck by one of those invisible shells whether it brought death or not.
The smokeless powder used by the Spanish Infantry was amazingly effective; they fired into us heavily, and none could see from whence the volleys came. When we reached the edge of the forest and were ordered to rest, I crouched low near a tree and peered out toward the ridge looking desperately for signs of an enemy. A moment before the next volley ripped through the brush I saw a flash from the crest of the hill. That flash was the only clue I had seen to mark their position.
I was no expert in military matters, but from what I knew of projectiles and trajectories, I thought there was something peculiar about the Spanish position. If they were in fact entrenched at the very peak of the hill, it was a tactical blunder. From such a position they had strong command over the open battlefield and over the approaches from the jungle, but they had no control at the very foot of the hill, which they could not see. I doubted my observation at first because no one else in the command—none of the lieutenants, captains, majors, colonels, or generals—saw the defect. During the next volley, a Mauser shell struck the tree behind which I crouched. It passed through effortlessly, throwing splinters into my face and hair, demonstrating how little protection the meager palm tree offered. The tree may have prevented the Spaniards from seeing my form, but it was of little use in protecting me from the high-velocity Mauser shells.
I was convinced that safety lay at the foot of the hill, and with the most recent volley having alerted me to the imminent danger of lying there exposed to enemy fire, I resolved to test my theory. After all, this may have been God's purpose in sending me to Cuba. It was the exact situation a friend had described. We were exposed to enemy fire and could not retreat; the only rational choice was to advance and it seemed the safest course. I waited for the next volley, and after it came I ran forward into the open field then across it to the foot of the hill. The next volley was high above my head. I had been correct; the foot of the hill was secure.
Immediately, a sergeant of I Troop saw what I had seen. "Let us advance," he said to the men of I Troop, "they cannot hit us."
they quaked in fear when they heard that awful yell and saw those menacing black faces charge toward them
And advance they did. Out of the jungle they charged, and as they charged, a voice that rattled the firmament let out a fearsome yell. As the troopers advanced, that awful yell spread down the line, and it had a terrible effect on the Spaniards. Captured Spanish soldiers told us later that they quaked in fear when they heard that awful yell and saw those menacing black faces charge toward them. As we stormed the hill, they were afraid to show themselves. They raised their guns above the embankments and fired without taking aim. As we approached the crest, a few of them took a parting shot and turned and ran. Others poked their heads out and had them blown away by as many as five bullets at once.
My bullets flew straight and true, and I am certain that the better portion of them came to rest in the bodies of Spanish soldiers. During the closing moments of the skirmish, before the Spaniards turned and fled, I saw the soldier upon whom I had taken aim fall dead, but from the nature of his fall, I sensed that he had been struck by more bullets than mine because his body contorted in a most peculiar manner as he sank to the earth. Seeing their comrades fall from the sure fire and deadly aim of the Tenth Cavalry, hearing a yell that could come only from Negro throats, and seeing an audacious stampede of strange, mysterious Buffalo Soldiers, the remaining soldiers on the right flank of the Spanish line lost their presence of mind, broke ranks, and retreated into the hills.
The speed of that initial assault allowed the First Cavalry and the remaining members of the Tenth Cavalry to storm the bluff, entrench themselves firmly upon its brow, and drive back the Spanish central column. From there, our men overlooked the enemy's left flank. Our deadly fire then drove that flank back to its second line of entrenchments, allowing the Rough Riders to advance. During an exchange that lasted not more than ten or fifteen minutes, the Spaniards at Las Guásimas were completely routed, and they suffered heavy casualties as the Rough Riders, First Regulars, and Buffalo Soldiers drove the Spaniards into the hills. Following the Spanish retreat, our boys were so exhausted in the intense heat that we were unable to pursue them and had to let them go.
The battle of Las Guásimas ended just after nine o'clock that morning, about an hour after the first shot had been fired. Having stormed the hill, our forces took little time to secure the position, because the Spaniards, those whose prostrate bodies did not litter the trenches and the hillside, had fled in fear for Santiago. Then came the matter of attending to the thirty-five Americans who died during the engagement, one from the Tenth Cavalry, and attending to the more than sixty wounded, three of whom, I think, were from the Tenth. Late into the day we carted bloodstained litters bearing the wounded toward the rear while others dug graves for the gallant dead. I rejoined my troop as the regiments attended to the dead and injured, and I was pleased to discover that none of the casualties were from A Troop.
Certain news correspondents and historians refused to report the bravery of the Tenth Cavalry in routing the Spanish, and they gave credit to the Rough Riders for the victory at Las Guásimas. A companion in A Troop, who had stumbled upon the Rough Riders in battle, was unimpressed by their tactical acumen, and he let it be known to any who would listen.
"I told you they were amateurs," he said. "They got themselves boxed in a canyon like rookies."
"They marched right pass the Spaniards," another companion added.
"Of course, the Spaniards waited patiently and let them go by," said the first, "then closed the trap on them. Roosevelt was taking fire from the front and the rear when A Troop got there. I think we all saw it at the same time because we fired a volley into the Spaniards without command, and they broke and ran out in front of Roosevelt's men."
"Hell, the Rough Riders messed that up too," said the second, laughing. "When the Spaniards took off running they waved their arms at the Rough Riders and said, 'Don't shoot, we're Cubans,' and the Rough Riders stopped firing and let them get away."
"A hell of a mess," said the first companion. "I think the Rough Riders may have been shooting their own men. The ones in the rear couldn't see what was in the tall grass in front of them. I'll lay you odds you're going to find a many Rough Rider shot in the back of the head with Krag-Jorgensen shells."
"No telling how bad Roosevelt would have been beat if we hadn't shown up," said the second.
"No doubt about it," said the first. "They would have been annihilated to the man."
The Rough Riders fought bravely and aggressively by all accounts, but as one correspondent said of Roosevelt and his men, they were inexperienced and "knew nothing but their own superb courage."
Roosevelt's Rough Riders were not among those regiments holding the front line when San Juan Hill was taken]
We did not meet the Spanish again in battle until the first day of July, the day of the famous battle at San Juan Hill. I have read newspaper accounts and epic poems about Roosevelt's courageous charge on that day, but I was there and that is not what I saw. So that the reader can appreciate the account that follows, I must explain the following matters out of turn. Understand first that San Juan Hill is not a hill in the sense of being a single mound of earth; it is a vast system of ridges and bluffs. The skirmish line during the battle extended for miles along the ridges that were collectively referred to as San Juan Ridge or less accurately as San Juan Hill. A dozen or more American and Cuban regiments attacked this system of ridges. Understand second that Roosevelt's Rough Riders were not among those regiments holding the front line when San Juan Hill was taken. Some news correspondents credited the Rough Riders and only them with capturing San Juan Hill, but they could not have done so because during the assault the Rough Riders were positioned to the rear, atop Kettle Hill, from which, as Roosevelt himself later stated, he had a good view of the main action. Further, Roosevelt's single regiment could never have captured so massive a system of ridges without the assistance of those dozen or so regiments present. The Rough Riders did scale San Juan Hill, but by the time they had been dispatched from Kettle Hill later in the day, San Juan Hill was firmly in the hands of Americans.
The only assault made by the Rough Riders on that day was at Kettle Hill. Even there, they did not lead the charge but were assigned as support for the First Cavalry. I am told by those who were there that in hopes of being first to reach the crest of the hill—Roosevelt seemed to take it as a competition—Roosevelt bullied his Rough Riders aggressively until his support line finally merged with the main line of the First Cavalry. But it was neither Roosevelt nor the First Cavalry that crested Kettle Hill first; that distinction went to two Troops of our brothers in the Ninth Cavalry, a regiment of the regular army composed of Negroes. It is no disservice to Roosevelt that the Rough Riders did not take Kettle Hill, for they tried. They simply had not been given the lead, and that perhaps for cause, because a week earlier, at Las Guásimas, in an act of blind courage that bordered on reckless neglect, they had rushed into ambush, nearly to their doom.
The battle of San Juan Hill commenced at 4:30 a.m. as batteries of artillery began firing on both the Spanish and American sides in an exchange of fire that for the first two hours was intense. The Tenth Cavalry was far to the rear when the music started and was ordered forward at about 6:30 a.m. The heat of the sun, even at that early hour, was almost unbearable, and we knew the battle was equally heated for we heard the constant roar of small arms fire toward the front; it became more heated and more distinct as we advanced.
We had marched about a mile from camp when we began to see the wounded—the ambulatory ones who moved by their own power, some using tree branches as crutches, some using their rifles. Soon the road narrowed, and it became difficult to pass because there were so many wounded on the road and off to the side of it. Some of those who were hauled in wagons were badly cut up. I could not imagine how some of them held on to life. Some had bloody bandages around their heads, others had been shot through the eye, or had suffered a leg or an arm being blown off. It was a dreadful sight that forced me to consider solemnly what lay ahead. After all, these were the lucky ones who were still among the living. It was yet to be seen how many more lay littered lifelessly on the blood-soaked field of honor.
We reached the zone of small arms fire at about 11:30 o'clock that morning. The dead and wounded littered the landscape heavily, and the air was abuzz with shells whizzing overhead. We were in a heavy jungle and could see nothing to shoot at. We knew only that we were needed farther toward the front.
At a small clearing a few hundred feet from the San Juan River, which separated the jungle from the flat, open field below San Juan Hill, we stopped and stripped for battle, removing our blanket rolls, blouses, and anything we did not need for fighting. We carried our carbines, ammunition, and canteens. One private was left behind to guard our baggage, and we advanced again toward the front pass several regiments that seemed unable or unwilling to move ahead. The Gallant Seventy-first New York was one of the regiments we passed. We nearly stumbled over them. They had been put in the lead, a prized position considering they were volunteers, but they had refused to advance. Lying there at the edge of the jungle, they were being slowly mutilated; in the end, they took as many losses through their inactivity as did the units that charged up San Juan Hill.
There had been intense enemy fire all morning, then as we approached the San Juan River, I saw a sight, remarkable for its stupidity, that was to bring on Spanish fire in torrents. A giant balloon floated in the air and hoisted a basket containing two American army officers above the level of the trees. I could not at first imagine why these men chose to float in the air where so many bullets flew, but they were intelligence officers seeking to devise a battle plan for General Shafter. Throughout the battle we had enjoyed the most meager of advantages: we could not see the Spaniards, but because of the heavy brush they could not see us. They had been able to mark our position only when one of our guns belched a cloud of heavy, lingering smoke. Until now, the Spaniards had simply fired into the jungle with nothing specific in mind. But that gigantic balloon made a wonderful target. It was so big I suspect every Spanish soldier, marksman or not, believed he could hit it. So, as the Tenth Cavalry passed below and the Seventy-first New York cowered nearby, every Spaniard in the trenches on every ridge and bluff within range of it converged their fire in the direction of that balloon, all the trenches firing at once in an enormous volley, then again, and again, saturating our position with torrents of Mauser shells. The Seventy-first New York nearly stampeded moving to the rear to escape this lethal, galling fire. They had been fully demoralized by this time and were simply in the way, blocking the advance of fighting units and blocking the retreat of the wounded. The Tenth Cavalry advanced quickly toward the front and across the San Juan River then moved a way upstream where we were protected by the riverbank from the devastating Spanish volleys.
On the field ahead of us was a formidable barbed wire fence. The posts were set every three feet, and there were five wires strung from it giving the fence great strength. I did not see who cut it down, but down it went. Then came the order to move forward 150 yards and lie down. As we moved forward onto the flats, men were hit on both sides of me. I did not see them hit but deduced it from the sound made when the Mauser bullets struck them. The Mauser missile imparts a dull thud when it impacts human flesh; the sound is distinctly different when it hammers a tree or the earth and quite different still when it shatters human bones. I heard the sound many times that day as valiant troopers sank to the earth—without screaming, without flailing their arms or clutching their chests—they simply crumbled and sank.
As the Spaniards rained deadly volleys into our exposed position, I heard a loud grinding sound as from huge rusty gears turning full speed and then a second grinding sound and a third. It was the sound of our Gattling guns, a recent invention that spewed bullets with great speed over great distances with great accuracy. Our guns had located the Spanish trenches and were now ripping them apart. There was a blessed lull in enemy fire as the Gattling guns commanded the Spanish infantry's attention. A brief lull was all we needed. We rushed beyond the flats toward the foot of the hill. The Tenth Cavalry was not alone, for to our right was the Sixth and the Sixteenth Infantry, regiments of White soldiers, charging ahead, storming the barbed wire fence, and rushing boldly across the flats. Soon there was movement along the entire line as unit after unit advanced. Bugles sounded, "Let us charge," and the men yelled and went forward like maddened boars. The charge on San Juan Hill had begun.
A foreign officer, English I believe, stood to the rear of us as we charged. Someone heard him say: "For heaven's sake, don't go up that hill! It will be impossible to take that position! You can not stand the fire!" When this officer saw us make the charge, it is said, he turned his back to us and wept.
Once the charge began there was little organization to it. Many of the commanding officers had already been killed or disabled. The advancing line was a mob of men possessed. Then the grinding of the Gattling guns ceased, probably to avoid mowing down the advancing Americans. In moments, the Spaniards began to fire heavily into the masses of men pouring out of the jungle; many fell, never to rise again.
They called us Smoked Yankees and said it was of no use shooting at us because steel and powder will not stop us
It was unknown to me during the charge, but there were circumstances working to the advantage of the Black regiments during this battle. First, the Spanish generals, deceived by tales of Negro sloth, did not believe the Negro soldiers would fight, so they failed to fortify the positions to which Negro regiments were assigned. Second, the Spanish engineers were criminally incompetent; the trenches on San Juan Hill, just as they had been at Las Guásimas, were positioned along the actual crest of the hill instead of the military crest. Once again the foot of the hill and much of the ascent, all the way to the military crest, were secure from fire, and the bullets went high over our heads. Third, the Spanish soldiers had a great deal more respect for the Negro soldier than did their generals; we had gotten their attention at Las Guásimas, and they feared us greatly. They called us Smoked Yankees and said it was of no use shooting at us because steel and powder will not stop us. Fourth, the Negro regiments were more hardened in battle than most regiments in the regular army because they had all been assigned to Indian territories and had been constantly doing battle. The buzz of bullets overhead did not unnerve them as it did the volunteer units who had come into battle from ranches and farms and the regular units who had come off genteel assignments in the East. Fifth, many of the men in these Negro units, being already poor and disenfranchised, had little to lose by dying in battle and much to gain for their heirs and their race by serving the nation with courage and valor, as this was the quickest means at their disposal to dispel prejudice against them. So the Black units went on the attack, and the Spanish infantry quaked as menacing black faces and fearsome Negro yells sapped their resolve.
When the Sixth and Sixteenth Infantries and the Tenth Cavalry crested the hill, our bullets took effect and put the Spaniards into full retreat. As Spaniards up and down the trenches along San Juan Ridge watched their numbers dwindle, they lost whatever valor they may have possessed and took off fleeing through the brush and into the hills beyond. Within the hour, San Juan Hill was American, and the City of Santiago was the fruit of victory, ours to be savored. In effect, the Spanish-American War had been won. All that remained in weeks to come was to negotiate the truce.
Of the major tactical advances made in the Santiago Campaign that week—the charges at Las Guásimas Heights, Kettle Hill, El Caney, and San Juan Ridge—the charge on San Juan Ridge was the only one in which White units reached the crest ahead of Black soldiers. Men of the Sixth and Sixteenth Infantries stormed the hill ahead of all others, but members of the Ninth and Tenth Cavalry and the Twenty-fifth Infantry were close on their heels. To the east of Santiago, concurrently with the charge on San Juan Hill at the village called El Caney, members of the gallant Twenty-fourth Infantry, a Negro unit, crested the hill after an arduous battle and captured the Spanish flag. Not one regiment or even a troop of Negro soldiers clogged the roads retreating to the rear.
