of letters, telegrams, or greetings. But if the whole Army had been searched for a successor more to my liking, it could have yielded none to surpass Lawton. We were in harmony from start to finish, but that finish came all too soon. Lawton was a glorious soldier, and we of the old frontier cavalry swore by him. Sometimes about the camp fires in the Black Hills, toward the end of the Sioux campaign in '76, and again as we marched leisurely home from the Nez Percés campaign of '77, we would get to talking of the men who, still subalterns, had shown the greatest energy and ability in that most trying and hazardous warfare. The Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, and Seventh Cavalry, the Fourth, Fifth, Seventh, Ninth, Fourteenth, and Twenty-third Infantry had been more conspicuously and frequently engaged in the Sioux, Cheyenne, Nez Percés and, earlier, the Kiowa and Comanche wars than had any others; and while each regiment had its favorite son or sons-men like Philo Clark and Sibley of the Second Cavalry, Emmet Crawford and John Bourke of the Third, Lawton, Bob Carter, and McKinney of the Fourth, Hall and Schuyler of the Fifth, Billy Carter of the Sixth, Garlington and Godfrey of the Seventh, Baldwin and Bailey of the Fifth Infantry, Jackson and Woodruff of the Seventh, and Heyl of the Twenty-third-it may be said that for all-round ability, efficiency, and endurance "Big Henry" Lawton would have polled the heaviest vote. As a general he had fought admirably in Cuba, yet had not won at the hands of the commanding general the commendation his friends expected, and he came to the Philippines intent on proving his worth, and he would have emerged from that war the popular hero had he lived it through. But he was utterly reckless under fire, and because of his stature and dress and the big black horse he rode, by long odds the easiest mark and the most conspicuous figure on the field of battle. The first day he and I rode out to my front together, from San Pedro cemetery toward the Guadeloupe Ridge, the men at the guns and the rifle pits were moved to merriment at the contrast; he a towering figure, I short and squat on my little plug ugly of a pony-I couldn't help laughing with them. But my laughter changed to dismay, not half an hour later, when out in front of our advanced line, in full view of the insurrecto riflemen on the ridge (while I was busy calling up a company to swing out over the slope and drive back the opposing pickets so that we could get a good view of the ridge) Lawton disappeared in the shrubbery, and the next thing I saw of him he was perched, like a lighthouse, on the summit of a rocky mound full three hundred yards out to the front, calmly studying the scenery through his binocular. Clapping spurs to my amazed and indignant pony, I galloped out to him full tilt, forgetful of rank or etiquette, thinking only of his peril. "Come down off that rock!" I shouted. "Come down, or you're a dead man!" And presently, laughing, yet grim, he had to. "You'll break my heart," I said to him a moment later, "if you persist in such performances; and the whole Army will damn me for letting you do it," I insisted. "But, how else can I see what I need to see? "he laughed, in reply. "What good will it do you or me if you get killed in seeing. For God's sake don't tempt Providence that way.' But it turned out even as I feared. In his white helmet and raincoat, the one prominent object on his fighting line, Lawton fell a few months later, shot through and through in a mere skirmish. But by that time I was no longer with him to meddle or remonstrate. Even before he came I knew my time was coming. The hot suns of March and April, the constant exposure night and day, the irregular hours for food and sleep, all had been telling on my strength, and the infernal eczema had come back with redoubled force. Lawton saw I was in misery and tried to spare me. I had lost my fine brigade surgeon and physician, Shiels, who had so helped me during the Santa Ana week. He had been transferred to the north line when MacArthur was having his heavy losses, and the assistants left with us tried everything they could think of, but the eruption and exhaustion grew worse and worse. There came a week when I could sleep neither night nor day, and was carried back to Manila and the doctors. "It's home for you by the first steamer," was the verdict. "A fortnight more of this and you'll go in an icebox." Now, during those trying days on the south front Lawton's house was back in town, while my quarters were a sand-bagged corner of the building Pio del Pilar, division commander in the Insurgent Army, had used as his headquarters, and many of his papers were left when he had to quit, and Lawton came out every day and spent long hours at the front. We had limes, ice, the wherewithal to offer cool and stimulating drink to many officers and visitors coming and going, especially while Wheaton, with his flying column, was making things lively along the Laguna; not once would Lawton touch a drop, though he willingly allowed his staff the luxury. He was a Spartan in drink and diet during his days with us, gladly accepting for the wife and children half a box of delicious oranges, such as they had been accustomed to at their own Riverside, for a friend had sent me a supply from San Francisco, but nothing else would he touch, taste, or handle. Yet a most unpleasant episode occurred at a very pretty luncheon given at the Palace Hotel just after my return. Half a dozen prominent officers and as many charming society women were at table, when in a loud voice the senior major general called to me across the table, and everybody heard. "Lawton's drinking again, I hear," said he. There was an instant of dead silence, then everybody heard me reply: "Not a drop, sir, and I was with him every day and many a night." "Well, you know, of course, he was drinking hard in Cuba." "I do not, sir. This is the very first mention of it that ever reached me.' In such a presence and at such a time it was a flagrant breach of every propriety, and the lady on my left turned quickly to me: "I don't know General Lawton," said she, "but, I hate that man!" And "that man" and I were strangers thereafter. Sheer jealousy and utter lack of breeding explained it. Lawton's last letter to me we treasure in the family, and for them I record here what my corps commander Otis and my successive division commanders, Anderson and Lawton, wrote of or to me after I came away. * * CHICAGO, ILL., October 31, 1901. The affair was a brilliant and an important one. Early in the morning [Feb. 5, 1899] General Anderson telegraphed me that General King desired to advance his line against the enemy making a wheel to the left towards the Pasig river, on which his left rested. We were not then prepared for this movement, wishing first to accomplish certain results north of the river where General MacArthur commanded. This effected, I instructed General Anderson about eight o'clock in the morning to direct General King to move his brigade as he (General King) had suggested. The movement was made and resulted in the overwhelming defeat of the insurgents in front of General King's forces, the loss to them of many men, all their artillery, considerable ammunition and quantities of war supplies. The movement was suggested by General King, effected under his immediate supervision and he in person led it, at least in part, I am sure, showing conspicuous gallantry and efficiency. He is entitled to special recognition for this affair, and I hope the present brevet board will recommend that suitable recognition be made of his gallant services. E. S. OTIS, Major General, U. S. Army. Brig. Genl. Chas. King. MANILA, P. I., March 21st, 1899. MY DEAR GENERAL: Before leaving this department, I wish to assure you of my appreciation of the zeal, energy and marked ability and skill you have shown in the command of your brigade. I would tender my thanks, but that I am sure you were influenced by the higher motive of patriotic endeavor. My division can never know how hard it is for me to sever my connection with it before the end of the war. As for you, my dear General, I am sure you will find your best reward in the consciousness of duty well performed. MY DEAR GENERAL: Cordially yours, (Sgd.) THOMAS M. ANDERSON, Major General Com'd'g 1st Div., 8th A. C. SAN FERNANDO, P. I., May 10, 1899. Your kind letter of the 6th inst. is here, and I thank you very much, and I regret that your health has made it necessary that you should return to America. But, my dear General, you have not left us until you have established a reputation for bravery, ability, and skill, that will make you honored by Americans while you live. * With wishes for your speedy restoration to health, I cannot express to you how much I regret the necessity for your return to the United States at the time you did. I want to say to you that you are the only General officer whom I know who possesses that peculiar faculty or that magnetism which attracts men to him; you are the only one of all the General officers who has excited among the men of his command any great amount of enthusiasm. I remember when you left your launch to come aboard the gunboat just before the attack on Santa Cruz, that a cheer went up from all the men in the transports; and you seem to possess that peculiar dash and spirit which carries men who follow you along with you with enthusiasm. *** * Yours very truly, |