The ubiquitous correspondent had
for the first time discovered the Gatling Gun Detachment, and they
thought it was Artillery.
One of these gentlemen was a long, slim, frayed-out specimen of
humanity, with a wearied and expressive droop of the shoulders; the
other was a short, stout, florid, rotund individual, and his "too, too
solid flesh" was in the very visible act of melting. The newspaper
gentlemen were invited to participate in the noonday meal, and, with
some gentle urging, consented. It was only after the meal was over
that it was learned that this was the first square meal these men had
had in over forty-eight hours. They had been with Gen. Wheeler at La
Guasimas, had rejoined Wheeler after reporting that fight, in hopes of
making another "scoop," and were now on their way to Siboney, hoping
to buy some provisions. Poor devils! They had worked for a "scoop" at
La Guasimas; they had gone up on the firing-line and had sent back
authentic accounts of that little skirmish; but they did not make the
"scoop." The "scoop" was made by newspaper men who had remained on
board the transports, and who took the excited account of a member of
the command who had come back delirious with excitement, crazed with
fear, trembling as though he had a congestive chill--who, in fact, had
come back faster than he had gone to the front, and in his excited
condition had told the story of an ambuscade; that Wheeler, Wood, and
Roosevelt were all dead; that the enemy was as thick as the barbs on
the Spanish bayonet; and that he, only he, had escaped to tell the
tale.
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