After that, as I had a bad attack of sciatica and no place to sleep
and nothing to eat, I accepted Crane's offer of a blanket and coffee
at his bivouac near El Poso. On account of the sciatica I was not
able to walk fast, and, although for over a mile of the way the trail
was under fire, Crane and Hare each insisted on giving me an arm, and
kept step with my stumblings. Whenever I protested and refused their
sacrifice and pointed out the risk they were taking they smiled as at
the ravings of a naughty child, and when I lay down in the road and
refused to budge unless they left me, Crane called the attention of
Hare to the effect of the setting sun behind the palm-trees. To the
reader all these little things that one remembers seem very little
indeed, but they were vivid at the moment, and I have always thought
of them as stretching over a long extent of time and territory.
Before I revisited San Juan I would have said that the distance along
the road from the point where I left the artillery to where I joined
Wood was three-quarters of a mile. When I paced it later I found the
distance was about seventy-five yards. I do not urge my stupidity or
my extreme terror as a proof that others would be as greatly
confused, but, if only for the sake of the stupid ones, it seems a
pity that the landmarks of San Juan should not be rescued from the
jungle, and a few sign-posts placed upon the hills. It is true that
the great battles of the Civil War and those of the one in Manchuria,
where the men killed and wounded in a day outnumber all those who
fought on both sides at San Juan, make that battle read like a
skirmish. But the Spanish War had its results. At least it made
Cuba into a republic, and so enriched or burdened us with colonies
that our republic changed into something like an empire. But I do
not urge that. It will never be because San Juan changed our foreign
policy that people will visit the spot, and will send from it picture
postal cards. The human interest alone will keep San Juan alive.