The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1918-10-25
CHAPTER !.

AlSuLeuauC MARK Wallace OIL Cuc
Seventeen New York regiment came
to an abrupt standstill. He was alone
in the jungle, upon the blazing hillside
before Santiago, in the month of June,
1898.
Through the branches Of the trees
the Mauser bullets still whipped and
whistled, and the prolonged screech Of
shells and distant shouting indicated
that the battle, which had ragged all
day, had not yet reached it's end. But
within the short radius of Wallace's
vision nothing stirred, not even the
palmetto boughs that rustled with the
least breeze like the sound Of the sea.
Wallace had only the most confused
and incoherent knowledge Of what was
happening on that historic day. There
had been an advance in the cool Of the
morning, If brief respite from the op-
pressive heat could be called GOODNESS
in contrast. Then came the deplOy-
ment along the base Of the hills as the
first shells began to fall, the advance
in open order, in which the nicely in
culcated teachings of the parade
aground fell to pieces, the tumble Of
pen, Of companies, and, later, Of regi-
hents, pressing forward past the dead
md stricken, the shouts, the rattle Of
Rchine guns and rifles. Batteries
kme galloping where they had no
Theoretical business to be, upsetting
the junior officers desperate attempts
to preserve alignment: Red Cross
men invaded the battle line to succor
the wounded; commissariat mules,
shaking off the lethargy which no
amount of belaboring had ever over
come, ran away with supplies and
strewed embalmed beef over the hill
side. In the midst Of it all Wallace
had rallied some men Of his own troop
and led them forward; he plunged into
the patch of scrub-covered jungle, and
found that he was alone.
In front of him was a small clearing,
made by some Cuban sQuatter in the
preceding year and abandoned after
the reaping. 1t contained the ruin of
a palm shack, and the burrows scraped
by primitive pillow We're only just dis
cernible amid the rank growth that
had sprung up. The lieutenant stop
ped and shouted. expecting to see his
men come running through the trees.
But none appeared, and it was at
this moment that the bullet that had
been stamped with his name, accord
ing to the soldiers superstition, found
him. He felt smart blow on the
shoulder, which knocked him back
ward. He stumbled, fell down, sat up
again and discovered that his elbow
was shattered. The arm hung help
lessly at his side.
He managed to bind up the wound
with his hand and teeth. There was
not much pain, but a sort of physical
languor, which made him reel giddily
when he arose. There was burning
thirst, too. It was extraordinary that
a little thing like that should take the
grit out of man. A little blood was
running down his sleeve, but the
wound seemed trivial.
Wallace leaned against the wall of
the shack and waited for his men.
He shouted once or twice more, but
nobody answered him. and the battle
seemed to be drifting in another direc-
ton. Wallace imagined that his troop
had advanced around the patch of
scrub, in which case he was not likely
to establish touch with them again till
nightfall. He cursed his luck and
started forward, but the trees began to
reel around him; he clutched at the
wall of the shack. missed it, and fell.
Then he realized that he was out of
the fight. Yet, in spite of his intense
disappointment, he knew that worse
might have befallen him. He had
fought through hours OF the day-that
was much; he was probably spared to
lead his men again-and that was
more. He had found and proved
himself; and at twenty-one a young
man, for all his self-confdence, is COM
posed of fears and doubts as well. In
spite of his soldier ancestors, Mark
Wallace had not been sure that his
capacity for leadership extended be-