m IK? si! i 3rl E : 1 % HI 11 ® f # Theodore Westwood Miller Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2017 with funding from Duke University Libraries https://archive.org/details/theodorewmillerr01 mill Theodore W. Miller ii ROUGH RIDER HIS DIARY AS A SOLDIER TOGETHER WITH THE STORY OF HIS LIFE AKRON, OHIO PRIVATELY PRINTED 1899 Copyright, 1899, BY Richard P. Marvin AKRON, OHIO THE WERNER COMPANY PRINTERS AND BINDERS 972 . 5 M(oS7 T TO THE MEMORY OF A CHRISTIAN GEN- TLEMAN AND GALLANT SOLDIER THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS DEDICATED BY ONE OF MANY WHO KNEW AND LOVED HIM Preface viii in chapter ix. Other members of the family have supplied valuable suggestions and useful materials. It is gratifying to know that Theo- dore’s father, who died in February last, ap- proved the general plan of the book, and seemed satisfied with so much of its execution as he saw. The account of the period from the wounding to the death is based upon a careful statement prepared by Mr. Miller himself from all the available data. Indebtedness to class- mates and others for letters, anecdotes, and impressions, is acknowledged throughout the chapters. It should be definitely understood that while this book has been prepared at the request of Theodore’s relatives, they are not responsible for the picture of the home life which seemed indispensable to a conception of Theodore’s character. On this ground the editor has as- serted his right to include certain paragraphs. The thanks of the family and the editor are due to Charles Scribner’s Sons Co., to Harper Bros. Co., to Mr. Frank Munsey, and to Mr. Nicholas Fish for the loan of photographs, and for other courtesies, which have made it pos- sible to include certain of the illustrations. The gratitude of Theodore’s friends must be expressed to Mr. Richard P. Marvin, who has not- only insisted upon assuming the burden of publication, but has given sound and whole- 'some counsel. The Editor. Chicago, November 1899. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Boyhood . i II. Youth . . 17 III. College Life ..... • 3 i IV. Law School and Enlistment 64 V. The Diary: New York to Tampa • 76 VI. The Diary: From Tampa to Baiquiri . 103 VII. The Diary: From Baiquiri to San Juan . 114 VIII. Battle-field and Hospital 134 IX. From Cuba to Akron .... . 146 X. The Service 156 Appendix. Addresses, Letters, etc. . . 169 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Portrait of Theodore Westwood Miller Frontispiece Oak Place. The House ..... i Lewis Miller’s Birthplace .... 3 Portrait of Lewis Miller ..... 4 Portrait of Mrs. Miller .... 5 « The Little Boys » ...... 8 John and Theodore ...... 10 Theodore and His School-mates . . .12 Theodore at Ten ...... 13 Miller Cottage at Chautauqua . . . .15 The Sitting Room, Oak Place 10 The Library, Oak Place . . . . .24 Theodore at Sixteen ..... 25 Boys’ Room at St. Paul’s . . . . .28 Durfee Hall, Yale Campus .... 31 Battell Chapel, Yale Campus . . . .32 Yale Quarters, Gale’s Ferry .... 34 Theodore Coaching a Chautauqua Crew . . 36 Theodore at the Boat House .... 39 Theodore and the Class Crew . . . .42 Theodore and John ...... 45 Theodore’s Chum ....... 47 John V. Miller ....... 49 Theodore and Frank Wade . . . .51 Theodore as a Lady on the Rear Seat . . 52 Camping on a Chautauqua Houseboat . . 54 The Fence, Yale Campus ..... 62 (xi) xii Illustrations PAGE Glenmont, Llewellyn Park .... 68 The Dwight Law Club . . . ... 70 Colonel Wood ....... 77 Lieutenant-Colonel Roosevelt . . . .79 Lieutenant Goodrich ..... 85 Caspar Wi-iitney ....... 90 Roosevelt — Davis — Theodore ... 93 Troop D. at Tampa ...... 96 On the « Yucatan » Leaving Tampa . . 103 Hamilton Fish, Jr. ...... 121 Richard Harding Davis . . . . .131 Site of the Hospital, Siboney .... 138 Dr. Lesser ....... 139 Mrs. Lesser . ... . . . . 140 The Grave at Siboney ..... 143 View from the Siboney Cemetery . . . 144 Ensign John V. Miller ..... 146 View from the Grave . . . . .148 The Headboard . . . . .150 Entrance to Glendale . . .158 The Miller Family Monument . 168 The Memorial Gateway (Elm St., Front) . . 176 The Memorial Gateway (Campus Front) . 177 CHAPTER I Oak Place with its hospitable house and wooded lawns is a hanging garden amid the smoke and bustle of a busy, manufacturing town. One peeps through the trees from the borders of the grounds, and looks down upon mill and railway and canal. To the unaccus- tomed ear the con- stant hum of industry is the dominant under- tone, blending with the songs of birds and the rustling of the tree-tops. Winding drives and paths descend abruptl) T on one side through dense copses to the city below; on the other, they stretch away over a broad, shaded pla- teau to a distant entrance. In the rear of the house are stables, hot-houses, and gardens, affording tempting opportunities for boyish 2 Theodore Westwood Miller experiments of many kinds. Through the flats below the hill runs a brook which emp- ties into a larger stream, and suggests endless feats of juvenile engineering. In the city it- self are factories an dr mills turning out agricul- tural machinery, engines, rails, binding twine, pottery, articles of rubber, in bewildering variety and number. These great establish- ments with their cunningly devised machines and skilled workmen offer a fascinating field to the growing boy. Then, too, beyond the limits of the city, there are charming ex- cursions to ponds, a river gorge, and an w Old Maid’s Kitchen.” Over the country roads the horses of Oak Place stables have cov- ered many a rapid mile on youthful expedi- tions in search of small game, or in pursuit of other rural pleasures. Within the generous house there is an at- mosphere of wide-hearted hospitality and good cheer. The blazing Ohio coal in sitting-room and library dispels all sense of cold formality. The appointments are handsome, but at a glance they are seen to be a means of life and not an end. Even the stately drawing-room is not wholly forbidden to rollicking brothers and sisters. On the third floor is a glorious attic, a playroom unmistakably designed for toy rail- ways, amateur printing shops, a gymnasium, winter circuses, private theatricals, and all the Theodore Westwood Miller 3 other things in which normal boys and girls delight. But all this is only the outer shell which a family has grown around its living self. A score of years ago, ten children gathered with their parents about the long table in the Oak Place dining-room. The father, Lewis Miller, had already gained a prominent position in more than one sphere of life. At twenty-five he had been an inventor of mowing and reaping rapidly advanced to a Lewis Miller’s Birthplace machinery, and had place of responsibility and wealth. Yet his interests were not wholly absorbed by industrial pursuits. He was active in church work, and early dis- played a special ability to deal with the prob- lems of Sunday School organization which at that time was sadly lacking in system and method. He was the designer of a Sunday School building which has been widely imi- tated in this country and abroad. His youth- ful experiences as a school teacher, after his graduation from an academy, had given him an interest in educational matters, and he 4 Theodore Westwood Miller and John H. Vincent had recently established at Chautauqua, New York, the summer schools and lecture courses which have grown into a truly national institution. As a member of the Akron school-board, he was able to ren- der important service to the higher life of his city. To the children such a father presented in an intimately personal way a high ideal of the American, actively engaged in the strenu- ous economic life of the nation, yet not in- different to those spiritual and idealistic elements which alone can justify and en- noble the struggle for industrial progress. They knew that their father as a boy had had the odds against him. They admired him for his pluck and persist- ence, and gloried in his success. They took pride in the family that had come to Ohio from Penn- sylvania; they revered the mem- ory of Great-grandfather Abraham Miller, a soldier of the Revolution, and delighted to trace back the line on their father’s side to a sturdy Hollander who first set foot on American Theodore Westwood Miller 5 soil at Philadelphia in 1733. To these ideals of the outer and the larger world Lewis Miller added a gentleness of manner and a rare fatherly comradeship which endeared him to all his household, and won a loyalty which he enjoyed undiminished to his death. He lives on in the loving memory of his family. Mrs. Miller’s life, in contrast with her hus- band's, was almost wholly of the home. Mary Alexander came of those stalwart, in- domitable, Scotch- Irish folk who have done so much for the (( winning of the West.” They dis- played those traits of courage, self-reliance, unswerving purpose, demanded by success- ful frontier life. Her great - great - grand- father, John Alex- ander, of the clan of McDonald, came to America in 1 736. The men of the family had a share in both the deliberations and the fighting of the Revolu- tionary period. Later a branch of the Alex- 6 Theodore Westwood Miller anders settled in Illinois, where Mary met Lewis Miller and became his wife. After years of faithful, loving service, this sweet- faced, grey-eyed little woman sat among her children happy in their devotion. Eva, the first-born, had died the year before the family came to live in Oak Place, but the others were full of vigor and in robust health. The meal time was a joyous family festival. Good- humored banter, the give-and-take of familiar and affectionate intercourse, enlivened the hour. There was many a merry tale at the expense of this brother or that sister; but it was a rare thing for voices to grow strident or for eyes to flash in anger. Love was the law of the household, and it worked its way into beautiful relationships. Around the mother father and children were grouped. Her room — opening from the sitting-room on the first floor — was the shrine of the family and is to-day a holy place, made sacred to her beloved boys and girls by years of self-forgetting devotion. It would not be true to say that she sacrificed herself for them. Rather she found her larg- est, noblest self in serving them. Nor did she suffer the pangs of disappointed hopes. Of all her children none has brought dishonor to the family name. Those days in the later seventies were full of happiness. The circle was unbroken. Jane, Theodore Westwood Miller 7 returning from study and travel abroad, brought ideas and ideals which were woven into the family life; Ira was making himself an important factor in the counting-room of the works; Edward was an undergraduate, in- troducing the lore of the sophomore and tell- ing stories of college life ; Robert, full of quips and jests, an inveterate though kindly tease, made things lively for the younger children; Lewis, always in high spirits, saw to it that the family life never grew stagnant ; Mina, Mary, and Grace, restrained with grateful fem- inine tact the somewhat exuberant boyishness of their brothers. Last of all — as ages are reckoned — came the small boys, <( mamma’s petty boys,” John and Theodore, irrepressible, roguish, affectionate, charming, little fellows, the delight and entertainment of the house- hold. At table the youngsters sat on Airs. Miller’s right and left. In her gentle way she usually kept them in some sort of order, but now and then in juvenile riot they would break all bounds. The least sign of worry or distress upon the mother’s gentle face would bring them to instant penitence. Then they sought by every captivating attention to drive the depress- ing look away. At times the shots of the older children would be too much for the tender- hearted little chaps, who nestled against their 8 Theodore Westwood Miller champion for comfort, or under her protection returned the fire of the friendly enemy. There sprung up in this and other ways a peculiarly tender and beautiful com- radeship between the little boys and their mother, — a relation which continued unbroken through youth into man- hood. The prominence of the family in industry, church, and society brought Oak Place into contact with a wide circle of friends and acquaintances. Men and women distinguished in many departments of life were frequent guests. Travel on busi- ness or pleasure gave members of the family a broader outlook on the world. The summer at Chautauqua, where the Miller cottage was the center of a congenial and jolly company, extended the area of friendship. Many were the house parties at Oak Place where young people were hospitably gathered in large and frolicsome groups. All these things tended to consolidate the family, to awaken and maintain a genuine and worthy family pride. Each member was Theodore Westwood Miller 9 devoted to the ideals of all. There was a grate- ful absence of petty jealousies and selfishness. This solidarity was admirably shown when on Sunday morning every child from oldest to youngest went cheerfully as a matter of course to the Sunday School which, their father had done so much to create. He was superintendent, and all the children gladly took their assigned places with a sense of family responsibility for the success of the institution. Never in after life did they betray that feeling of contemptu- ous superiority toward the Sunday School, so common among young men and young women in their social position. Yet they were as far as possible removed from the type of weakly sen- timentality which has been so unfortunately associated in many minds with the Sunday School. The} 7 were normal, wholesome, genu- ine youths and maidens, reverent toward the things held sacred by their parents, and grow- ing into personal consciousness and acceptance of the religious life. It was into this family that Theodore West- wood Miller was born on the thirtieth day of January, eighteen hundred and seventy-five. To give an impression of his personality with- out connecting it with the family life would be a hopeless task. He had his own individuality, but it grew out of a life in common with the others, — a peculiarly intimate companionship. JO Theodore Westwood Miller It is well-nigh impossible to dissociate Theodore as a boy from John, his senior by a little more than a year. The (< little boys ” were rarely mentioned individually. They spoke of them- selves as <( ourselves. ” (< What are you coming to ( ourselves > for mamma? ( Ourselves > are coming to you,” they exclaimed when through some misunderstanding, they met Mrs. Miller returning to Akron as they were on the way to join her at Chautauqua. Theodore in his early years gave signs of initiative and leadership. He was fond of doing <( stunts ” to arouse the emulation of his fellows. At the tender age of six, he drew to the attic large, pin-paying crowds of spectators to see his feats upon trapeze and rings. His plans for transforming happy families of dogs and cats into menageries of wild and ferocious beasts were hailed delight- edly by John and his other companions. He was full of ideas when it came to building dams in the creek, and floating miniature navies on the broadened tide. He would jump up and down with delight, rubbing his hands together, and emitting shrill whoops of Theodore Westwood JMillcr ii joy, as the black soft-coal smoke poured from the stacks of (< dug-out ® furnaces which he and John had made on the flats. As small boys John and Theodore formed a firm friendship for (< Dade ” Goodrich, a re- sourceful, ingenious, whole-souled little man, who was one day to stroke a Harvard eight against Theodore’s ’Varsity crew, and later as lieutenant to lead the playmate of his boyhood against the outposts of Santiago. Many a happy Saturday did John, Theodore and (< Dade w spend with toy engines, miniature railways, and other boyish enterprises. Again, weary of ma- chinery, they would run across country with their comrades in games of hare and hounds, and follow your leader. In all these parties Theodore was a center of fun and frolic. His chief happiness was to make happiness general. When the (< little boys n were about six and eight, Edward or Robert brought home a set of boxing gloves. One day Theodore and John put these on and fell to with great vigor. The family gathered and applauded the combatants. The great soft gloves could do no damage other than deliver a blow stinging and for a moment painful. The youthful boxers fought with splendid dash and energy. Theodore was more brilliant and venturesome, but John had the ad- vantage of greater weight and a dogged perse- verance. They battered each other until they 12 Theodore Westwood Miller lay panting on the floor, but even then Theo- dore would reach over to give John a few inef- fectual punches. Breath regained, they were up and at it once more. For a time these contests were a popular family entertainment. Some- times the victory was awarded to John, some- times to Theodore, but never did the bouts develop bad blood and passion. The little chaps were thorough sportsmen, struggling with- out animosity for the pleas- ure of the contest, and feeling a pride, each in the pluck and prowess of the other. School life began for Theodore at six, when he was enrolled in the Per- kins School. He was a leader among the boys, with several of whom he formed lasting friendships. The artificial social distinctions which in after years so often destroy such comradeship seemed to have no effect on Theodore. He was a pub- lic school boy, coming from a home where there was no suggestion of snobbishness, and he formed and maintained friendships upon the broad basis of congenial tastes and personal character. Even in boarding-school and col- Theodore Westwood Miller 13 lege days, he did not forget or ignore these old schoolmates and playfellows. A characteristic story is told of Theodore’s impulsive eagerness to give pleasure to his friends. A small maiden who lived near Oak Place often came to play with the boys. Theodore treated her with the gallantry of a six-year-old beau. One day, as they were wan- dering through the conservatory, Belle admired the beautiful red roses. Theodore straightway bid her hold her apron, which he heaped high with all the roses he could lay hands upon, every one plucked close to the flower. At this age the imagery of Bible stories was a frequent medium of expression with the lit- tle boys. They instinctively in- terpreted life in Biblical phraseology and forms of thought. “John,” said Theodore, as they watched the fruitless attempts of a brakeman to light the oil lamps of a railway car, “ those lamps must belong to the foolish vir- gins.” On another occa- sion, Theodore wrote to his mother that he had lost h rubbers, but mindful of the injunction, <( Seek and ye shall find,” he had continued his search i/j. Theodore Westwood Miller diligently until he hit upon the missing arti- cles. (< I knew the Bible told the truth,” was his comment. In winter, the hills of Oak Place and vi- cinity afforded capital coasting. (< Bobs >> or (< double-runners ” were built at the shops under the direction of the young inventors. Parties of friends made merry on these swift craft, guided safely for the most part around curves, over bridges, across railway tracks and through thoroughfares. It took no little clearness of head and steadiness of hand to do such piloting without disaster. Snow forts and battles were Theodore’s hobby. He was an excellent organizer of at- tack and defense. He threw hard and straight, and faced the enemy’s fire with unflinching pluck. Even when warfare was waged in the autumn with crab apples for ammunition, he did not wince. Many of the other boys re- coiled from the stinging blows, but (( Thede ” Miller stood his ground or charged the foe undaunted. The mechanical interests of the boys took a rather striking form in the organization of a fire-department in a room of the conservatory. They braced their bicycles in such a way that they could sit in the saddles and await an alarm. At the ringing of a bell, John or Theodore pulled a cord which released the double-doors. Theodore Westwood Miller 15 As these swung open, out dashed the eager fire- men to the scene of the conflagration. This play became more and more realistic until the boys owned a steam pumping engine with which they put out blazing barrels and small huts hastily built to serve the purpose of the young Miller Cottage at Chautauqua incendiaries. Theodore’s ecstatic delight over these exciting runs and contests with the fires is remembered vividly by all his playfellows. The summers at Chautauqua opened a wide field to the boys. The} 7 scampered along the narrow decks of the Miller yacht, — the Olivia — i6 Theodore Westwood Miller and seemed always on the point of tumbling overboard; they organized exploring parties; they attended the classes for little people ; they built boats, and one summer, with a group of boys, they made a playhouse in the form of a passenger car, large enough to hold a dozen little folk. Here, too, many childish acquaint- ances were formed which year by year, grew into strong and permanent friendships. In all these associations Theodore’s winning qualities made him a much sought, eagerly wel- comed companion. He was ever bubbling with mirth, responsive, and sympathetic, always ready to lend a hand, to smooth over difficul- ties, to take the part of the slighted or the neg- lected. As a boy, Theodore Miller displayed all the elements of that strong, wholesome, large-hearted personalty which was one day to be his. CHAPTER IT It was just before the beginning of their high school life that John and Theodore be- came the editors, publishers, and printers of a tiny periodical, The Jumbo , issued monthly — for a time weekly — from Oak Place. On a small hand press, set up at first in the sitting- room, the young journalists laboriously turned out the little paper. They took on the impor- tant airs of reporters and editors, and asserted their dignity beneath a copious anointment of printer’s ink. When the edition had been run off, the members of the firm quickly trans- formed themselves into distributors, hastening to the post office with copies addressed to pat- rons in the United States and foreign countries, and leaving the papers of local subscribers at their several doors. Early in the career of The Jumbo , some gen- ius at (< the shop M invented a newspaper deliv- ery cart, a two-wheeled affair with a foot-board in the rear and a box for papers in front. The vehicle suggested in a general way a Roman chariot for light pleasure driving. The en- 2 Theodore Westwood Miller 18 terprising newspaper proprietors at once in- sisted that the rapid increase in the circulation of The Jumbo made one of these carts an ab- solute necessity. The later numbers of the journal were consequently distributed with a rapidity that made greater contemporaries en- vious. All Akron looked on with keen interest as one of the nimble horses of Oak Place dashed through the streets, drawing a brilliant red cart, on the swaying foot-board of which two bright-eyed lads stood in happy triumph. The contents of The Jumbo were largely of a personal nature, although general news was by no means neglected. The literary style and typesetting were not always entirely conven- tional. Here are a few lines reproduced from one of the numbers: — LOCE.Ii JNFOTKS Mr. Lewis Miller is intending to start for Euroqe the ioth. of this month. Bisboq Foster was visiting Mr. Edison's last Sonday. Mr. &Mrs. Lewis and Ira Miller sqcnt a very injoyable evening at the home of Mr. & M rs. Wise. y[r Duncan Saracds mayed a'shorr visite’ at Lev; is Miller Wed lies. Theodore Westwood Miller r 9 One issue,— that for April, 1888,— is famous in the family for its typographical eccentrici- ties. The large number of personal items con- cerning various branches of the Miller family soon exhausted the capital Ms of the regular body type, so that the font of heavy-faced job The Sitting Room, Oak Place type had to be drawn upon. The general effect of the pages can easily be imagined. But the result was not disastrous. It simply gave the publishers good ground for demanding a better equipment, which was promptly furnished. A large foot-press with an excellent assortment 20 Theodore Westwood Miller of type was set up in the attic, and Miller Brothers announced that they were prepared to do (< all kinds of job printing at reasonable prices.” The organization of the firm was alleged by the family to be a dark secret. It was openly charged that Mrs. Miller was a silent partner in the business, and its apparent prosperity was attributed to the lavish use by the noisy partners of the immense sums innocently invested by the unsuspecting victim who paid the bills without sharing the profits. Or again, it was asserted that the silent partner was fully aware of the situation, and was shamelessly diverting the family funds to the uses of the firm. Be this as it may, Miller Brothers pushed their operations steadily. Finally they made a con- tract with the Chautauqua Assembly to print daily bulletins of public exercises, and to post them on forty boards scattered through the summer town. The press, type, and cart were shipped to Chautauqua, and the contract was faithfully and efficiently carried out for three seasons. The job work which also fell into the hands of the young printers gave them a handsome profit. It would be invidious to compare the shares which the boys took in this little enterprise. Never were two companions more complemen- Theodore Westwood Miller 21 tary. Theodore was ever full of plans, bub- bling over with energy and enthusiasm. John shared in the joy of invention and worked stead- ily to carry out their many schemes. ^ 11 1 r r 0* 1 ' ' 1 1 m.i:v A I. ri>n. Ohio, We retpvt lo announce. I>tit wo suppose ymr are F* pmd their ( Jhri'tmas at Oak PIjki Mr A; Mr.' K. I bon iin-l f .unity. Mr Si M «.Jarol» .Miller and Mi*s t,i/./.v T,i>l..r Mr A M i '. M i>t Hint "In unit i «-.■ 1 tail ii*. Mi X Mis. Iis Millei hu'I Tiuylncr Mu jr Mi A Mr* RoWrr Miller. I lie Misses Marv and Croce Willi i will spend l hr i r C hristmas in Paris. Miss Angel of this city left Friday fo» Mari-n.O., "here she will spend her Christina- with Miss Laura Hardy. Mi'S Jennie Miller and the Editors and Publish- ers of this paper spent Saturday in Cleveland. Dr. Marsh. President of Mount Union College, preached in the First M. E. Church of this ei«y yea tefday. Mr. iSi Mr«. B. 'I VincCnt and son Harry will spend their Christmas with Bi»hop Vincent in Bull- aid. N. Y. The Jumbo served its educative purpose and was gradually superseded by other interests until publication ceased the day before Christ- 22 Theodore Westwood Miller mas, 1888. Mi'. Edison, who, by his marriage with Mina in 1886, had become a member of the family, delighted the boys by the gift of a small dynamo. Forthwith, they became elec- tricians, and plunged into the mysteries of wir- ing, alternating and direct currents, and the like. They wired several rooms in Oak Place and ingeniously filled one of the trees near the house with a fruitage of colored incandescent bulbs. It was a keen pleasure to note Theo- dore’s ecstatic joy as he turned on the current, flooding the rooms with radiance, or suddenly bringing forth from the darkness the luminous tree upon the lawn. It was Mr. Edison’s kindness again which made the lads owners of a phonograph. In a few weeks they were giving exhibitions in the Sunday School in Akron, in adjoining towns, and the following summer at Chautauqua. Theodore was the lecturer. He gave a clear, straightforward description of the mechanism, while John at appropriate times offered illus- trations with the phonograph. The winter of 1891 was made famous in the family annals by a farce, (< Bamboozle,” in which Theodore took a leading role with great spirit. Several jolly weeks were given up to rehearsals, and to the preparation of a stage. Here the training in electric engineering stood the boys in good stead. Footlights and border lights Theodore Westwood Miller 23 were skillfully put in place while the phono- graph served admirably as an orchestra . 1 At an early age Theodore showed for music a fondness which grew steadily throughout his life. As a boy of twelve he began to play the violin. His skill was soon sufficient to gain him a place in the orchestra of the Sunday School, and later, in the High School he organized a string quartet and an orchestra. A fine voice also gave him a wide range of musical expression. He took delight in sing- ing for his friends, and was a leader of song in all the pleasure parties which he was con- stantly helping to arrange. One camping party at Chautauqua composed a song under Theodore’s leadership, and every visitor was treated to an overwhelming rendition of the ode. Outdoor life, <( roughing it, ” sports of emula- tion and rivalry, appealed more and more to Theodore as he advanced from boyhood into youth. His splendid body developed in re- sponse to these demands, while his virile spirit did not exclude the virtues of sympathy and tenderness. He was in every sense what our 1 The programme announces « The Bamboozle Theat- rical Company }> for Friday evening Feb. 20, 1891. The company included : Ruth Seiberling, Belle Armstrong, May Hardy, Claire App, John Miller, Walter Marshall, Theodore Miller and Ion Jackson. 2 4- Theodore Westwood Miller English cousins in their restrained speech call <( a fine lad.” In school life <( Thede ” Miller made his per- sonality tell. He shared eagerly in all the ac- tivities of his mates. At one time he was the Damrosch of the school ; at another, as attorney The Library, Oak Place for the defense in a mock trial, he plead to such good purpose that the jury promptly gave him his case. He was president of the Debating Society for a time, and finally graduated with credit at sixteen, the youngest member of his class. His speech on Julius Caesar displayed Theodore Westwood Miller 25 the enthusiasm of youth for certain qualities which critical historical scholarship denies to the conqueror of Gaul, but which belong to the idealized personality of the great Roman hero. The young orator paid tribute with gen- uine fire to the ideals which seemed to him so worthy of praise and emulation, to the mastery and leadership of men in great enterprises, against seemingly hopeless odds. In the autumn following graduation from the high school, John and Theodore entered St. Paul’s school, Concord, N. H., to complete their preparation for Yale. This plan, urged stren- uously by their sister Jane, not only gave them a better equipment for their undergraduate studies, blit also insured for them a group of friends from the very outset of their New Haven life. The young Millers quickly found places in the social system of St. Paul’s. In this they were aided by the good offices of their friend <( Dade Goodrich, who had preceded them. Theodore’s athletic 26 Theodore Westwood Miller skill won him a position on the foot-ball eleven, and later a seat in the first school boat. In the gymnasium games the first prize in rope-climbing fell to him. His fine voice was soon heard in the chapel choir, of which John also was a member. The charm of his personality attracted a group of his school- mates, who frequented his room, passing many a jolly hour in song and story, and in doing justice to the generous boxes which arrived periodically from Oak Place. The boys’ well- merited popularity gained for them later on admission to the chief school society <01 >API2T0I. Theodore’s first school letter written to his mother is full of good spirits. (< You probably know,” he says, <( that we are in the choir, but it tickles me so that I can’t help mentioning it [in] every letter I write." Again, of the school discipline he writes : (< The masters are quite strict in the < study,’ and all over in fact, but I think it is nice to have some system about the school." His method of dealing with home- sickness was wholesome : (< I have often had the thought of home in my mind, and a wish to be there with you all, but I have warded it off so that it would not result in homesickness." Of the church service he says : (< Do not be sur- prised if we ask to go to the Episcopal Church at home, for we will be so used to the services Theodore Westwood Miller 27 that we will be lost without them. ® Then, in a burst of loyalty, he adds: (< But don’t think that we forget the dear old Methodist Church, for I am sure it goes ahead of the Episcopal. ® Theodore entered into the life of the school with great enthusiasm, and extended the area of his friendships rapidly. From the casual remark of a rowing coach that Theodore in his first efforts with the oar was (< tough, ® the younger Miller forthwith received the nick- name of (< Toughy,” one of those sobriquets in which school boys delight chiefly because of their grotesque inappropriateness. This name was carried from St. Paul’s to Yale, where it shared service with <( Thede * and (< T. ” During the two years at St. Paul's, Theodore maintained in a manly way his loyalty to the religious ideals of his earlier years. His serv- ice in the choir was not rendered in a merely perfunctory spirit. He was also a zealous mem- ber of the school missionary society. With Theodore, religion was not an external, inor- ganic thing, but a genuine element of his wholesome, energetic, buoyant personality. All the dearest, most sacred images of home were associated with religious ideas, which he cherished in a simple, unquestioning way, as an essential part of his life. The larger interests of the big school did not weaken the strong ties which had so long 28 Theodore Westwood Miller united John and Theodore. They were as de- voted to each other as ever, and shared work, amusements, and friends in the same way as before. Theodore’s affection for John was em- Boys* Room at St. Paul’s phasized in one episode which a schoolmate has described. « One day, while we were going to Long Pond in a large ’bus which held about twenty-four fellows and was drawn by four horses, it commenced to rain. The driver let the horses out and drove them at full gallop. We were tearing down hill along a narrow road with the hill on one side and a precipice on the other, when a woman driving a cart came in sight around a bend at the bottom of the hill. There was barely room for the Theodore Westwood Miller 2 9 wagons to pass, and our driver, unable to check the speed of the horses, attempted to pass the woman's wagon. One of the rear wheels of our 'bus slipped over the bank, and over we went, — boys, wagon, and horses. The first thing I saw, on regaining my senses, was ( T 1 scram- bling as fast as he could up the bank and looking for John, whom he found caught between a tree and the overturned 'bus. <0, Brother, 1 are you hurt? 1 cried ( T 1 excitedly, tugging and pulling at the great, heavy ’bus with all his might, but with little or no effect until he was assisted by the crowd of boys. I don’t recollect what John’s reply was, but ^’s 1 vigorous endeavors to free his brother, and his expression of relief and de- light at finding his brother unharmed were things not soon to be forgotten. ® 2 The summer of 1893 afforded Theodore a de- lightful experience in a yachting trip up the Sound to Marblehead and back. As the guest of a school friend he made this first voyage, proving himself a capital sailor and a jolly com- panion. Theodore often spoke of this cruise as one of the brightest spots in his singularly unshadowed life. At Chautauqua, where he spent a part of each summer, Theodore maintained the pleas- ant friendships of the earlier years and became more and more prominent in the merry life of the young people. Whether he organized pic- nics or sailing parties, or bicycle runs, or rowed 1 From this incident John gained the nickname of “brother.” 2 From a letter of Mr. James H. Simpson to Mr. Lewis Miller, Sept. 12, 1898. 3° Theodore Westzvood Miller in the heavy old barges bought from the Yale navy, or played tennis, he was full of high spirits, a leader of song, a doer of (< stunts," a plotter of playfulness. Yet, withal, he was thoughtful and sympathetic, with a careful eye for the neglected and a cheering <( jolly" for the dismal. In June 1893, the St. Paul’s days ended. Two happy years of healthy, expanding life had been added to Theodore’s career. He carried with him higher ideals, and left behind a school tradition richer because of his part in it. CHAPTER III In the autumn of 1893 Theodore and John began their life at Yale. It is easy to imagine with what enthusiasm they entered upon this fascinating career. They had spent the summer along the Sound and at Chautauqua, and had known the freshman joys of being <( Yale men.® At last they were to penetrate the academic mysteries. Of course Theodore was an active participant in the rush between soph- omores and freshmen, on the eve of the opening day. In the organized wrestling he threw his man, and thus made his first contribution to the honor of ’97. Thanks to the two years at St. Paul’s, none of us had re- viewed our Plato. The majority of us wanted to let Plato alone, and all flunk together,' — we called ourselves Theodore Westwood Miller 35 the ' Anti-Greek Leaguers.’ But 'T’ and one or two others wanted to review their Plato and started up a somewhat less powerful, but equally enthusiastic, band of 'Greek Leaguers,’ who bound themselves to finish Plato’s Apology before the "exam.” The 'Anti-Greek Leaguers ’ being the more numerous were the more pow- erful and would not allow the ' Greek Leaguers ’ to light their lamp in or near the farmhouse, because of the myriad mosquitoes and insects which the light attracted. And so ' T ’ took a table and a lamp, and placing them on a little knoll at a distance from the house, started on his review of Plato. It seems to me as though I can see ' T ’ now, sitting on that knoll in the dim lamp light, with his elbows on the table, and his head resting on his hands, ' plugging ’ away at his Greek, while a swarm of insects buzzed around his head. One or two of his band joined him ; but, unable to stand the mosquitoes, studied little and soon deserted to the ranks of the ' Anti-Greeks. ’ ' T,’ however, worked all that evening and the next, and when we went into examination was the only one who had reviewed the Greek, and was one of the few to pass the examination successfully . 1 Theodore’s delight over the victory which the Yale freshmen won from the Harvard and Columbia crews was unbounded. He arrived at Chautauqua an enthusiastic boating man, and soon had several crews rowing in the old six-oared barges which had been bought from the Yale navy. "T’s" clear voice could be heard at almost any hour, echoing over the lake, as he coached his crews of young men and From a letter of J. H. Simpson, Sept. 12, 1898. 3 6 Theodore Westwood Miller young women. His enthusiasm was conta- gious. Rivalry was aroused. Regattas were organized; and spirited races attracted large crowds. The success of this summer’s work led Theodore to start a subscription for two new four- oared barges. He met with a ready response, and by the next season the boats were built and in service . 1 Theodore Coaching a Chautauqua Crew The routine of study and athletics absorbed much of Theodore’s time in his first year, but his winning personality, his irrepressible good spirits, and his genuineness made him many firm friends and pleasant acquaintances. At the outset of his Yale life, Theodore left no doubt as to his attitude in religious matters. He became interested at once in the work of 1 In recognition of Theodore Miller’s contribution to boating on Chautauqua Lake, a handsome trophy, known as (< The Theodore Miller Cup® has been purchased for the annual race between the Chautauqua and Chadakoin crews. Theodore Westwood Miller 37 Dwight Hall — the Yale Y. M. C. A. — and throughout his course was known and respected as a Christian man. He led prayer-meetings in his turn. One of his brief, simple, straight- forward addresses is preserved in his college (< memorabil book.” The topic is love. To those who knew Theodore these rather conven- tional phrases breathe a spirit of sincerity and conviction. They are no mere perfunctory sentences: — « How many chances we have in college to help fel- lows nearer Christ! God says: was our mainstay. His deep bass voice always carried the song to a successful end.” 1 At Chautauqua in the summer vacation, now and then, the si- lence of the night would be broken by a sere- nade, in which Theodore’s voice was clearly distinguishable. Thus, in his first year at Yale, “T" Miller entered upon all of the many activities which, From a letter of J. H. Simpson, Sept. 12, 1898. 4 -° Theodore Westwood Miller in their further development, went to make up his college life. He began as a man with many sympathies and interests, and maintained this attitude to the end of his course. In athletics he was indefatigable and per- sistent, although he never gained first rank in any branch of sport. He rendered faithful and efficient service in his class crew, was a substitute on the ’Varsity eight, coached foot- ball teams and crews for the lower classes, and was regarded by the athletic authorities as a valuable man. w As captain of the Yale crew in my senior year,” writes one of his classmates, (< I often needed advice, and ( T * was one of my chief supports, cheering me up when I became despondent and discour- aged. ” 1 In junior year the ’97 crew, as is so likely to be the case later in the course, had surrendered to the ’Varsity some of its best men, and had lost a large measure of the esprit de corps and enthusiasm so vitally necessary to success in athletics. The problem of reorganizing and re- vivifying the class crew confronted the boating authorities of ’97. With unanimity they turned to <( T ® Miller as the man for the emergency. He undertook the task, and entered upon the work with his customary spirit and energy. 1 From a letter of Philip. Horton Bailey, Oct. 8, 1898. Theodore Westwood Miller 41 His relation to the crew is thus described by a classmate : — « But one man kept us at our work, cheering us when we did well, scolding us when we needed it, and, always earnest and determined himself, [he] soon communi- cated his spirit to the rest of us. Under such conditions the crew quickly gained new life and courage. H 1 The class race is thus described by one of the eight : — «The race is a close one at first, but gradually our shell begins to creep ahead of the other. ( Now give her another ten, all together ! > yelled our Captain, and the cry' was taken up by the coxswain, and counted off with regular emphasis. The cries of our classmates reach our ears, encouraging us to harder efforts. ( Go it, ’97 ! > The increased shouts tell us we are near the bridge, and as we pass under it, and are glad enough to lie on our oars and pant for breath at the cry of ( avast, > we see that we are five lengths ahead and the Spring Regatta is ours. The credit went to the crew, but we knew that most of it belonged to our Captain, who had made victory possible. » 1 2 The great disappointment of Theodore’s ath- letic career was his failure to gain a seat in the University eight that was to row at New Lon- don and at Henley. He did so well in his struggle for the position that the coaches hesi- tated long before deciding his fate. For a few 1 From a letter of James R. Judd, October, 1898. T-lbid. /)2 Theodore Westwood Miller days he was given the stroke oar. His excite- ment may easily be imagined. For some rea- son, however, he did not hold the coveted place. He accepted the result in a truly sports- manlike spirit. His comment on the incident in a letter to his father is thoroughly charac- teristic : — - (< I suppose you have heard through mother’s letters that the crew don’t seem to want me as stroke any more. Well, I was not so very much disappointed over it, be- cause I hardly hoped to make the place at any time while I was stroking. I have the pleasure now of thinking about the time I was stroking and that is better than not to have stroked at all .® 1 The mere enumeration of the college socie- ties of which <( T ” was a member serves to 1 From a letter of Theodore to his father, April 8, 1895. Theodore Westwood Miller 4-3 reflect something of his position in his class and in the University. He was among the organ- izers of a new sophomore society , — Kappa Psi ; he was one of the first fifteen to be chosen for the junior fraternity of Delta Kappa Epsilon , and in senior year he won the distinction of membership in the Wolf's Head society. With the passing of the years and the in- creasing multiplicity of interests, Theodore showed no apathy towards religious work. He joined a group of classmates, banded together to exert influence in quiet, unobtrusive ways upon their fellows. These men met in each others’ rooms for conference and prayer. A member of this little company says of Theo- dore : — <( There was nothing weak or sentimental about his Christianity. It was rugged and hearty like everything else about him. . . . ( T > Miller on his knees before his God was the same whole-hearted and sturdy man ail his classmates knew. He prayed in the most straight- forward way for just what he felt he needed, and more than the rest of us, I think, he consistently tried to do what he prayed to accomplish. » 1 In his sophomore year Theodore took a class in the Bethany Mission Sunday School, an in- stitution maintained by the Christian men of the University. In his senior year he was chosen as superintendent. He undertook this 1 From a letter of Henrv Sloane Coffin. SeDt. 20. 1808. u Theodore Westwood Miller work with the same infectious enthusiasm which he showed in everything he did. One of his colleagues gives this picture : — (< There is one phase of his college career that I should like to mention. . . . That is his work at the Beth- any Mission School. Of all the beautiful remembrances I have of him, I think the most beautiful and the one which I think of oftenest, is that of Theodore standing up there on the platform of the little Mission and talking in his sympathetic and- simple way to those little chil- dren. And then, perhaps, his coming down and going over to some little child and putting his arm on his shoulder and talking to him by himself, to cheer him up when he was troubled over something, and seeing the smile come back to the child’s face again. «And at Christmas time with his messages and tele- grams from Santa Claus to them, he was the wonder and the admiration of them all .® 1 Another mentions the same incident: — «In our senior year he was superintendent of the Bethany Sunday School, and he seemed to be in his ele- ment among children. I cannot forget a Christmas fes- tival at which he presided. One could not tell who was the more pleased, the children all excited and eager to receive their gifts, or < T, ) who beamed on everyone, and whose face was radiant with good feeling .® 2 The influence which Theodore exerted on his classmates is mentioned feelingly by many of 1 From a letter of Clarence M. Fincke, Oct. 5, 1898. 2 From letter of H. S. Coffin, Sept. 20, 1898. Theodore Westwood Miller 45 them in their letters and reminiscences. Here is a typical paragraph : — <( But perhaps I drew nearer to < T> in the quiet heart- to-heart talks we used to have after the class prayer- meetings in Dwight Hall, or as we returned from Bethany Mission Sunday School. I could not talk with many men as I did with him. He never misunderstood me, and contact with his large heart and strong religious character soothed many troubled times, and left me a better man ® 1 Absence from home and contact with an ab- sorbing life, seemed to have effected no change affectionate at- his family. He tinued to be They were roommates, dore’s athlet- somewhat dif- acquaintances, ) friends were course no one can ever think of ( T > without having John in the same thought,” writes a friend. “They were scarcely ever apart, and the brotherly re- lation between the two seemed ideal, and we, in the class of '97, will always have them in mind together, more like one than two separate individuals. ” 2 in Theodore’s titude towards and John con- inseparable, classmates and While Theo- ics gave him a ferent circle of their intimate the same. “ Of '■From a letter of Albert F. Judd, Jr. 2 From a letter of H. S. Coffin, Sept. 20, 1898. 4 6 Theodore Westwood Miller Theodore and John maintained a frequent and full correspondence with father and mother, brothers and sisters. Theodore’s letters are the naive, unaffected expression of his character. They abound in bits of fun, in guileless hints as to the importance of sending boxes of good things from Akron, in undisguised appeals for needed funds, and in bits of affectionate senti- ment. In all this correspondence there is not the least suggestion of the dutiful son writing an impressive letter to his solicitous parents. Everything in which he takes an interest is frankly and fully described. He has nothing to conceal, and he writes with a running pen whatever wells tip into his pure and happy heart. There is much talk of athletics, of his hopes and fears and disappointments, but never a bitter word or cynical sentence is to be found in all the pages. He looks upon life as affording boundless opportunities for happi- ness, and he turns everything to some account in filling up his cup of joy. He speaks of his friends enthusiastically, of their loyalty and kindness, and of the pleasure which he takes in their companionship. There are more intimate passages, full of so- licitude for father and mother, with now and then a bit of filial advice about caring for their health, and exhortations not to worry about John and him. Theodore Westwood Miller 4-7 He is just back from his first Christmas vacation, and writes: — « Here we are again all alone with twenty-five hun- dred fellows. But the fellows can by no means take the place of you people at home. You cannot imagine how I would love to be at home now, and how much I dreaded leaving . W1 In urging members of the family to attend commencement Theodore ends a letter with this playful summons : — « This is your last chance, and positively the last ap- pearance of the Miller Bros, in their famous melo- drama ( College Life at Yale? Come early and avoid the ( rush. > » 1 2 It was in the informal daily contact with his fel- lows that Theodore took his chief delight. He and John were members of a congenial group who spent many a jolly hour in singing and story- telling before the blazing logs, in sailboats upon the harbor, in tramps to neighb ing villages, and in trips with THE0D0RE ’ a Chum the athletic teams. In junior and senior years the First Entry of White Hall was the habitat 1 From a letter of Theodore to his mother, Jan. 8, 1894. 2 From a letter to Mary, May or June, 1897. 4$ Theodore Westwood Miller of this good company. Theodore was never happier than during those winter evenings with his friends, sitting before the fire, lead- ing the singing, shouting impromptu verses, and, perhaps, as a grand finale, provoking one of those safety valves of youthful spirits known as a <( rough house . n A member of this band describes an evening which ended in this fashion: — « As I think over such times I remember well a cer- tain evening. The White Hall crowd, which was ac- customed, during the winter term of our senior year, to loaf together one evening each week, was collected in Darrach’s room. Before the party broke up a < rough house 1 was started, and in this as in other things < Toughy ) wasn’t very far from the front and wasn’t the quietest man either. In the course of time a feather pillow was broken open and its contents distributed generously over the room and the men. Theodore, of course, enjoyed this as much as any one, and was right willing to do his share in the work necessitated by the accident. He was a man who was always welcome, no matter what was going on, and one who could sympa- thize with and advise as well as rejoice with his fellow men .® 1 The part which Theodore took in this little social colony has been admirably described by an appreciative classmate : • — “He took great pleasure in being able to give you something, and if a box arrived from home, he and John 1 From a letter of Eben Hill, Jr., Sept. 30, 1898. Theodore Westwood Miller 49 kept open house for their friends. When you heard his voice below your window, there was good feeling in his very call, and when he came into the room he seemed to bring the fresh air in with him. He was himself so genial and whole- hearted that nearly everything ap- peared to please him, and he took keen delight in what seemed very commonplace to many of his class- mates. I never knew a man who got so much solid enjoyment out of life. He hated to miss anything that was going on, and he could throw himself into whatever hap- pened to be doing, apparently for- getful of everything else .” 1 Theodore’s acquaintances extended far beyond the limits of this inner circle. He was a prominent figure in class undertakings. In sophomore year, on Wash- ington’s birthday, he was in the very van of his classmates, as they marched proudly for the first time, with their silk hats and (< bangers,” about the campus and along the streets. He was also in the great snow battle, which has been passed on in Yale annals as one of the famous contests of the decade. The sophomores were posing on the fence for a photograph, when the freshmen, set on by the upper class- men, made an attack upon their traditional 1 From a letter of H. S. Coffin, Sept. 20, ’98. 4 and friendships Theodore Westwood Miller 5 °_ foes. The sophomores retaliated fiercely. Somehow, Theodore, a junior, found himself the leader of the attacking party. He showed great skill and pluck, and won high praise on all sides for his generalship and grit. His own description of the battle reflects his joy in ac- tivity and rivalry : — (( We had a great game here on Washington’s birth- day. The sophomores tried to have their picture taken on the fence, and the freshmen, backed by the upper classmen, snowballed them, and broke up the group. Then a regular snowfight began. Before I knew it I was heading the opposition party. I felt like a regular general, and harangued the men before we made a charge, and yelled to them when we were attacked. The fight lasted about half an hour, but it seemed sev- eral [hours]. We ended about even as to ground gained, but I came out of it with a black eye and face all scratched up, from balls hitting me. My lip was cut and my thumb pretty well skinned. It was the best game we ever had here yet. And an old ninety-six man said it was the best snow fight he had ever seen. At Chautauqua each year a Fresh Air Fund entertainment is given by the young people. In these circuses and vaudeville shows, Theo- dore was one of the star performers. He made a stunning young woman for the street pro- cessions, and sang solos in a voice which ranged from falsetto to deep bass. His last triumph was the impersonation of a popular prima From a letter of May 7, 1897. Theodore Westwood Miller 5i donna , who was singing in the Chautauqua concerts. His imitation of this soloist’s man- nerisms and gestures was greeted with tumul- tuous applause and shouts of laughter. He was dressed most effectively for the part, and made a strikingly handsome picture. The boyish glee with which he entered into these enter- tainments, and all the other forms of recreation, in- creased his popularity from year to year. From the many an- ecdotes which illustrate different phases of Theodore’s character, a few typical inci- dents may be chosen. One of his class- mates, after a hard winter’s work as a can- didate for the crew, was finally told that he would Theodore and Frank Wade not be needed even as a sub- stitute. Theodore, who had been chosen, felt keenly this disappointment of his friend. The latter thus describes an incident which grew out of the situation : — <( A very discouraged and disappointed sophomore sat in his room that morning, trying to console himself with his pipe, which, at least, was denied to the others. 5 ^ Theodore Westwood Miller There was a brisk knock at the door, and a < come in > preceded a cheery voice. No sign of pleasure at gain- ing the cherished Y was visible, but only sorrow at his friend’s disappointment. < Poor Bill, > he said, < I’m awfully sorry you were dropped this morning. It makes me feel as if I didn’t deserve the honor ; cheer up, old man, you’ve got a bully show for the crew next year.* 1)1 Theodore’s unconsciousness of self and dis- regard of mere conventionalities were inter- esting traits. He did whatever was at hand in a straightforward fashion, with little thought Theodore as a Lady on the Rear Seat of criticism and ridicule. One day at Chautau- qua he set out on an excursion with a party of young people. They were to go on their bi- cycles to a fashionable resort, and thence return 1 From a letter of William Darrach, Oct. 6, 1898. Theodore Westwood Miller 53 by boat. By some mishap at the beginning of the trip, Theodore fell into the water. With- out any thought of the consequences, he promptly mounted his wheel and rode a dozen miles over a dusty road. His duck trousers, after this treatment, caused a buzz of comment and many a smile, as he promenaded a crowded pier; but he seemed entirely unconcerned, and laughed good-naturedly at his plight. He was fond of fun, even at his own expense. He never ceased to laugh uproariously over an experience with three friends in sailing a yacht from the lower part of Chautauqua lake to a point at the upper end. There was a strong headwind, and the yachtsmen beat back and forth in an apparently vain attempt to make headway against it. Darkness came on, and still it seemed impossible to pass certain points on either shore. After three hours of such beating, Theodore discovered that the anchor was overboard and full of weeds. He laughed heartily at the time, although the others were no longer able to see any fun in the situation, and he continued his cheerful chuckling after the wind had gone down, the boat had been anchored, and the crew were tramping homeward a weary five miles along the turnpike, in the early morning hours. One of the happiest summers of Theodore’s life was that he spent in England and France, 54 Theodore Westwood Miller the vacation of his junior year. He had failed to go to Henley as a member of the crew, but, Camping on a Chautauqua Houseboat determined to see the race, he obtained a po- sition as correspondent for the United Press, and sailed for England on the same ship with the crew. At Henley he had quarters near the Yale men, and shared in all the courtesies which were shown the visiting boatmen. He and three other Yale (< heelers” challenged a Henley crew to a race. The Americans won, and Theodore was wont to say with great satis- Theodore Westwood Miller 55 faction that, even if he did not make the University crew, he at least rowed in the only Yale boat that ever won at Henley. Theodore’s description of Henley is well worth preservation : — HENLEY « To one who has seen the Henley Regattas and es- pecially to one who has lived there three weeks, this simple title brings back a flood of recollections that would make a good-sized book, but as this is to be only an essay I cannot go into details too far. (< The Henley Regattas and town itself have been so well described and elaborated upon by those who have visited it, and so much better than I can picture it with pen, that I will omit that part of description in general and confine myself to Yale’s place there. tt The Yale crew arrived by special train from South- ampton after a remarkably smooth and comfortable voyage, which was made very enjoyable by the jovial spirits of the men. They were free from those restraints which so characterized the voyage of the Cornell crew a year ago, and Mr. Cook allowed the men perfect free- dom to do as they pleased except at the exercises. The work was not so burdensome that it interfered with their pleasure, but the regular hours and exercise made them feel much better than they would have felt if they had not exercised. (< They were in perfect condition when they arrived at Henley where they were met by the mayor and Secre- tary Cooper of the Regatta committee. After a short speech of welcome and the necessary reply of Captain Treadway, the crew carried their boats, which had been placed on the special train, a short distance to the river, and they were floated across the river to the boathouse. 56 Theodore Westwood Miller (< The mayor showed the men to their quarters, and lunched with them. He at once became very friendly, and made himself almost indispensable with his counsel and advice. <( The Yale men occupied one of the prettiest places at Henley, and with one exception, New College, the most elegant quarters of all the crews at the Regatta. The place called ( Marsh Mills, } is a private residence, now for sale, rented by the Yale management for the crew dur- ing their stay at Henley. It is situated about half a mile from Henley Bridge. This structure is the land- mark for the surrounding country, and connects the main street of Henley with the side of the river on which are the Yale quarters and the boathouse. It adds greatly to the picturesqueness of the river at this point, and from it one can get a splendid view of the course. <( In their temporary home, which one would have made permanent, the crew was most luxuriously es- tablished. The place gets its name from the fact that its rather low ground was once a marsh, and there is now an old mill on the place which is still in operation. The marsh has been filled in and is now an island of beautiful verdure. The lawns, flower beds, and shrub- beries, are most artistically arranged and put one con- stantly in mind of his fanciful ideals of childhood. The owner was a wealthy farmer, and spared no means in beautifying his home with all that money could buy or nature provide. A mill-race, walled on one side, sepa- rates the island from the main lawn, but a rustic bridge spans the stream, and leads to the boathouse on the island where the rowboats are kept. A fine garden and greenhouses furnished vegetables and grapes for the table, and beyond the garden was an elegant tennis .court, marked out, with nets and everything in readiness for players. Theodore Westwood Miller 57 <( All these things were thrown open to the crew and the house was left furnished just as the owner had it when he lived there. The china and silver were all in their places, and the old English butler with a second man provided things as homelike as possible. The bric-a-brac and furniture about the house made the men as comfortable as they would have been at home, and were a distinct change from the old quarters at Captain Brown’s. There was some fear at first that the men would suffer bad effects from the low position of the quarters, but they proved quite free from any disease and it would seem as if they were more desirable than Cornell’s quarters last year, which were situ- ated quite a distance from the river, since the Cor- nell men were quite badly affected by the change of climate. <( The crew made its first appearance on the water about five o’clock on the day they arrived, and attracted much attention from the boatmen, who were heard to say, < Why, that’s the same crew that came from America last year. > « It is very easy to see how they made this mistake, however grievous, for the Yale stroke that day was so distinctly different from the English stroke that it ap- peared very much like the short Cornell stroke. Trinity Hall was the only other crew on the river, they having arrived a day or two previously. Her first appearance to Yale men made a remarkable impression, and at once set Mr. Cook to thinking. The crew had profited by Cornell’s experience, and had come provided with a good supply of shirts and jerseys with short sleeves. In truth, Yale owes Cornell a great deal for the splendid im- pression she [Yale] made; for many mistakes and acci- dents were avoided by knowledge acquired from Cornell’s troubles. The first day’s work came very hard, and the men found many stiff joints and muscles, but by the Theodore West worn Miller 58 time they were ready to come in, they had overcome any ill effects of the voyage. <( The boathouse is situated at the foot of the Henley Bridge, and is easily accessible from the Yale quarters by either the road or the river. Several bicycles were kept at the Marsh Mills, and with these it is but a mo- ment’s ride, so smooth and level are the roads about Henley. By way of the river it is rather longer but a comfortable row, the pleasure of which was usually given to the ever weary substitutes. In the boathouse the Yale men came in contact with many of their rival oars- men, and thus was given each an opportunity to judge of the others’ social qualities. Not only the eights, but also the fours, pairs, and scullers, meet here in most friendly relations on common ground. (< A special man cared for the Yale shell, as he does here, adjusted and repaired the rigging, and kept the boat in trim during the season. It is the custom for each crew to provide its own boatman, and Cornell went so far as to have an extra watchman, besides the boat- man, to keep constant guard over this boat to prevent foul play. « In looking about the boathouse, one notices at once the difference between the English and Yale shells. The former are built, while our boats are made of paper. The lines of the two shells are almost identical, but the English boats sit a little lower in the water. The inte- rior constructions of the boats differ widely; for in Yale’s there is a complicated network of braces and bars, ren- dered necessary by the lack of stiffness of the paper shell, while the English shell is marked by its simplicity, there being nothing visible but the seats and footbraces, and the necessary gunwale strip. Another point of vastly more importance, and which mainly characterizes the different shells, is the arrangement of the seats and footbraces. In the English shells, these are placed on Theodore Westwood Miller 59 alternate sides, each man sitting well to the side oppo- site his own oarlock. The advantage derived from this arrangement is the increased leverage, while in the Yale boat the men sit over the keel in a straight line, this en- abling them to keep better time, and affording less resistance to the wind. Another point of vantage in Yale’s place is the freedom permitted in arranging men as regards weight, as no care has to be taken to ex- actly balance the boat. Yale seems to think that Eng- land has the better boat ; for Captain Bailey has had a boat constructed with seats to the side, as the English have, and a test will be made probably this fall. I have not yet heard of England’s adopting any of Yale’s principles. (< To see the two crews at practice, one is struck with the lack of form in one, and the excess of it in the other. While Yale believes in keeping the body fairly erect and saving energy-, the English believe in absolute disregard ' of form, their whole attention being put upon the water- manship, or ability of handling the blade in the water; at least so it appeared to me. The English critics (for all the people about Henley, from the youth in knee- breeches to the old man, are rowing critics) who watched the crews from the bridge, gave this unique name to our crew, — ( The Yankee Beeliners.* <( England has clearly proved her superiority, but do we know where it lies? Has Yale given her stroke a fair test ? These questions have arisen in every Yale man's mind, and they have had more or less cause. Mr. Cook has been blamed, and with some justice, but it is hard for one to realize his position. He saw his mistake on the second day, and at once made the crew lower their stroke to about twenty -five or less. He made them reach forward more on the catch, and without a radical change tried to lengthen out the stroke. The crew rowed the course with a low stroke in splendid time for 6o Theodore Westwood Miller a few strokes, but when they raised the stroke, it short- ened proportionately. About the middle of the second week, Mr. Cook saw that something had to be done. By his clever means he gained knowledge from the English coaches. His means have aroused a good deal of criti- cism, and are better left undescribed. He concluded, from the information he gained, that Yale was using too broad oars, and that while they are good for a low stroke, in a high stroke they do not allow enough give or slip through the water. This Mr. Cook considered the vital point, and the real reason why Yale could not lengthen her stroke. He at once ordered English oars, but they were poorly made, and while these were being tried the crew lost the most valuable time of the whole training ; that is, the last week before they ease off the work. They not only lost the time, but were set back by the change. When the crew abandoned the English oars and took their old ones, they rowed the course in . the best time they had made that far. This was due, of course, to the uncomfortable feeling the new clumsy ones had, and the agreeable change to the old; for all the men wanted to use the old oars. The next practice proved this ; for the crew went back to the old time, and then their hopes began to fall. Mr. Cook said at the quarters, several days before the race, out of the hear- ing of the crew, that he plainly saw that the crew would be beaten. The men kept heart wonderfully well, in spite of discouragement, and I believe they hoped to win. The crew was not affected by the change of climate, and had a fair show to test their ability in every particular. They had won the better course throughout their sched- ule, and everything pointed to success, but the results are known too well already, and rest as well unmentioned. » After the Henley Regatta, Theodore, in company with a friend, took a wheeling trip of Theodore Westwood Miller 61 a fortnight in England, and then with a larger group made a short journey on the Continent. The little party traveled so rapidly, and lost so much sleep that on the Rhine boat they were all in a somnolent state. Lest they should miss the most important views, they established a look out system, by which one of the party was to keep awake and call the others when the guide-book enjoined enthusiastic admiration of the view. Theodore always asserted that the other men slept on duty, and that they missed almost all that was worth seeing along the historic stream. At Heidelberg, the American students were fortunate in hitting upon a University celebra- tion with special illuminations of the castle and other festivities. They were also admitted to a series of students’ duels in the famous inn across the Neckar. Theodore was missed from Chautauqua dur- ing his vacation abroad, and all were glad, when, the following year, he resumed his wonted place. In addition to coaching the crews he rendered faithful and intelligent service in con- nection with the office work of the educational department, where he showed decided admin- istrative ability. At last the fourth J une of his course arrived, and amid all the festivities of commencement week, Theodore and John were graduated. 62 Theodore Westwood Miller The personal hold which Theodore had upon his classmates is expressed in this sentence from one of them : <( There is not a fellow in the class who would be missed so much by the zvhole class to a man as old ( T 1 Miller .” 1 He stood among his fellows for a group of manly virtues, which made their life in com- mon richer and better. He was in a sense The Fence, Yale Campus typical of the student tradition of old Yale. He was loyal to the corporate interests of the University body. He believed in working with others for a common end. He combined per- sonal initiative with subordination to the larger welfare. He was optimistic, with joy in doing and will to accomplish. His services 1 From a letter of C. M. Fincke, Oct. 5, 1898. Theodore Westwood Miller 63 to his classmates could not be put in better words than these : — <( Work was easier when < T > worked with you and brought his happiness and buoyancy into it. Pleasures gave more enjoyment when one saw how thoroughly he entered into them. It was a good thing to be in his company. The soul of goodness himself, one always felt that he judged you more charitably than most men. Others were more clever and gifted; none I think had fewer faults. He was a true Christian and a warm, whole-hearted friend. B 1 From a letter of H. S. Coffin, Sept, 20, 1898. CHAPTER IV It seems to have been settled early in Theodore’s college course that he was to study for the bar. In a letter to his father in 1894, he declares his intention to regard the plan as finally fixed upon. In the autumn of 1897 he entered the New York Law School. He also secured a place as clerk in the offices of a prominent legal firm. At the same time, John Miller, who had chosen the profession of me- chanical engineering, entered the graduate de- partment of Cornell. This, the first serious separation of their lives, was keenly felt by both of the brothers. Theodore, together with three Yale class- mates, set up housekeeping in an apartment which was whimsically dubbed “Poverty Flat. ® Two of the men were studying medicine ; two had entered the law courses. Here, in the midst of the metropolis, was established a bit of the old Yale life. <( Poverty Flat was the resort of many ’97 men who either came to town, or were living in the city. Theodore was, as usual, a source of cheer and enthusiasm. Although Tlu'odorc Westwood Miller 6j working- hard himself, he had plenty of energy to share with his comrades. “Many a dark, cheerless afternoon, when grinding away on our books, our brains tired with a hard day’s work, we have heard his well-known footsteps on the stairs, the key turn in the lock, and he comes in, bring- ing sunshine and cheerfulness with him. ( Come on, fel- lows, shut up your books. Let’s get out for a walk, and then get something to eatd He was tired by his day’s work and a hard afternoon spent in the law library, but he knew what we needed, and his cheerful spirit could respond to any calls he made on it . » 1 The dwellers in “Poverty Flat,” however, were not altogether given over to study. They found time for social pleasures, and were much sought by friends and classmates who lived in New York and its suburbs. Theodore’s scrap book contains invitations to dinners, recep- tions, and other agreeable affairs. A quar- tette was formed early in the winter. There are a number of notes urging Theodore to bring his friends for an informal “sing,” or to take part in a musical programme. Now and then the men, singly or in small groups, would run up to New Haven. In these visits there was a tinge of sadness. The recent graduates realized that others had taken their places; that the great stream of Yale life was sweeping on without them. 1 From a letter of James R. Judd, October, 1898. 5 66 Theodore Westwood Miller But all these recreations were sternly sub- ordinated to the main purposes which the men had in mind. Theodore, always of methodical habits, arranged his work in a schedule to which he adhered with conscientious fidelity. Near the end of the year, in May, when the war excitement was at its height, he writes home that he has not (< taken a single cut throughout the year,” although he owns that thoughts of enlistment and active service had more or less distracted his mind. His sys- tematic methods were illustrated in many of the details of his life. The letters he received, for example, were carefully sorted and docketed, and his scrap-books, kept continuously from his high school days in Akron to the time of his enlistment, preserve in chronological order many significant mementos. At the outset the duties of the young law clerk naturally did not demand great legal knowledge. Theodore was chiefly employed in collecting bills. The routine of this not alto- gether agreeable work was broken for the first time when he was sent to represent the office in court. His simple duty was to rise when the case was called and to inform the judge that at the appointed time the firm would ap- pear for the defendant. Theodore’s account of the experience is amusing. He was so filled with anxiety lest he should get into the wrong Theodore Westwood Miller 67 court, or fail to rise at just the right moment, that he was much perturbed. When the time came, he sprung up with promptness, repeated his formula, and then, lest he should fail in any respect, he remained standing through several other routine matters, to the consider- able amusement of the officials. It was with genuine relief that he saw the court adjourn, and knew that there was nothing more for him to do. Theodore was always on the lookout for new experiences, and eager to take advantage of opportunities. An illustration of his keenness for this sort of thing is found in his answer- ing an advertisement for a man to circulate a petition. He got the position. It seems that something connected with pharmacies was at issue, and the signatures of druggists were desired. Theodore was paid a few cents for every name which he secured. He seems to have enjoyed the experience greatly. In one case he encountered an irascible druggist, who would not even listen to a statement of the case, but when Theodore persisted, called in a policeman. The situation was explained to the officer, and the druggist was in some measure mollified, though the solicitor’s most persuasive tones failed to secure the desired signature. Theodore’s fondness for children has already been noted. During this winter one of his 68 Theodore Westwood Miller chief pleasures was to have his niece and nephew, the children of his sister Mina, come into the city as his guests. He would take them about to see the sights. They visited the museums and art galleries, the Brooklyn bridge, and the statue of Liberty. In all these ex- cursions Theodore seemed fully to share the delight of his little proteges. As Mr. and Mrs. Edison lived in Orange, it was only natural that Theodore should spend frequent Sundays with his sister. On his birthday all the inmates of “ Pov- erty Flat ® were in- vited to Glenmont for a celebration. Theo- dore was charmed with everything, and showed Glenmont, Llewellyn Park, Residence of Mr. Thomas A. Edison his friends about in his enthusiastic way. He prepared an elaborate programme for their entertainment, one item, — hot baths for the company, — being suggested by the single tub and the cold water of “ Poverty Flat.® The hospitality of the “Flat® quite overflowed its physical limitations. Many a night Theo- dore would sleep on the lounge or even on the Theodore Westwood Miller 6g floor, in order to make room for a welcome classmate or two from out of town. His un- selfishness and thought for others were always finding new expression. An anecdote from Mina shows Theodore in a character wholly familiar to those who knew him. He was walking with the children in Orange one afternoon, when he saw an old man making a vain attempt to put out a fire which had caught in some leaves and was spreading rapidly. In a moment Theodore’s coat was off, and he had rushed to the aid of the baffled old gardener. A few minutes of quick work served to isolate the burning leaves and to extinguish the fire. The winter passed quickly, and in spite of hard work it passed pleasantly. Theodore was conscious that he was making steady progress in his studies, and was filled with quiet satis- faction. He was greatly pleased by his election to the Dwight Law Club, a group to which only the best type of men in the Law School are ad- mitted. The final examinations at the close of the year were passed with honors. In the spring came rumors of war, the long period of negotiation, and finally the outbreak of hostilities. It is easy to understand why Theodore from the very first felt a strong im- pulse to enlist. His motives were naturally complex. In the long discussions with friends 7o Theodore Westwood Miller over the matter he expressed most forcibly his belief that the educated young men of the country ought to show their loyalty by a ready response to the President’s call. At the same time he did not conceal his eagerness for the excitement of campaigning. The idea of in- The Dwight Law Club vading Cuba appealed to his spirit of adven- ture, as well as to his conscious loyalty to country. When he discovered that, unless he remained to the end of the year, he would lose all credit for his Law course, Theodore felt that he was not justified in making this sacrifice until there Theodore Westwood Miller 7i seemed to be a more pressing need for volunteers. He resolved, therefore, to await the second call. Extracts from his letters written during this period give the best im- pression of his point of view and of his motives. It is very clear that he was eager for active service. In a letter of April 20th he writes : — (< I was mighty glad to get Father’s letter expressing his approval of my enlisting, and hope that I may be of some active service somewhere. This is the diffi- culty in enlisting at a regular station, and as early as this, for undoubtedly the first volunteers will be sent to some fortification and there remain during the whole war, if it lasts a short time, which I feel certain it will. Now, what I want to do is to get into the < scrap, > and be able to do something worth doing. I may be too eager and ambitious, but that is what 1 want to do. . . . This has always been a dream of my life, and now that America is about to engage in war, and there is a possibility of my getting into it, it seems still a dream for me to realize.” But mere daring and eagerness for the life of field and camp were subordinate to a higher motive. Theodore’s reply to a letter of entreaty from his mother, re-enforced by a plea from Mary, is full of tenderness, and yet breathes the spirit of patriotism. <( I hope you will believe me,” he writes, (< when I say that I love you most of all, and would give almost 7 - Theodore Westwood Miller anything to be there at home now to kiss you and talk this over with you. It is very hard to argue a question of this sort and I can’t say anything in con- tradiction to your desire for me to stay. For I would stay if I thought it was my duty not to go. There are lots of men who could go without missing much work, but there are very few who could go without leaving some loving friends behind. If everybody excused himself for selfish reasons, we could have no army. Patriotism must control and love of country prevail .” 1 Mr. Miller seems at first to have suggested the Navy, and one letter mentions a place on the Yale as a possibility. Now follow many eager plans for enlistment. Charles Hemenway — one of the a Poverty Flat ® group — returned to Ver- mont and there entered the service. For a few days Theodore thought of joining the same com- pany, in which a place was kept for him, hut this idea was soon abandoned. Meantime the friends at Akron had heard of a position which could be secured for Theodore. He was imme- diately notified by telegram to see the Quarter- master General on Governor’s Island. After a long search he obtained an interview with the officer, and learned that the position in question was practically a clerkship in the commissary department. This by no means appealed to Theodore, and he politely de- Letter from Theodore to his mother, April 26th, 1898. Theodore Westwood Miller yj dined the position on the ground that he wanted to see active service. During this time the organization of the (< Rough Riders’ w regiment was attracting wide attention. <( Dade w Goodrich, Theodore’s old- time playmate, had enlisted with this force, and many Yale and Harvard men, several of them friends of Theodore, had been admitted to the various troops. In a letter of May 15th Theo- dore mentions these facts, and expresses the wish that he might have a chance like this. His desire to enter the army was greatly increased by a visit he paid to Camp Black, which he de- scribes in enthusiastic terms in a letter of May 23rd. On May 26th Mr. Marvin met Theodore in New York, and in the course of conversation concerning the burning topic of enlistment suggested telegraphing to (< Dade w Goodrich, who was in Texas with the (< Rough Riders. w An immediate reply from Goodrich brought the news that a place was open for Theodore in the regiment, and that, if he came at once, he could secure the vacancy. This solution of the prob- lem filled Theodore with delight. The oppor- tunity in every way satisfied him. He could reasonably count on active service, and that in company with some of his best friends. The consent of Mr. and Mrs. Miller was immediately secured, and plans were made for instant de- 74 Theodorc Westwood Miller parture. Theodore’s letter to his mother, dated May 28th, gives his point of view: — Orange, N. J., May 28, 1898. My Darling Mother: — The second call has been made and I should answer it. There could be no better place than where I am going, for this regiment is made up of the finest fellows in the country and I have several friends with it. Dade Goodrich was mighty good to find the opening for me, and 1 owe him a great deal. He is a fine fellow, and our knowing each other so well will be a great sat- isfaction to us both and to you people at home. . . I told Mr. Marvin that I was going to enlist some place. He suggested that I go with the Rough Riders Regiment ; so we telegraphed to « Dade » to find out if there was any possible opening. He answered the next morning, « Come immediately. Have place for you here at once. )) I wish I could stop off to see you in Akron. That is impossible without losing a whole day, and I am afraid that would make me too late. It would be very unsatis- factory for us to see each other just a moment, and now we will not have to say good bye and endure the sorrow of parting. Darling, I think I am doing my duty and trust that you will agree with me. My train leaves right away, so I must close, darling. . Love beyond expression from a loving son, Theodore. Goodbye. Mr. Miller joined Theodore at Cleveland, and together they traveled westward, telegraphing frequently to make sure of the route of the Theodore Westzvood JMiller 75 “Rough Riders.” From this point the nar- rative is taken up by Theodore in his diary, which forms the three following chapters. John Miller, within a short time after Theo- dore’s enlistment, was admitted to the Navy as ensign. He was assigned first to the Marble- head. Later he was transferred to the Vulcan , which lay in Guantanamo Bay throughout the Santiago campaign. The brothers, although comparatively near each other, never met. The Diary CHAPTER V 1 The Regiment was organized tinder the su- pervision and at the suggestion of Roosevelt, who forfeited his position as Ass’t Sec’y of Navy in the Cabinet, and accepted the rank of Lieut. Col. of this Regiment, with his friend, a physician from the West, Leo- nard Wood, as Col. The first enlistments were made about the first of May, and men from Arizona, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico and Indian Territory were sworn in about the fourth of May; and the next day the men from Harvard and the East joined the Regiment at San Antonio, Texas. The men were equipped and partially trained while in camp, and the regiment of raw recruits was transformed into a body of troops in regi- mental form and equipment. Goodrich was 1 This and the following chapters, VI and VII, are repro- duced from the diary which Theodore kept from the time of his enlistment to the morning of the day on which he was wounded. The narrative was written in pencil in a small note-book. Only slight and unimportant changes have been made by the editor. Certain omissions have been indicated by asterisks. The manu- script is very clear. It is singularly free from erasures and cor- rections. The abbreviations and frequent ellipses are only natural in the circumstances. Theodore Westwood Miller 77 made 2nd Lieut, in Troop D. Horses were as- signed, and all officers appointed. The camp at San Antonio broke up Sunday, May 29th, and the Regiment started for Tampa, Florida, on that day. On Thursday, May 26th, Richard came to N. Y. C. and asked Bill Judd, Bill Darrach and me to breakfast at Holland House with him. This was the day after second call for troops; and as I had decided to wait only that long, and thereby give me time to complete my year at Law School, I needed only this call to make me go. Richard suggested, at breakfast, my joining the Rough Riders; so we telegraphed to Dade Goodrich. That night I went to New Haven for <( Slap Day,” and on my return Fri- day morning, found message from Dade, saying that there was a place for me at once. I lunched with Richard, Mina and Grace at the Normandie, and then hustled about, telegraphing, writing, pur- chasing tickets, packing, etc. Finished at about nine o’clock P. M. , and then, with Char- lie Hemenway, who accompanied me as far as Jersey City, went to Orange. Rode horse- Col. Wood j 8 Theodore Westwood Miller back before and after breakfast at Mina’s, and left about eleven for New York, to take N. Y. Central for San Antonio. Richard and Grace saw me off; and I met some man on train who said that Bob Wrenn was to leave for New Orleans directly that P. M. I tele- graphed Dade from Poughkeepsie, and went on to San Antonio. Father and Ed. met me in Cleveland, and father joined me on my trip. At St. Louis the Koenig boys, with their father, were down to meet us; and we took supper and I made my will there. Left St. Louis after an hour, and took the Iron Moun- tain Route for San Antonio, but rumors and papers led us to think that the Regiment had left San Antonio; so we telegraphed at Hous- ton, and received word at Marshall, Texas, that the Regiment had passed through Houston en route for Tampa. I had forty minutes wait, so bade farewell to father, who went on to Dallas, Texas. I exchanged my ticket for San Antonio for one to New Orleans, with 85 cents to boot; and, after a shave, shampoo and gen- eral refreshing, took the train for the southern metropolis. My anxiety was at its height all night, and it was a chase for a prize I greatly coveted. Arrived at New Orleans at about nine o’clock, crossed the ferry, and hurried by cab to the place where I had learned the Rough Riders had arrived. I almost yelled for joy Theodore Westwood Miller 79 when I saw the yellow canvas suits, and the soldierly appearance of many men getting on and off cars, for I felt sure I had caught the Rough Riders; for they can’t beat the loco- motive, if they can ride a horse. I pushed about, feeling greatly out of place, and ap- pearing much more so, on account of my civilian garb, looking for Dade. Ran across Jerry Gerard, whom I scarcely recognized, and he showed me how to find Goodrich. Soon ran across him, h urrying about on very important mis- sion. I supposed; but he seemed glad to see me, and looked up officers and intro- Lieut.-Col. Roosevelt - ~ LICUI.-UUL. nuuotvtu dueed me to Capt. O’Neil and Lieut. Frances. He finally got permission to have me examined, and, if sat- isfactory, to allow me to join the Regiment en route, to await formal enlistment at Tampa. I was examined by Chief Surgeon La Motte, in the smoking compartment of the officers’ sleeper; and after a very easy examination, my physi- 8o Theodore Westwood Miller cal condition and requirements were found sat- isfactory. Then I went with Dade to the bag- gage car, the only place which could be found for me. He introduced me to Holt and Wills; and I soon became acquainted with Burgess, Love and Serg. Hunter. The place assigned me proved to be the hospital car, and I was ex- ceedingly lucky to get there, for the other cars were ordinary day coaches, and the men slept curled up on two seats, with two men in each set. This car of mine was also the Com- missary Department for Troop D., so we man- aged to get all we wanted to eat — as far as quantity, at least, went. My impressions of New Orleans were any- thing but what I had looked for, but must con- fess my observation extended over a very limited space. We left shortly after noon; and I found traveling in a baggage car in civilian’s clothes, with a dress-suit case and a derby hat, not so very comfortable; but upon further acquaintance with the men, and after throwing off unnecessary clothes, I got along nicely. The large door in the car furnished a splendid window for view and ventilation; so we felt quite fortunate as compared with the men in day coaches. I soon discovered an old friend in Troop A. end of car — Hollister 1 of Har- 1 Hollister died at Fortress Monroe as a result of wounds received in battle. Theodore Westwood Miller 81 vard — and we soon struck up quite a joll. Before we left New Orleans, Teddy Burke, Bob Wrenn and Bill Larned appeared on the scene, and we were all on the anxious seat until assigned. Teddy Burke knew me before, so we met in good shape, and he introduced me to Wrenn and Larned . 1 Companions by neces- sity, we soon became acquainted, and finally found that Bob Wrenn was to come into my car, and Teddy Burke and Larned went into D. Troop car. Our first stop was Mobile, where a great crowd greeted us; and most everybody got off the train and bought about everything in sight. We telegraphed a combination mes- sage, Teddy and I, to Orange, and I sent one to father. Saw Garrison there for first time, and hardly recognized him with his shaven head. This was late in the afternoon, and after leaving we soon began to fix for bed. Some of the men, Guy Murchie and Hollister, were on guard; so Bob Wrenn and I sat up until eleven, with our feet hanging out of the door. Singing and talking helped along the time ; and we felt (< out of sight ® to have at last 1 With Eddie Burke and Will Lamed we made up a four that were constantly together. Scarcely an evening passed that we did not meet to talk over new experiences, or pos- sibly share some extra rations ; it was in this way that we learned to know your son so well, and to admire him for his unfailing cheerfulness and generosity. — Letter to Air. Aliller from Robert Wrenn. 82 Theodore Westwood Miller become even connected with the Regiment. Soon we turned in, and I found a bunk on the top of a lot of saddles, close to the top of the car, which place, comfortable enough at first, became more and more rocky and bumpy as the night advanced and the novelty wore off. We stopped at Pensacola that night, but could see nothing of the city. Our next long stop was at Tallahassee, where they watered the horses; and we stopped from noon until about five o’clock. Our Troop cooked dinner under a tree, and two of the men caught a chicken, and later a man named Stewart caught a rooster. They picked them, and all I saw of the result was some chicken broth for the hos- pital patients in our car. Troop A. caught a small pig, and another Troop had a goose. Holt and I purchased some very good milk, and that, with the army rations of hard tack, toma- toes and a potato apiece, made a good meal. We had our first good wash in a brook near the track, and it did certainly feel good. The coons were thick, and we made them sing and dance for us at the station. We later raided a bottling shop, and had some fine ginger ale with Col. Wood and another officer. The Mayor of the town was very anxious to have the Regiment stop off there for camp, and offered all sorts of inducements; but after the horses were watered and fed, and all was ready, Theodore Westwood Miller 8j we pushed on. Saw the camp as we passed out, and it was quite a respectable place. Great many soldiers were there, and all cheered as we went by. We traveled on through Florida, and at a point 20 miles west of Jacksonville turned directly south. Reached Dade City about noon the next day, and there we four men got together and had a fine little dinner at a little country hotel. The officers were eating in the dining room, and we had ours served on the porch. The proprietor gave me a pipe as a souvenir. Every meal we took outside the train we thought would be our last, so we simply chucked the food away for fair. We went down to the village and bought some things, and I wrote my first letter while we waited. Soon the train started and we scrambled aboard, and went down about two miles to a water tank. While the horse detail watered and fed the horses, the different troops separated and cooked their dinners in the woods close by. It was a very pretty place, and the men took good advantage of it for a stretch out. I continued writing my letter while there, and afterwards went to the tank to have a wash up. Here I found a lot of fel- lows on top the train, passing buckets in lines from the tank spout, to be poured into the car troughs. Garrison was up on top filling buckets as they were passed to him, and was 84 Theodore Westwood Miller simply drenched with water. All the Eastern boys pitched in like beavers to work, and seemed better able than most of the Western- ers. We new men not yet enlisted were strictly ignoramuses and steered clear of any work until we learned something. This proved lucky for me, for I was very soft when I struck the gang, and could not stand very much hard work any- way. At this place we got very well braced up after our journey, and proceeded to Tampa. Arrived in the outskirts after a good deal of switching, and finally pulled in near town. Bob Wrenn and I waited on the train for Teddy and Bill, but finally decided to push up town, it then being about 8:30 P. M. We found a hotel, but were too late for supper; so went to a little restaurant and washed, while waiting for our dinner. It was a dandy , comparatively speaking, and we did certainly enjoy it and ate our fill. Bought a few things at a drug store, and started back for the train ; but when we ar- rived, found only the horse train switching about, and learned from a burly packer that it would not go to the camp until about one o’clock; so, after some hesitation and a long joll, we decided to spend the night at the El- mira. Here we had a bath, and just before sleep, a beer in two pitchers, which certainly put us on our feet. Got up next morning at five. Had coffee at our restaurant, and took Theodore Westwood Miller 85 street car for place of temporary camp, arriv- ing just at breakfast time. We were scared lest we should (< queer ® ourselves for shyster- ing; but no one complained, and most of them envied us. Later we found that Teddy and Bill had gone to the same restaurant about fifteen minutes later than we, the night before, and then put up at the Tampa Bay Hotel. We waited until all had saddled, and the troops had prepared to leave for the permanent camp. They had several horses left over, so we took a horse apiece to lead, and after several breaks in sad- dling, and after losing my horse by taking off the halter (a thing they never do), causing the loss of the horse’s forelock, we mounted and rode away. We, the stragglers, stopped at a Cuban house, and Serg. Randolph talked Cuban to them. There was quite a settle- ment of emigrated Cubans. Our Serg. made a mistake after passing through the town, and we went to the wrong camp, so retraced our steps and hurried to town. Bob and I rode to- gether, and it was my first army duty of any Lieut. Goodrich Theodore Westwood Miller 86 importance, except a mission I was sent on at Dade City by our Capt. Huston. Bob and I recognized several buildings and things we had seen the night before, and it seemed like an old acquaintance. We passed on, crossed the bridge and rode by the Tampa Bay Hotel, and, just as we passed the entrance, Richard H. Davis and Caspar Whitney came out, and rec- ognizing Bob, let out a great yell. Bob knows them both very well. After five mile ride we arrived at the outskirts of the camp. Our squad was met by Lieut. Goodrich and others, mounted, one of whom, by name Page, dis- mounted, and transferred his saddle from his to one of our extra horses, and we all enjoyed a Wild West Show rough riding. He was thrown and the horse ran away ; so all put after him. He was captured and finally con- quered, and ridden by Page back to camp. This put Bob and me in fear of death, and caused us to congratulate ourselves that we had not happened to get that horse, instead of the ones we rode. Going a little farther, crossing the railroad and passing several camps, we ar- rived at our destination at Camp Tampa. Dis- mounting and unsaddling, we arranged our horses along picket line, and held them for an hour or so in the hot sun. Our trip from New Orleans to Tampa was one so crowded with amusing, and some pain- Theodore Westwood Miller 87 ful incidents, that it would be impossible to recount them all; but I must not forget to men- tion the Troop A. mascot, which formed the great attraction along the way. An Arizona man brought a young (3 months) Mountain Lion with him to San Antonio, and the Troop caged him and adopted him as their mascot. He was a vicious little beast, with immense paws and a cat-like head, and long tail. The men had him pretty well tamed to them, but he would not stand a stranger, or any teasing. Teddy Burke came up in our car one night and slept between this beast and a negro. Cuba, a dog that the same Troop captured by the way, became a great friend of Josephine (the M. L.), and they played together to the enter- tainment of all spectators, and for their own amusement also. My first impressions of two other characters were rare. One was Cassi, the troop Bugler, a fine looking fellow, and a great character. A typical modern ad- venturer. He has been in about every country in the world, and has mixtures of French, Spanish and Mexican blood in him. He was leader of a band at Jerome when the Regiment was organized ; so enlisted from there. (< Old Doc," too, was a unique character, a fat, bright-eyed reprobate, dissipated but good- natured, and a perfect freak. The mascots were the great attraction for the ladies and 88 Theodore Westwood Miller children, and they simply flocked about the car. At some stations they would have (< Cuba ® up too, and the two together made things very lively and interesting for our visitors. The journey through Alabama was quite in- teresting, and the country showed quite a civi- lized and cultivated tone; but excuse me from Florida country. Palmetto and high-topped trees, with an abundance of air-moss, was the only vegetation. A few spattering attempts at farms made us realize that we were in an in- habited country; but, aside from a bit of to- bacco, and a few thin pigs and cows, farming was missing. The negroes at different stations made some very good music, and reminded one of the old Uncle Tom’s Cabin stories. The Regiment was transported across the country in three divisions. The first, in charge of Col. Wood, preceded the others by about half a day. The last division was under charge Lieut. Col. Roosevelt, and arrived just a day af- ter us at Tampa. Our visit at Tampa had the one and great redeeming feature, the Tampa Bay Hotel. Immediately after we were relieved at the camp, we four got together and went into town. Teddy Burke had a room the night before, so we went up to that; and, after shav- ing and fixing up, which consisted of our try- ing on each others’ different articles of clothing, and mixing up things generally, only to return Theodore Westwood Miller 8g to our own army outfit, which consisted at that time, for me, of my blue trousers, Mr. Edison’s shirt, patent leathers, a red bandana handker- chief and derby hat, which was later replaced by an army hat, purchased in town for a dol- lar. Bob Wrenn insisted on our fixing up and darting into the main dining room; but we re- fused, and finally induced him to call up office on telephone, and see if we could have a back room, or some more secluded spot. His man- ner of doing this was immensely amusing, and we had a grand time jollying him about it. We found we could go into the small dining room and be less conspicuous for our costume. The hotel was the headquarters for army officers and reporters; so on our way down we met several celebrities. Teddy introduced us to Remington, Caspar Whitney and a Col. We also met R. H. Davis. We had a very fine din- ner, and afterward wrote letters, etc., before returning to camp. We decided this day to enlist as follows: Teddy and I in Troop D. and Bob Wrenn and Bill Larned in Troop A. Friends had a good deal to do with the de- cision, and we looked on D. for the horses too, as they had several extra. D. has splendid officers. Teddy and I wanted to be <( bunkees, ® and we knew that by enlisting at the same time, we would likely be so. We returned to camp to find things more or less arranged; go Theodore Westwood Miller some tents tip and the picket line up and the horses attached. We had a supper, not quite so luxurious as our dinner, but we managed to make a meal out of it. That night I slept out in the open between C.’s horses and our line of tents, on some borrowed blankets. Wright helped me out. . . . The next morning, Saturday, June 4th, was my first experi- ence of the renowned (< Reveille , n and a morning in camp. Roll call comes at about five minutes’ interval, and every- one must be dressed ready to line up. After breakfast, when there seemed little to do, I looked up a fel- low from Boston, a terrible sport, but of good family, and a rather good fellow, who joined us at New Orleans, a perfect stranger to everybody but Teddy, who happened to know him at school. We met the other fel- lows coming back from town, but continued on in agreeing to meet them at the hotel. After waiting a while at the hotel, and after Caspar Whitney Theodore Westwood Miller 9i two very refreshing beers (for it was terri- bly hot). Soon Bill Larned came rushing in, having hurried from the camp to tell us that Col. Roosevelt wanted to enlist us that morn- ing. We hurried back and took the oath, etc., and signed our fate for two years, and were as- signed as we desired. Then we all got per- mission to go in town and to have our final square meal, as we then thought. At the suggestion of Remington we all went to the pool for a swim. Bill Larned and I had a room together. Tried stunt of step- ping along from siding to stage. I was the first to do it. Had a great time. Then we all pushed in and had dinner in the big dining room with ( ? ) Roosevelt, Wood and General Miles and his son, wife and daughter (we thought). We did certainly feel very much out of place with our old dirty togs and ill-shaven faces, etc. After dinner we wrote letters and Barnard and I went in town to mail them, and met the fel- lows later at the hotel and all pushed out. Met Alger’s son this day, a tall, dark-haired fellow of very agreeable manners. Returned to camp about five o'clock; found extra tent and blankets, and fixed our tent for the nieht. Had supper and received our first mail (three letters) which I enjoyed immensely. We then turned in and by the (< Tattoo® bugle were well settled, and at * Taps ® just about asleep. g2 Theodore Westwood Miller Called next morning by the <( Reveille ” and lined up for first time. Sunday morning was read out by Serg. Palmer, as on the Stable Po- lice Duty, which consisted of watching the horses and feeding hay and oats, etc. Watch was two hours on and four hours off. My watch came just as church bugle sounded, so I enjoyed church from a distance, sitting on a stump near the horses. This duty kept me oc- cupied most of the day. That night some of the men went swimming, but I could not get off. I went on again about nine o’clock and carried out my instructions for the day watch, but Capt. Huston and Lieut. Carr came by and asked me what had been my instructions. They seemed surprised, and soon Serg. Ran- dolph came to me and told me the night in- structions about sentry duty, continuous patrol and halting any person, ist. Halt! (dismount). 2nd. Who goes there? Advance to be recog- nized. Pass Officers of the Day and commis- sioned officers, but arrest any other person. John Greenway soon came dashing up, mounted ; and I did not recognize him until he called me by name. Teddy Burke and Van Vallen were on duty as reliefs with me, and Teddy came next after me. Thus passed that night. Mon- day morning Teddy and I obtained permission to go in town to make a final preparation for departure, w r hich was expected any hour. We Theodore Westzvood Miller 93 bought a lot of stuff for other fellows, but very little for ourselves. Dade gave me a check to cash, and we had quite a time at the hotel ar- ranging about our money. Took my dress suit case with Teddy’s things and Wrenn’s and Billy’s, and packed them all in Teddy’s trunk. Teddy set ’em up to a specially prepared breakfast at the Tampa Bay, as a final blow-out; and we loaded ourselves with oranges, etc., and took a carriage to the camp. This was our final blow- out, as it did actu- ally prove, although we did not realize it at the time, because we had had so many false alarms. On our return to camp found that orders had just been issued to break up camp, prepara- tory to marching any minute. Did nothing but wait in expectation all afternoon. Packing, etc., occupied all our time next day, and Dade hustled around to get Teddy and me equipped, but reported at four o’clock very little show; but I got everything together possible, and was Roosevelt Davis Theodore 94 Theodore Westwood Miller about equipped. There were to be only seventy men from our Troop, and this cut out Teddy and me, for we were not equipped, and others had to stay with us to keep horses in readiness to follow. The order had been issued that the men were to go dismounted. When we learned that we were to be left behind, we were badly disappointed — Teddy not so much as I. We talked it over, and decided that if only one could go, that I should take the place. At five the men were lined up to see just what men were equipped. It was found that 69 men an- swered, so the Captain said to us at the side; (( If any man can find a gun, he may go.” I happened to notice where one had been placed by a man told to stay with the horses ( the saddler), so hustled right over to get it, and presented myself to the Captain. I previously had equipped myself with the exception of gun. But as I came up claimed the gun and I gave it to him; but Captain said I could go. I did not know the reasons, so told to understand I was not taking his place by any pull on my part; for he was dead anxious to go. He reported to Captain and Capt. said he could go. He jumped in the air and yelled for joy at the news, while I almost broke down with disappointment, and did cry. 1 I thought ’I remember how anxious he was not to be left at Tampa, and yet how he declined to go when it seemed to work injury to Theodore Westwood Miller 95 my goose was cooked, but kept at it and hoped for something to turn up. Everybody was ex- cited, and we heard the cheers from the differ- ent troops as they received orders. Next morning as I was standing about talking, and bemoaning my fate, the Captain came up and handed me a gun and cartridge belt. I asked no questions, but simply leaped inwardly at my good fortune. I learned afterwards that a man had been found asleep on guard the night be- fore, and that they had taken his gun and given it to me. Now we had to fix up Teddy, and we hustled about to get him equipped, in hope something would turn up for him. After dinner, as we were lying about under the trees, Holt, Simpson and Teddy, et al., Lieut. Carr came along with a paper asking for subscrip- tions from the men to send a man named Crosby home, on account of the expected death of his wife. This misfortune of one at just the nick of time, proved the great fortune of Teddy, because it gave him a place. So finally we were all fixed, and Wrenn and Larned had worked into, someway, by pull or otherwise, Troop A. Roosevelt gave Bob Wrenn his own one that he conceived had a prior right. Afterwards, when an- other and unquestioned opportunity offered, the alacrity with which he prepared and the perfect happiness — and it seemed to me that he was always (< on duty,® and always in his quiet, earnest way, cheerful and willing. — From a letter to Air. Miller from H. K. Love, Troop D., ist U S. V. C. p<5 Theodore Westwood Miller gun, such was the scarcity of those essential parts of the equipment. After supper we were ordered to report as special detail to guard duty. There were twelve posts. Teddy was placed at eleven and I at eight, directly in front of officers’ quarters. This was a busy ?S££-’ vr?'* Troop D. at Tampa post, for there was a great deal of passing, on account of the expected orders to march. The troops were marched into town to get paid off. There was delay, and I was kept on guard three hours and a half ; but it was so exciting that the time passed quickly. Returned to Theodore Westwood Miller 97 camp to find that orders had been received and everybody was excited. Shouts from the other troops were heard at varying intervals. All was quiet in our neighbor’s camp. Troop C. was left behind; also H. I. & M. This was very hard luck for Garrie and Jerry Gerard and Lieut. Sayre from Harvard, all of whom were in C. This made our position all the more for- tunate, to think that we, who had entered so lately should go, and those that had been in from the first should be left behind. Dade was on the anxious seat too awhile, because the Second Lieut, at first received orders to stay behind with horses, but later the order was changed. At about twelve o’clock the order came to march. We lined up, and by the light of the moon, which had been a beauty during our whole stay, advanced to the R. R. After many <( fake n alarms and wakings from sleep around a bonfire, we were marched to another R. R. There seemed to have been some mis- take about trains. I never spent such a night in my life, and felt decidedly on the bum the next morning. We sponged some breakfast from some other Regiment near by, and Bill Larned and I foraged the neighboring private houses in search of food, waking up everybody. At about five o’clock a coal train pulled up, and we were ordered aboard. The cars were of the roughest type — dump cars — and we sat on the 7 pc 8 Theodore Westwood Miller edges and stood in the bottom, just being able to peer over the top, but were so delighted at leaving that we put up with anything. Arrived at Port Tampa about ten o’clock, and marched about a half mile to our steamer, the Yucatan. There was a terrible delay in putting up the gangway, and we had to stand out in the burning sun. Went aboard, but was soon detailed to carry stuff. Almost died under weight of a bag of coffee. Never worked so hard in my life. We were assigned deck quarters, and our squad, under Serg. Hill, fixed ourselves about ten times before settling down. We have a splendid squad. Serg. Hill, Teddy, Rhodes, McClure, Newcomb, Beal, Russel, Smutts, Wolf, McMillan, Knox. Cer- tainly a peach crowd. We lay at the dock that night, then passed out into the harbor the next day, and remained there over that day and night, expecting to leave as soon as others were ready. Our boat, the Yucatan , was at the command of Col. Wood, and he had engaged accommodations for 650 men; but the 2nd Inf. asked to be allowed to complete the number allowed on board, 850. But they embarked about 400 men, and the ship was terribly crowded. We returned to dock next day and took on more provisions and supplies, and spent the night moored in the dock channel, and the next morning passed out again into the Theodore Westwood Miller gg harbor, where we lay until Monday afternoon. The accommodations on the boat, while the extra men were there, were something fright- ful, and I have often wondered how steerage passengers live. Well, I found out, and ex- perienced a much worse life. We were for- tunate enough to have been assigned to the deck, and slept out in the open, with a blanket under us, and one to draw over us, if cold, but needed it only toward morning. Teddy and I slept two nights on the hurricane deck, and one night it rained, and we were lucky enough to have Teddy’s rubber blanket, which kept us fairly dry, while the others got simply drenched. The next night I happened to dis- cover that an extra room in the very stern on second deck would make a fine place in case of rain. They had been keeping a prisoner there — a small boy who stabbed a fellow crewman for some trifling quarrel. He was handcuffed, so we were running little risk. I went to Col. Wood for permission to sleep there, and he said I might get a few men and do so. Bob Wrenn, Billy L., and Teddy, with two others and my- self, slept there. The next night many others got on to the snap, and the place was crowded; but we fixed our guns and stuff up there as a good dry place, and were going to use it for that purpose. But the next day they con- verted it into a hospital for patients with measles 100 Theodore Westwood Miller and other contagious diseases, so we got out. There was great uncertainty about our leaving, and all sorts of rumors prevailed. The fleet gradually arranged itself, after a great deal of shifting; and as each vessel went forward of another, the men would cheer and shout, think- ing that they were first to be off. The warships began to appear one by one. The Helena , Hornet , and a cruiser came into the harbor, but the war fleet awaited us outside the bay. Sunday I was ordered to report as stroke of our troop crew, to row the Col. about. We took him over to the Scguranca , the flagship for our transports ; then we rowed to another transport and back to our ship. Troop K. men had been assigned this boat, so they piled in immediately, and we all went into the dock, hoping we could get up town, but were badly <( rubber necked, ® and had to row boat back to our ship. But finally we piled into a boat and went in town. Burgess and I fell in together and walked up town, purchasing lemonade and ice cream at every vendor’s. Became separated while Bob and I had some ice cream, so we took a ride on a freight up to the station , find- ing that we could not get to Tampa City until too late, decided to stay in Port Tampa. Bought 35 cents worth of gum at the station, and sold it afterwards on ship board for 70, be- sides all I gave away and chewed myself. Got Theodore Westwood Miller IOI some stuff, and then went to a S. School with Cunningham, a lawyer from San Antonio, in Troop D. After this we walked about the vil- lage, which consisted of saloons, two grocery stores and a lot of temporary booths. Re- turned to dock to find Dade Goodrich and an- other Lieut, had been looking for us. Dade rowed the boat up to the dock, and we all piled in for the Yucatan. I had bought cookies and stuff, so had many friends when I arrived. It had become almost a necessity to buy outside stuff; and, on shipboard, had it not been for my success in working up a (( pull ® with the cooks when I was on guard, I should have cer- tainly starved. But I worked it just right, so that I could get fresh water and something to eat most every time I asked. The use of fresh water was greatly limited, so my (< pull ” did me a great service. I was on guard about the first night, and was lucky enough to get the post at the kitchen, which proved to be most valuable of all. Tony, the chief cook, gave me a fine dinner, and later I bought a pipe from the baker, so won his good will. . . . Must mention the small boy 13 years old, who came aboard fully equipped and wanted to enlist, but was refused. Thus passed the time until Monday, the thirteenth. At noon we weighed anchor and steamed out into the bay, running into a sand bar, and again colliding with another 102 Theodore Wcstzuood Miller transport, or so near that everyone thought it impossible to avoid a collision. The report was that a sand bar threw us suddenly off our course. It was very fortunate for ourselves and boat that we did not collide, for a more serious result than mere effects of collision would have resulted from the explosion of the dynamite which was stored in the bow of our boat. We anchored a short distance out, so that the expedition did not start on the hoodooed day, Monday the thirteenth. CHAPTER VI Our voyage was unique, with all the fleet surrounding us, about 50 all told, com- posed of Battleships, Cruisers, Gunboats, Torpedo Boats, Transports, News- paper Boat Olivette , two yachts, the Hor- net and another. The Helena and In- diana were among the fleet. As far as one could see were these ships in two columns. It was a beautiful sight, and one unprecedented in our history, and the largest expedi- tion we ever sent out. Our transport, No. 8, took a rather On the Yucatan Leaving Tampa 104. Theodore Westwood Miller central position, so we had vessels on all sides. We passed to the east of the Dry Tor- tugas, and did not stop at Key West; but it was rumored that other Men of War met us from Key West. The Ericsson passed just astern of us, and, towed by a small navy tug boat, left us obliquely, sailing a little to the east. The tug boat had some rapid fire guns aboard. One day followed another, and we could not tell, except with careful and lengthy calculation, what day it was. Our food grew worse and worse every day, and we should surely have starved, had it not been for our friends in the kitchen. I got our squad to join another and have a beef hash, which relieved the monotony some. We had to pay enormous prices for everything in the kitchen, and the cooks imposed upon the men terribly. It is said that the baker made $200.00 the first day by tips, and selling bread and ordinary stuff. He charged 50 cents for pies, and men paid anything between that and $1.00 for pies. The N. Y. men simply poured money into the kitchen, and, at first, were allowed to board in the dining room after the officers, but later were forbidden this very great lux- ury. One not having experienced it can hardly realize how we begged for food, and even stole a cracker or piece of bread from passing waiters. Theodore Westwood Miller 105 One day the Indiana saluted, and everyone thought we had encountered the enemy surely; but it proved to be only a salute. I was put on detail to assist the Commissary Lieut., and worked like a horse in the hold of the ship, shoving boxes and bags about, and was told to report again at one o'clock P. M. This I did, but found no one there, so Waited until four o’clock, when I thought I was justified in leav- ing for drill. Drill came at seven in the morn- ing and four in the afternoon every day. I was somewhat awkward at first, but gradually got on to it . 1 . By Friday I became pretty sick of the food and crowd, and was just about in generous mood, but managed to keep my limited share of food for my own use a little longer. Satur- day there was a great and sudden delay. All the boats seem to collect and wait for the ones in the rear. The Olivette , a Red Cross boat, came alongside, and we lowered a boat to take off our sick. Three men, very feeble with some fever, reported malaria, were carried to the lower deck and passed out the hole in star- board side. 1 In the manual drills which we had twice a day on our way over, he made such rapid progress and was so earnest in his work, that he called forth a number of compliments from Capt. Huston. — Letter to Mrs. Miller from Lieut. Goodrich. io6 Theodore Westwood Miller Saturday, the 12th, I had my hair cut, in fact shingled, and indulged in a most excellent shave also. We sighted land Friday, and from all indications it was Cuban soil. We later passed a sailing boat that carried mail from Cuban points to Nassau. Saturday passed with land in sight most of the day. At night I saw an incident which but indicates our point of desperation in search of food. A K. man of N. Y., sat upon the side of the cook’s dining room door, and when he thought no one was looking, reached in stealthily, grabbed a plate that had some gravy left from a meal, and drank it from the dish. I was somewhat sur- prised, bi:t probably would have done the same thing myself. Men offered any price for food, or even a scrap of bread from the kitchen. I had felt <( bum ” all day and could eat nothing. The coffee was “rotten,” and I took just a sip in the morning, with two bits of hard tack for breakfast, a sardine for dinner, which Bill Larned gave me, and had nothing for supper, hoping to work a pull I had arranged in the kitchen ; but the fool cook went back on me. I had spoken to Bob Wrenn, Bill Larned, Teddy, Holt and Hill, so we were all disappointed. Holt, Bob and I went in search of anything we could get from the kitchen, and Teddy went with Doc. I was never so craving for even a crust of bread. The steward had ordered no Theodore Westwood Miller ioj one to sell anything, so the cooks did it on the sly only, and charged enormously and made tremendous money, so that they soon became terribly independent and domineering. We waited from seyen until nearly ten down in a dark old alley, driyen about by the guard and cooks like cattle. Holt thought he had a pull on some food, but it, too, failed. Finally Teddy and Doc bought a loaf of fresh bread for a quarter. They called me, and I a did not do a thing ” to that bread. I never had bread taste so good. We saved some for the others; so I did not get half enough. We used all means of persuasion, and had a plot to break into the cook’s mess, but could not accomplish it. Bob Wrenn, unbeknown to us, had succeeded in buying from one of the crew his supper of dry bread, bacon and a little bologna. We were leaving and had the most dejected spirits, when, suddenly, Bob produced this plate of stuff. I almost fell on his neck. It is needless to say that we stood on no ceremony, but pitched right in. That certainly braced me up, for I felt much better next day. We sneaked back, stepping over and on about every other person, being cursed as we went along for the same, until I found Teddy, with my blankets and bed, waiting for me in A. quarters. Sunday, 19th. Awoke to-day feeling much better, and in good shape ; but as I put on my io8 Theodore Westwood Miller clothes, I looked through my pocket-book, as is my custom in the morning, and lo and behold, all my cash was gone. I told Teddy and then went to Serg. Hill and told him exact cir- cumstances. We decided to take it directly to Capt. Huston, which Serg. Hill did, in his official capacity. In the meantime I dressed, and said nothing to anyone else, but thought a good deal. I had the man spotted after recall- ing a few incidents of the day before' — viz. : I had been ill, and, in consequence, dozed about our squad a good deal. Man asked me to change two dollars. I gave him two silver dollars, and placed the bill in my pocketbook, which I kept in my front, left hand, pants pocket. I did this without standing, so sus- pected that I might have placed it insecurely and not far down in the pocket. I noticed the bills were there then, but that was the last I knew of it. But a circumstance later placed a man in prominence in the case. A man who has been accused several times, and was caught stealing the day we left Tampa, and reported to the Captain for taking Teddy’s blanket, came to me about five o’clock Saturday, and carefully explained to Teddy and me how he had lent a man a nickle to shoot for him in a game of craps. He had won thereby two dollars and chances of further earnings. I put all the facts before the Captain when he called for me, Theodore Westwood Miller log and told him my suspicions. He thought them so well founded that he decided to call to his room, search him without questions, and get the money. I had hardly the faintest hope of recovering even a part of my money among so many men ; but what was my astonishment when I was summoned to the Captain, and there was and the Capt. with another offi- cer. They asked me to identify the bills. This I could not do, as I had marked no peculiarity about them; but one bill, a twenty, was a brown back, and this I felt quite sure was mine. I told the denominations of the others, and just how I had them folded, etc., and then they excused me. There is, in my mind, no question about the man’s guilt; but he has a splendid story worked up, and claims to have witnesses to back it. As I write now, nothing has been done to my knowledge, except his ar- rest. To-day we were ordered by the Flagship to drop back and accompany the City of Wash- ington , the transport that was near the Maine when she was blown up. The City of Washing- ton is towing an ammunition supply schooner, so goes more slowly than*the rest. We made a large circle and rounded up alongside. While doing so, the Bancroft fired a shot signal to us to stop, and immediately ran alongside, and in- quired why we had dropped back. There was some difficulty in understanding at the distance IIO Theodore Westwood Miller as we had no megaphone aboard. The Com- mander of the Bancroft , after getting the de- sired information, and a calling down ” our Captain for not reporting change of orders, asked what troops were aboard, and upon reply from the Capt., the Rough Riders with Roose- velt and Wood, there went up a great shout from the marines aboard the Bancroft , an- swered by a cheer for the Navy from our boat. It was tremendously inspiring. Later the Bancroft steamed alongside, and asked how Cols. Wood and Roosevelt were, and our men replied, almost in one voice; (< he’s all right.” We saw a good deal of rolling hills of Cuba, and it certainly was a welcome sight. I was told about noon that I was to go on guard to- night — not a very welcome announcement — - but I was feeling so good in spirits about finding my money that I did not take it hard. We all got together in A. quarters, and lay on our backs in a crowd and jollied up. Also had a fine time telling stories in the afternoon with Webb, Teddy and Hill. The incident brought up the subject of thieves; so we had a fine line of stories. My Hood 1 experience, etc., added greatly to the enjoyment of the hour. I mounted guard at five and was on second relief, so had time for a talk with , who was one of 1 An allusion to an incident of Theodore’s life in New York. Theodore Westivood Miller hi seven prisoners in the guardhouse. He said the money was given him by his parents when he left San Antonio. I was posted down in the hold and went on at seven. During my second guard, Lieut. Goodrich came down and we had a little talk. This post I had was to guard dynamite, and I had to keep very strict watch about lights, etc. We had service in the morning, and I sang in the choir next to Col. Roosevelt. Very good sermon on <( Respect. ® We have a very good Chaplain. The band played to lead the singing. In the morning I put out my washing, and trailed my dog tent, pants, handkerchiefs, socks and towels. They trailed all day and night. We saw land most of afternoon, beautiful roll- ing hills, and toward evening the Helena and Olivette , and two other vessels, appeared off our port amidship, and soon came close by. Monday, June 20th. This morning I awoke with the call of the Serg. of guard at seven. Cuba appeared off our starboard. The same rolling hills and mountains, with clouds hang- ing in the summits — a beautiful sight. I went with the second relief to my post, so missed most of the scenery. During my time I was writing my Diary, and had borrowed a list of boats from Babcock, Troop K., and was copy- ing it, when Dade Goodrich came around as Officer of the Day to inspect the guards. He 1 12 Theodore Westwood Miller told me I was not allowed to write or do any- thing beside watch when on guard. So when I returned to guardhouse, or hurricane deck, Dunham copied the following for me : — 1. Miami, 2. Santiago, 3. Gussie, 4. Cherokee, 5. Seneca, 6. Alamo, 7. Comal, 8. Yucatan, 9. Berkshire, 10. Whiting, 11. Olivette, 12. Seguranca, 13. Knickerbocker, 14. Concho, 15. Florida, 16. City of Washington, 17. Allegheny, 18. San Marcos, 19. Decatur H. Miller, 20. Saratoga, 21. Ueona, 22. Rio Grande, 23. Vigilancia, 24. Orisaba, 25. Iroquois, 26. Matteawan, 27. Avangus, 28. Stillwater, 29. Breakwater, 30. Morgan, 31 32- 9th Cav., 6th Inf. 9th Inf., 1 Batt., 10th Inf., Gen, Kent. 50 Packers, 300 Mules. Part of 12th & 7th Inf. 8th Inf., 1 Batt. 2nd Mass. Vol. 1 Bat. Engineers and 1 Bat. 10th Inf. 2 Lt. Bat. 1st Art. 1 Fid. Hospital & Horse. 8 Troops 1st U. S. V. C. 2 Co.’s 2nd Inf. 2it. Batteries, 2nd Art. 350 Mules and Packers. Press Gang (Clear cha. to Hospital). 1st Inf., 15th Army Corps Hdqrs. Part of 22nd Inf. 4th & 25th Inf. 1 Bat. 2 Mass. V. Disabled. 24th Inf. and 1 Bat. 21st Inf. 3rd & 6th Cav. General Wheeler. 16th Inf. and 1 Bat. 2nd Inf. Part of 7th Inf. 13th Inf. & 1 Bat. 21st Inf. 1st & 10th Cav. and Gen. Young. 190 Horses. 71st N. Y. Inf. 22nd Inf., Siege Guns & 2nd Corps Heavy Art. 17th & part of 12th Inf. Gen. Bates, 20th Inf. 2 Troops 2nd Cav. Horses & Transports & 3rd Inf. Troop A. 2nd Cav. 3rd Inf. Troop C. 2nd Cav. B. & D. 2nd Inf, Batt. is 4 Companies. All Regulars, except 1st U. S. V. Cavalry, 2nd Mass. Inf., 71st N. Y. Inf. The above is the complete author- ized list of ships in fleet. 'J Theodore Westwood Miller nj When I left my post I was ordered to appear before Col. Wood, and fixing myself up with white handkerchief and dossy uniform, ap- peared at the officers’ quarters. Col. Wood had summoned Scott and Wright also, to question us in regard to the incident. We all told our stories and he dismissed us. The guilt of is still in question, but evidence is certainly against him. I returned to guard deck, and soon sent out again to my post. The quarter- master appeared soon, and took rations out of hold. About noon we caught up with some of the fleet, and waited just off Guantanamo, a splendid harbor, where a number of boats were anchored. Soon the Bancroft came alongside, and commanding officer shouted the news of an engagement which occurred a week ago Sun- day, between U. S. Marines and Spaniards in a stronghold at this place. The fighting lasted one hundred hours with eight hundred. Tuesday, 21st. Saw water-spout and two whales. Anxious moments all day, having come near Santiago. Soon we got our orders, and that night I took a lunch with Lieut. Good- rich in his stateroom, and learned from him and Carr our plans. The expedition to land in three columns about six or seven miles apart, and unite to advance on Santiago. Plan to seize the water supply of Santiago and starve them out; then advance on city. 8 CHAPTER VII Wednesday, 22nd. This morning <( Reveille 5> sounded at half past three, and we packed everything ready for landing. About seven o’clock the bombardment of the shore in front of our column, the center one. The New York and New Orleans , with several gunboats and small yachts, carried on a fierce fire, and cleared the woods at the S. A. I. Co.’s Pier. Dupree Hall planted the American flag on top of hill first of all, thus giving the honor to our Regiment . 1 The Cuban forces met our men at the pier. Our Company did not disembark until about six o’clock P. M., and learned from Cubans that 1,000 Spaniards had been driven back. No resistance from Spaniards at land- ing. We camped in this little settlement all night; made a little hut out of ponchoes. Had 1 As it was shown the cheers rose from the regiment on land and were echoed by the troops on the ships, and soon the ships whistled all together. It was certainly an inspiring occasion and a day that will never leave my memory. — Letter from Theo- dore Miller to his family, June 23. Theodore Westwood Miller i if cocoanuts, chilies and good water. Herald man took pictures of our hut. Next day. Goodrich ate supper with me. Wrote letters to Bill Judd and Pop Baldwin, and a long one to mother. Must mention drowning of colored soldiers at pier. Two drowned in our sight. Capt. O’Neil jumped for them. Mules poorl) T treated. Great delight in land- ing, and men in good spirits. Learned a little Cuban Spanish. The Cubans advanced as scouts, and we took a rest over night . 1 Thursday. Had lot of cocoanuts and rested at this place. Packed up about three o’clock under marching orders. Were among advance and started off on a terrible march. Great deal of climbing, and the starting and stopping was terribly tiresome. Passed through very tropical scenes and groves of cocoanut trees. Started out in fours, but soon changed to twos, and finally single file, through deep thicket. . . . Our packs were terribly 1 My experience thus far has paid me for any sacrifice I have made, and I would not have missed it for anything. The voy- age, made long by delays, was rather uneventful and monoto- nous. The food was poor and we traveled so slowly that it made us impatient, but now that we are here it does certainly feel fine to have a change from that vessel. The last two days made up for the others in interest. . . . The bombardment was a sight of a life-time, and we had a splendid position to view it from, lying just a short distance from the shore directly off the objective point. — Letter from Theodore Miller to his family, June 2j. n6 Theodore Westwood Miller heavy, and a man without a haversack had to carry shovel or axe or pick. I carried both quite a distance. We arrived at the place the left column had landed, where quite a set- tlement was. A railroad had been ruined by Spaniards, but was repaired by our forces and put in working order, by finding scattered pieces. Arrived about eight o’clock, after out- stripping all regiments, and became advance guard of our forces. Hundreds of men dropped out and kept coming into camp for some time. Started to rain soon after Teddy arrived, and I fixed him up with his rubber blanket and cooked something for him . 1 He was badly 2 done up. After shower he got up while I was away in search of water and port wine, which had been thrown about by barrelfuls before we arrived. On my return, Bill Larned was with him, and they were drying their clothes before the fire. I cooked me some coffee then and got my bed arranged, but did not get to sleep until nearly twelve, after drying clothes thoroughly, a precaution I always take. The 1 1 had a genuine admiration for him for the quiet, earnest, willing and unselfish elements that were so apparent in his char- acter. His watchful, constant care of his friend and “bunky,” Teddy Burke, could not fail to attract attention. — Letter to Mr. Miller from H. K. Love, Troop D., ist U. S. V. C. 2 His kindness to me when I was ill could not have been greater had I been his own brother. — Letter to Mr. Miller frovi Teddy Burke. Theodore Westwood Miller iij march was the feat of the day; about eleven miles, through terrible sands and mud and thicket; but we made it in shorter time than the Regulars. They say there was a news- paper’s influence brought to bear to lengthen and hasten the march, but I hardly believe that. Most of it was made on double quick, and the catching up after helping on Teddy, was very trying. We slept well that night; Friday, 24th. Teddy wanted to go terribly, but was out of his head and talked incessantly about Polo match, which he thought he was playing and had been hurt. I reported him and let Bill Larned and Bob know about him. Saw Surgeon La Motte ... no Surgeon was to stay, so those left behind had to take care of themselves and each other. I helped Teddy to a house and fixed up his roll and money matters, and did all I could to make him comfortable, and said good-bye. . . . He was rational before I left. We started our march about six o’clock A. M., and went straight up over the moun- tains with a terrible climb. We advanced in single file most of the way; and, after a march of three miles, by a side path to avoid the main road. Suddenly heard a few stray shots; then volley after volley. We halted, and, at order, dropped behind a ridge ; then n8 Theodore Westwood Miller came order along to advance and load guns and magazines. Then we pushed on, hearing stray bullets in the trees. Soon Capt. Huston started out to the left and climbed through a fence. We all followed as regularly as possible, hearing this firing constantly. We advanced a few paces and then dropped, prepared to fire, and fired some shots ; but seeing nothing of the Spaniards, and recognizing our own men, tried to get all to stop firing. This was the hardest thing to do. To keep men from firing was almost impossible in the excitement ; but it was amazing to see how cool our raw volunteers were. Simpson and I seemed to turn up together everywhere. We tried to keep with our Company, but lost it, and in advancing down hill met other men. Beal and Newcomb were fighting on my right next to me, and on orders to return to Company, I saw poor Beal twisting on ground. He asked to be helped. I stopped to tell him to bind his leg above the wound, which showed plainly above the knee. Right here was the greatest fire, and, coming from the rear, we thought it must be another of our own Companies; but it was the Span- iards, as we learned. Orders strictly forbade us to stop to help in action, so I had to leave him. We collected our Company under Lieut. Carr, and waited. Soon advance was ordered, and Simpson and I hurried down the hill ahead, Theodore Westwood Miller iiq but soon became separated from the rest of our troops, and fell in with F. Troop awhile, under Capt. Luna, the Mexican ; but soon Capt. Huston turned up alone, and Simpson and I stuck to him. Soon we found a man of F. shot in the arm. We helped him back under a tree, and an emergency bag man was there. Cols. Wood and Roosevelt soon turned up, and we had a sort of rendezvous there under the trees. We advanced a short distance and found Stew- art and Bob. We looked across the valley and saw Cubans ( ? ) lined up behind entrench- ments, and, before firing on them, I had asked Capt. Huston if they were Cubans or Span- iards. He called Col. Wood, and it was decided that they were Cubans; but I still had my doubts. Stewart decided for himself and opened fire. We soon fell in with our Troop, and made a wide forward swing to the left, going through a large patch of Cuban palmetto plants, and on through a plantation house, a complete wreck as a habitation ; but the thatched roof and walls were somewhat intact. On we went, through thickets, etc., to a ravine, and on about 200 yards, where I decided to drop my roll, or a portion of it, which I did not actually need. From this point we heard the recall from a bugle, so retreated to ravine, where our Troop re-organized under Capt. Huston, Lieuts. Carr and Goodrich. They 120 Theodore Westwood Miller discovered water at some distance down the ravine, so we sent detail down for water. We had no firing after leaving the general force of the left wing, and became only the advance skirmish line. While lying in the ravine, a regular officer came up and informed us that Major Brodie had been shot, and that Capt. Huston was to take charge of left wing. We lined up and advance was ordered; and I, with MacMillan, Wolf, Hill, et al., advanced through the mill and down a dense thicket, cutting our way through with knives, but, finding nothing, we returned to our former station, where Cols. Roosevelt and Wood and the staff officers were, who had been there before. We had quite a rest here, and a plan of guard was planned. Roosevelt went to the left. We advanced with Hill’s squad to hold the mill, and E. advanced to the right. We stayed in the mill for two hours under Serg. Hill. Lieut. Goodrich was there early in the guard. Lieut. Carr came in several times, and Capt. Huston inspected the post. We left this post about five o’clock, and, meeting our troop, lined up in front of sugar factory or distillery, used as hospital by us, while other troops advanced by us; and soon we came up to our camp, crossing the main road from Juragua to Quasimas, the scene of the battle. The battle itself lasted about two hours and a half, from about eight thirty to Theodore Westwood Miller 12 1 eleven. The shots seemed to come from all sides, . . . but we fooled the Spaniards by taking the less frequented road, and ad- vancing in spite of fire. Our loss in the Regiment was 9 killed and 31 wounded. Total loss, 17 killed and sixty wounded. Our Rapid Fire gun was rendered useless by the escape of a packer with a mule which carried the ammunition, etc. Capt. Capron shot two Spaniards just before he was killed. Hamilton Fish was shot through the heart and died instantly. Old Doc Doherty was shot in the head, and I think died very soon. I saw Ham the night before at Juragua, and had quite a talk with him. Pitched camp about five o’clock, and turned in early. I slept in a tent cover and was quite comfortable ; but about two o’clock Russell came along with- out anything, not even a coat. I built a fire and he found two coats, and slept rest of night. We were liable to be attacked, so were somewhat excited all night. I was detailed to carry in dead, and brought Dawson from F. Troop. Fish and seven others were brought right to camp and laid near the hospital. y Hamilton Fish, Jr. 122 Theodore Westwood Miller Saturday, June 25th. * 1 Rustled a fine break- fast from 2nd.'>Mass., next to us, and pitched a good tent. About eleven o’clock the troops were called to ranks, and filed out to the grave dug just outside the camp by the road. It was decided by the Col. that they had best be buried on the scene of their sacrifice. The service was conducted by the Chaplain of our Regiment, and the men were covered with branches and sticks, then the dirt thrown, on. Ham Fish was the body at the end of grave, near the hospital quarters. It was a very im- pressive occasion. The bugle was blown as a parting salute, instead of firing, and the troops were dismounted. I shaved for the first time 1 The morning after our first action, that upon June 24th, I started for the spring — a considerable distance from camp — with a number of canteens for water, including that of your good boy. The canteens filled, I started to return, when some thirsty soldiers marching forward from the rear coming up, I passed the water to them, and, refilling, hurried for camp. Just as I reached it I met the Mass, boys 1 1 think it was) starting for the front, and they had not had opportunity to fill their canteens. The result was that while that in mine lasted they drank, and I turned into camp empty-handed. One of our corporals hastened to meet me to secure his canteen. As I handed it to him I explained the cause of its emptiness. His face took on an expression of utter contempt and disgust, and he turned on his heel without a word. I went to your son and repeated word for word, as nearly as I could, my ex- cuse. « That is all right, Love, I am just as much obliged,” — and he was, more than likely, more obliged. — Letter to Mr. Miller from H. K. Love , Troop D., 1st U. S. V. C. Theodore Westwood Miller 12J since the Saturday before, and rested, for it was terribly hot and I was tired. Bob Wrenn wanted me to go for water and a bath, which we did, and had a great trip up the stream in search of clear water . 1 I had gone to the lower stream the night before, so we went to the other. Had an excellent bath. On our return we looked up Holt, and we walked over the battlefield together . 2 Found my discarded stuff, with ex- ception of blanket and gloves, in just the same place I opened it up — the farthest advanced point of any forces in the left wing. Returned 1 At a time when many of us were complaining of the food and the hard work he was conspicuous for his good humor ; if by chance he agreed with the complainer, it was done in some joking way that acted like a tonic to one’s spirits. In this connection I remember my feelings on an afternoon shortly after our first engagement; — too dirty to be comfort- able, but so tired out that the walk of half a mile to the nearest stream seemed an impossibility. I lay in my tent decidedly miserable. It took Theodore only a few minutes to persuade me to join him for a swim, such as we could get, and he had talked me into so cheerful a frame of mind before our return that I look back on that afternoon as one of my pleasantest in Cuba. — Letter to Mr. Miller from Robert Wrenn. 2 It was the day after our first fight, and in going over the battlefield with me Ted [Theodore] had found his knapsack, in which he had several small boxes of matches — an article very scarce in camp. Returning we met some of the 2nd Cavalry resting by the road. We stopped to talk with them, and one of them asked us for a match, saying that no one in his troop had any. (< Have some of these,” Ted said, and thereupon gave away every box he had to the delighted soldiers. — Letter to Mr. Miller from LI. J. Holt. 124 Theodore Westwood Miller to camp and found, much to my surprise, Teddy Burke sitting in our tent. We chatted awhile, and then went over to Bob and Bill and had a talk over. Teddy told of the reports that had come into Juragua. Teddy seemed quite well, but looked tired and weak. We fixed up supper and soon turned in for the night. Teddy slept at the bottom, and we all rolled down on him. The next morning we were to advance, so orders were to rise early and be prepared to march. We anticipated an- other scrap, but learned later that we were not to be the advance. Sunday, June 26th. Teddy seemed pretty bad this morning, so he went to hospital, and La Motte said he had a very high fever and could not come any further. He lay down in the hospital under their care. I went up to see him and had a talk; then saw Doc. La Motte, who said he had a severe case of typhoid fever, and must go back immediately. We decided that I should keep his rubber blanket, thanks to Teddy, and I made it as comfortable for him as possible. Then I thought I could help him in town, and got permission from the Captain, after a lot of red tape, and fixed up everything in my pack, and put it with hospital stuff. The Regiment started off and we stayed be- hind and saw them off. . . . Soon the mules came and we all mounted. I took my Theodore Westwood Miller 125 gun and cartridge belt. I told Davis and Whitney about Teddy, and Whitney came over to see him before we left. Got in town all right by the side road, and over the ground we came on. Teddy simply went through on his sand. Arrived in town about noon, and found the hospital O. K. Capt. or Serg. Winter took care of Teddy, because Remington had spoken to him the night before about Teddy. He was a fine man, and let me help Teddy all I could. I cooked a most delicious meal out of bacon, hard tack fried and sugar on it, and coffee. I had some beans too, which the cook gave me. The port wine which I mentioned above as be- ing at this place, was stored in barrels in the hospital; and while I was there Rhodes tried to rustle some for me, but I was disappointed, for he could not get any out while I was there. I walked down the beach after dinner, and tried to get some tobacco. Succeeded in get- ting only a Cuban cigar from a Cuban, for which I gave some hard tack, which I happened to have taken with me from camp. Several Regiments were encamped on the beach, and several men were in swimming. I inquired of some 71st Regiment men for Mitchell, whom I saw at Tampa, and also Bruch, the latter of whom had remained in N. Y. C. They were making good use of the R. R., and the little village took on a tone of 126 Theodore Westwood Miller hustling never before known to its history, I am sure. It had an entirely different aspect to that known to us from our first visit. I returned to the Hospital, and after seeing the fellows again, started back to camp alone about 3:15. Met several men. Some walked on a way with me, talking about the battle ; and later, I met the newspaper correspondent who came on the Yucatan. We had a good chat, and I traded some water for some matches, and passed on. Arrived at our old camp Quas- imas, about 4:30 (very good time) and found that the hospital stuff had not gone yet. In our camp were two Cubans picking up stuff that they could find, and they came across a Bible. I explained to them by motions and signs that it was our religious book, and they seemed to understand quite well. I rested there a moment, and then took a note to Col. Wood from Corporal Cowden, in charge of stuff at camp. Met two pack trains of mules returning from carrying commissary stuff to the Regiment. I fell in with a 1st Cavalry- man, and walked to camp with him. On our way a Cuban Regiment was just breaking camp, and filed out into the road. They are a queer lot. Very small men and horses, and irregular equipment. They carry bags and cocoanut shells, and all sorts of crude apparatus for cooking. They resemble our colored peo- Theodore Westwood Miller I2 7 pie of the North, in that they have a more in- telligent and refined character in their faces. Not so black as our negroes, and much more active and energetic. They seem greatly pleased to see all these U. S. soldiers, and there is a twinkle in every eye as you look at them. Cuba Libre is their call, and they smiled all over when we shouted that at them. After some difficulty we found our camp, and I at once reported to Col. Wood, and de- livered the note I had for him. Then reported to Dr. La Motte the message from Capt. Win- ter ; and while there at headquarters Doc. La Motte spoke to Col. Roosevelt of my voluntary trip to town, and the Col. turned and thanked me for it, calling me by name. Caspar Whit- ney was there and we talked about Teddy quite a deal. The camp I found very comfortable at first, with a fine stream running just behind it, and furnishing splendid water. The ground was level and well grassed, so everything looked favorable; but when it rains it is too low to shed the water, and will be damp continually, I am afraid. I found that my squad had put up a double tent, and had things fixed pretty well. I could not get my blankets that night, so bunked on the rest, with a poncho only. Monday, June 27th. Loafed about and rested all day in camp, and it was so terribly hot that I could hardly move. I was notified that I was 128 Theodore Westwood Miller to be put on guard duty at five, so began rest- ing up for it early in the day. I reported at five o’clock at the guardhouse, and was put on second relief, so returned to tent for supper. Bill Larned was on third relief, but I saw little of him that night. I brought back my rubber blanket and another woolen blanket, coat, etc., and fixed up place for night in guardhouse. Went on at seven and had post No. 4 at the end of our rows of tents, between first Regular Cav. and our camp. Had orders to keep all Cubans out, and stop all suspicious persons. We are not the advance Regiment now, so our guard duty is not so exciting as it might be. Extreme post is called Pickets. Next to that is called Bedettes. Next to that is called Reserve Com. Next to that is called Support Regiment. General Wheeler’s headquarters are not far from our camp, so we have practically no ad- vance guard duty. The first day’s scouting was done by our Troop under Lieuts. , and some extras are sent out, but our actual duty is little in this regard. The nights are beautiful, and I had the full benefit of their charm between one and three on this night. Had no trouble of any sort, and allowed the time to pass as rapidly as possible. I was on again at seven. Tuesday, June 28th. This day was passed on guard duty, with the same routine. The Theodore Westwood Miller 129 passing of troops along the road varied the monotony somewhat. Between one and three I was on duty again, and it began to rain early. It was a shower at first, and I thought it was over, so did not stop to get any protection. Soon it came down again and simply poured. I never saw it rain harder for two hours con- secutively. Perhaps that is exaggerated, con- sidering our Chautauqua rains. I soon was wet, then became careless, and consequently wetter, then absolutely drenched. When my time was tip I went to guardhouse and stripped, put on a dry coat and blanket, and built a fire with great difficulty, on account of dampness. Soon we had guard mount, and I was dis- missed. Went to my tent and cooked a little supper, fixed my gun up, and turned in early. Wednesday, June 29th. Bill Larned came around this morning to get me to go out for a tramp toward the city of Santiago. I asked the Captain and he threw me down hard; so we tried to get permission to go back to Juragua, since Teddy had written me a note asking me to come in and see him. We found we could not go in, for the very unpleasant an- nouncement of old guard fatigue duty met our ears, and we were told to report to head- quarters. I was put on a detail, under Lieut. Goodrich, to repair the road. We looked up picks, shovels, etc., and started out, reminding 9 130 Theodore Westwood Miller me very much of the street cleaning gang at home, as they used to file out of the station house. We first marched down the road a quarter of a mile, and there met a Regular officer, who ordered us back again. The road was a simple stream of mud, with a spattering of huge rocks. We found our place, and be- gan picking out the big stones and broadening the road. This is the main road from Juragua to Santiago, but having been used for mules and carrying only, was not fit for wagons; so we have to fix it up for the army wagons con- tinually passing. We are improving the coun- try to that extent anyway. Later we went up the road, and with a detail from 2nd Infantry, colored troops, built a turn off for empty wagons returning. Had dinner later, and was just about tuckered out with the work on the road in the hot sun, when orders came to report at one o’clock at H. Q. for further orders. We found waiting for us here a job that had been attempted by Bill Larned and his squad in the morning, and consisted of building some benches for the officers’ mess. At noon the officers were thoroughly enjoying their meal, sitting on their benches, when R. H. Davis came along with his plate and cup, and sat down with a comfortable relaxation, when it suddenly crashed under his weight. It became our duty, and I suppose, privilege, to build an- Theodore Westwood Miller iji other stronger one in place of this broken one. It was threatening rain when we came, so I brought a poncho with me, and, sure enough, as we started work, it began to pour. We took shelter under officers’ head- quarters and waited for rain to stop ; then finished our work. We thought this would certainly end our day’s work, but de- cided differently when they ordered us over to help un- load the commissary stuff, hard tack, bacon, tents, etc., by the wagon load. Bill Larned and I got aboard one wagon to load up some stuff to take down to another Regiment. We had quite a ride and a terrible shaking up, but did not re- port back at the squad, thus escaping, perhaps, a lot more of work. We had certainly done our legitimate share, as some days the fatigue duty is omitted altogether. I felt pretty well done up that night, and had the first bad feelings, a pain in my stomach, which I think came from eating so much grease, and perhaps from my wetting. I had. felt great the last few days, in fact, never better in my life ; but our food has been nothing but bacon, hard tack and coffee. IJ2 Theodore Westwood Miller We fried our bacon, then took the grease and fried hard tack, sometimes having soaked it in water before frying, but generally without. But such is army life, and one must take it as it is. I am satisfied. Things to-day looked as though we were going to stay here for weeks to come. There was a rumor of an armistice, but not verified. We are only a few miles from the city, which can be seen from the top of the hills near by. They say it is strongly fortified, and a formidable antagonist. We hope that we may capture it as a Fourth of July celebration. I turned in early to-night. I end this here and mail it home. Thursday, June 30th. This morning my surprise was complete at the arrival of mail. A letter from mother, Marne, Grace, Brown, Judd, telegram from father. Teddy had a big batch. Sent them to him. About two o’clock, after we had spent morn- ing in fixing up our camp, orders came to break camp; so we packed up and got under way about four o’clock; marched about two miles, and arrived by moonlight on an emi- nence about two miles and a half from the city. Passed several Cuban Regiments. Arrived about ten o’clock after tiresome march, on account of delay. Camp was an old building, mostly in ruins, occupied by Cubans. Probably a monas- tery. Had cold supper and turned in soon. Theodore Westwood Miller ijj Friday, July ist. A week ago had our bat- tle. I went up on a hill in advance, and got a glimpse of an outpost; small village occupied by Spaniards. Bombarding began about twenty minutes after six, and was centered on a small village in our rear. About an hour later, after constant bombardment, a skirmish took place. Must stop. Now in line. Good-bye; will send this. Please excuse mistakes, for I have writ- ten in a hurry. CHAPTER VIII The last entry in Theodore’s diary was made as he stood in line, awaiting the order to ad- vance against the outposts of Santiago. Soon after sunrise on the first of July, the Ameri- can field artillery had begun to bombard the trenches in front of the city. The Spaniards replied, and a large shell exploded just over the heads of the Rough Riders. For a time the troops were ordered to protect themselves beyond the crest of a neighboring hill. Soon the order to advance was received. The com- mand made a detour of a mile and a half. Leaving behind their heavy packs, they crossed a stream and entered an open field. Through this they made their way by a series of rushes until they gained the protection of a stream which had cut its course between rather steep banks. The men stood knee-deep in water, while the bullets whistled over their heads and the shrapnel burst with startling frequency. After a half hour of this trying experience, the troops were ordered into an adjoining field. Again they pushed on toward the enemy. The Rough Riders arrived in time to take part in a Theodore Westwood Miller 135 charge upon a blockhouse, of which the Amer- icans soon gained possession. From this point of vantage they fired into the trenches of a sec- ond position which the enemy had taken near another blockhouse. Lieutenant Goodrich at this time lay down in the firing line beside Theodore, and reports him as (< enjoying him- self immensely.” It is easy to fancy with what ardor Theodore had taken part in the day’s fighting . 1 After a brief rest the troops were again or- dered to advance. Just as they were about to reach the protection of a rise of ground, a vol- ley from the Spanish mausers was poured into their line. Five men dropped almost at the same instant, and among them was Theodore. Love, who was near him, called: <( Miller, I will come to you in a minute. ” (< That is all right, Love, don’t bother about me,” was the response . 2 Holt, another comrade, remained with his wounded friend, who whispered : <( I'm going, Harry, but it’s in a good cause, isn’t it? » 3 1 When he was wounded a little later, his belt contained thirty cartridges of the original supply of one hundred and ten. — Letter of A. P. Russell, Sept, sg, i8gS. 2 From a letter of H. K. Love to Mr. Lewis Miller, dated Camp Wykoff, Aug. 23, 1898. 3 From a letter of Flarrison Jewell Holt to Mr. Lewis Miller (undated), written in Aug. or Sept., 1898. Ij6 Theodore Westivood Miller Within a short time Lieutenant Goodrich hastened up. The first examination disclosed in the left shoulder, a wound which the men did not regard as serious. A closer examina- tion, however, revealed a second wound in the right shoulder. It was then evident that the bullet had entered the left shoulder, been de- flected by the shoulder blade, had traversed the body, and passed out through the right shoulder. The spinal cord had been so injured that the body below the shoulders was para- lyzed. Theodore was unwilling at first to have his friends remain with him, and urged them to go to the front. He whispered in the ear of Lieutenant Goodrich that he found it hard to breathe, but that otherwise he felt little pain. The Lieutenant dii'ected fwo men to look after his old playfellow, secured the services of a hospital attendant, and then hastened back to his post of duty . 1 In a short time six privates 2 were detailed to carry Theodore to the division hospital. They cut two poles, between which they fast- 1 This account of the day is based chiefly upon statements in a letter of Lieutenant Goodrich to Mrs. Lewis Miller, dated Camp Hamilton, Santiago de Cuba, Aug. 5, 1898. 2 « When he was shot they detailed Messrs. Harry Holt, Dorcy Miller, Ben. Miller, Loughmiller, my brother, and myself to carry him back to the division hospital. B — Letter of Clare H. Stewart to Miss Alary Miller, Nov. 6 , i 8 g 8 . Theodore Westwood Miller 137 ened a blanket, and upon this rude stretcher they bore their comrade to the recently cap- tured blockhouse, which had already been turned into a hospital. Here Theodore’s wound was dressed, and then the journey to the rear was resumed. The field hospital was five miles from the front. The party halted about half way at a temporary hospital camp, where the wound was dressed a second time. Thus Theo- dore received exceptional care very promptly after his fall. During all the journey the wounded soldier’s chief anxiety seemed to be for those who were bearing him. <( Boys,” he kept saying, (< this is mighty good of you. I’m afraid I’m tiring you all out. ” 1 Although he must have suffered some physical, as well as great mental distress, his genuinely unselfish nature asserted itself. His anxiety was for others, not for himself. The field hospital, planned for fifty wounded, was overwhelmed by the unexpected burden put upon it. Some four hundred men were lying without shelter on the ground near the hospital tents. The surgeons, however, were indefatigable, and the men, in spite of exposure, were looked after as well as the conditions would permit. Theodore’s friends improvised for him a bed, and saw to it that his wound was lFrom a letter of Harrison Jewell Holt to Lewis Miller. (Undated.) Ij8 Theodore Westwood Miller dressed again. With words of good cheer, to which he responded pluckily, they left him and made their way back to their command. In the absence of exact information, it is im- possible to trace in complete detail the course of events from this point to the end. From al- lusions in various letters it seems probable that after the first night Theodore was under shelter. Site of the Hospital, Siboney On the third day he was removed in an ambu- lance cart to Siboney. There he was put under the charge of the Red Cross Society, which had improvised fairly good hospitals from some of the abandoned buildings in the little port. All accounts agree in asserting that Theodore had the best of care during the four days of Theodore Westwood Miller ijg life which remained to him. He was under the immediate charge of Dr. and Mrs. Lesser of the Red Cross Society, and he was faithfully tended by trained nurses of that organization. Whatever hardships may have been endured by other soldiers, it would seem that Theodore was peculiarly fortunate in the skilled and sym- pathetic care which he received. A surgical operation was under- taken, but in the cir- cumstances it was, of course, futile. It is evident from many letters that The- odore, even in his hours of weakness, continued to win the admiration and friendship of all with whom he came in contact. Mrs. Lesser showed especial solici- tude for him . 1 His convalescent comrades in the hospital were ever ready to sit by his side and to render such aid 1 . . . (< I want to pay tribute to the Red Cross Society, in whose hospital he died, and in particular to Mrs. Lesser, who made his last few hours as easy as constant skilled care and nursing could possibly do. She made Theodore, or Teddy, as we called him, her constant and particular care . n . . . ■ — Letter of IV. Frank Knox to Robert A. Miller, July 18, i8g8. Dr. Lesser i^-o Theodore Westwood Miller as they could. Toward all, Theodore showed unfailing courtesy and gratitude. Chaplain Charles H. Sage, who saw Theodore frequently in the hospital, writes feelingly : <( Among all those who went down or suffered in the struggle and with whom I came in contact and became somewhat acquainted, during my service in Siboney, I found no one more resigned, more brave, and more thankful for the few little favors that we were enabled to give him than was your brother. w 1 Mr. Caspar Whitney, who visited Theodore in the hospital, says: « He was resting com- fortably; he had no pain; and yet the character of his wound was such that every word uttered was a great effort; yet he never failed to gasp, < thank you,> to every little attention, and appeared to worry more lest he give his friends trouble than about his hurt. He was a brave boy in the ranks, and a most patient, considerate, and truly brave one in the hospital .® 1 2 Mrs. Lesser The letters show some difference of opinion as to the acuteness of Theodore’s physical suf- fering. The weight of testimony seems to be 1 From a letter to John V. Miller, Sept. 24, 1898. 2 From a letter to Mr. Lewis Miller, dated Nov. 1, 1898. Theodore Westwood Miller H 1 in favor of the theory that he suffered little pain, other than the sense of oppression in breathing. It was obviously difficult for him to speak, but it is a source of satisfaction to his family and friends to believe that he was spared acute bodily suffering. It is also hard to say whether he realized that his wound was mortal . 1 He seems to have taken a cheerful view of the situation, and it is known that he was especially anxious to have the brightest side of his case reported to his mother. This anxiety for her, however, would be so natural to him that he would in any event wush only the most favorable news to reach her. Whether he knew r or not that his recov- ery was impossible, he show r ed consistently to the very end the genuine Christian courtesy and manly courage which were the very fibre of his character. One afternoon as Theodore lay at Siboney a letter came from his brother Robert. It was read to him by Knox, to whom the wounded soldier, in painfully drawn breaths, talked of the home at Akron, of his father and mother, and of the longed-for-return to his loved ones. 1 Knox declares in his letter that <( not till [even at] the last did he [Theodore] suspect that his end was near,” while Ost- rom, another hospital acquaintance, reports Theodore as say- ing that he was going to die and begging that his love be sent to his family . — Letter of Albert Ostrom to Miss Mary Miller, Nov. q, i8g8. 142 Theodore Westwood Miller His last letter to his family was dictated on the seventh of July, the day before he died. It reads as follows: (< Dear Mamma: A rather narrow escape, but feel sure I will pull through all right. Teddy Burke and Mr. Remington have done all that was possible in getting extra things. Mr. Whitney offered to write you, but Mr. McClure had offered before, so he did so. You must not worry about this thing, for Dr. Lesser, who is here just now, and who is at the head of the Red Cross of America, said [I] would come out all [right] soon. He said he was going to write to you himself. They are doing everything that they can for me. « I remain your most loving son, and will be with you soon. Good bye.® On the eighth the end came. The day be- fore he had fallen into a stupor, from which he never fully wakened. It was a little after noon that he died. One of his hospital companions thus describes the scene: « 1 sat by him the next day as long as I could sit up, and then lay down on a cot near by (I was on the sick list myself) and fell into a doze, and when I awoke he had left us. 1 went up and sat down, and had a long look at his face. Around the corners of his mouth were traces of that patient smile that he had worn so bravely through it all. ® 1 Theodore was buried the same afternoon about five o’clock by a detail from the Thirty- 1 From a letter of W. Frank Knox to Mr. Robert A. Miller, dated, (< Hampton Roads,® July 8, 1898. Theodore Westwood Miller H3 third Michigan Volunteers. The services were conducted by Rev. Charles H. Sage, Chaplain of that regiment. The grave was situated on a hillside baclc of the hospital, and overlooking the bay of Siboney. A headboard was put in place upon which Theodore’s name was marked by Mr. Knox. Later, at the suggestion of Lieutenant Goodrich, the grave was further marked by the- burying of a bottle containing name and ad- dress. In this way the identity of the body was afterward established be- yond any question. The announcement of Theodore’s death caused deep sorrow among his late companions in arms. Burke describes the effect of the tidings as word was The Grave at Siboney passed along the picket line. <( As it was whispered down the line, I saw many, who had become thoroughly hardened to the sights and suffering of war, overcome with grief, and during the rest of our relief hardly a word was spoken.” Holt also comments upon the sadness of the men, and he reports one west- erner as saying, <( He [Theodore] was sure all 144 - Theodore Westwood Miller right ® — the highest praise which the cowboy can formulate. The news of Theodore’s wounding did not reach the family in Akron until the eleventh of July, -when a telegram was received from John. The newspaper reports confused initials and the letters of the troops so that, although the View from the Siboney cemetery fact of Theodore’s wounding was telegraphed, it was not recognized by his family. In the following chapter Mr. John Miller describes the sad journey from Siboney to Akron. The officers of the War Department showed keen sympathy for Mr. Lewis Miller, and did all in their power to further his plans Theodore Westwood Miller 14.5 for bringing- Theodore’s body home. It was due chiefly to their cooperation that the task was accomplished so easily, in circumstances which seemed peculiarly difficult and baffling . 1 H< Great sympathy and kindness were shown to Mr. Miller by all the officials that could render any aid. Surely no complaint should be heard against so noble a set of officials who have been so willing and ready to do what was in their power to lend a helping hand when needed.” — From a statement prepared by Lewis Miller in December, 1898. CHAPTER IX 1 It was not until the sixth of August that I received at Guantanamo a message from Gen- eral Shatter informing- me that I might go to Siboney and remove Theodore’s body north. Immediately obtaining the neces- sary orders and per- mission from Admiral Sampson, I pro- ceeded on the follow- ing morning, on the U. S. converted yacht Vixen , to Santiago. On my way there I made arrangements with Mr. Samuel S. Mullin to help me in Ensign John V. Miller , , my work at Siboney. Mr. Mullin, very fortunately, was a profes- sional undertaker from Syracuse, and was on his way to obtain the bodies of two soldiers This chapter was written by Mr. John V. Miller. Theodore Westwood Miller 14-7 who had fallen in battle. He and his com- panion, Mr. A. C. Haeselbarth, immediately took great interest in my plans and with the greatest kindness offered all the assistance they could give. We arrived in Santiago on Sunday afternoon about two o’clock. Necessary arrangements were immediately made through General Shat- ter and General Wood, and on the following morning we three, Messrs. Mullin, and Haesel- barth, and I, accompanied by a man from San- tiago, proceeded to Siboney with the casket which father had sent from New York. We were extremely fortunate in being able to go by the railway, which had been but lately re- paired for the use of the army for transporting supplies. About eleven o’clock we arrived at Siboney, the train stopping within one hundred yards of the hospital. This occupies the place where formerly were located a few Cuban houses and huts. These had been burned some weeks be- fore as a precaution against yellow fever. It was in one of these houses that Theodore had died. Siboney, as it is now commonly called, but properly Altares, is a small railway settlement located on a small bay some fifteen miles east of Santiago. On either side of the bay, to the east and west, rise two high hills which form I j-8 Theodore Westwood Miller the opening of a large valley. It was on the hill to the west that Theodore had been buried. View from the Grave At the foot of this hill the original hospital had stood, and in August the new tent hospital had taken its place. Siboney at this time consisted of these hospital tents, two railway buildings, and a small camp near the beach belonging to the commissary department of the army. I reported at once to Major Markley, in charge of the hospital, and with him started in search of Theodore’s grave, a description of which I had received from Mr. W. J. Chamber- lain, the correspondent of the New York Sun , who had received it from the authorities of the Theodore Westwood Miller 14.9 hospital early in July. We made our way up the path or rough trail along the edge of the hill and soon came upon an open space forming a burial ground. Upon one of the boards which marked the graves could be distinctly seen — Theo. Miller «D » 1 U. S. V. C. So here, just one month before, on July eighth, Theodore had been buried. Theodore’s grave, with about ten others, oc- cupied a cleared space a little way up the hill and some six or seven hundred yards from the shore. Five of these graves were marked with boards and arranged in two rows running up the hill. Theodore’s was the first one in the row towards the hospital. Close by were the ruins of an old Spanish blockhouse. From the grave could be seen, on the left, the beau- tiful valley running far inland, in front the small bay and the sea, and to the right the hos- pital tents and the shore stretching out towards Santiago. The space seemed to form a part of /50 Theodore Westzvood Miller an old path or trail, over which the Rough Riders had passed on their way to the battle of Las Quasimas and towards Santiago. The grave was very distinctly marked, both by the board, on which Mr. Joseph Young and Major Bryan of the 8th Ohio Volunteers had renewed the name and marking, and by a bot- tle which was buried in the grave and which contained a paper on which was written Theo- dore’s name, his troop and regiment, and his home address. The Headboard About two o’clock the body was transferred from the grave to the casket and carried by a detail of soldiers to the train. At three o’clock Theodore Westwood Miller 151 we left Siboney and the sad journey home was begun. The railway runs close to the shore as far as Aguadores, where it turns sharply to- wards Santiago. At Aguadores could be seen the old fort and battlements which had been destroyed by our guns. Here, also, was the bridge which the Spaniards partly destroyed in order to prevent the Americans from using the railway for transporting troops. At four o’clock we arrived in Santiago and the casket was immediately transported to the shipping piers and placed for the night in one of the commissary department’s buildings, pro- tected by a guard from the regular army through the kindness of Lieutenant F. H. Law- ton. Very fortunately transportation was se- cured on La Grande Dnchcsse of the Plant system, which was to transport north one brigade of the 71st N. Y. Volunteers under Colonel Downs and the 16th Infantry of the Regular Army. Accordingly, about ten o’clock on Tuesday, August 9th, Theodore’s body was placed on a barge and soon taken out to the ship. On account of the great amount of supplies to be gotten aboard, and although the captain and officers of the ship did all in their power, it was impossible to transfer the casket to the ship until late in the afternoon. It was placed in the after cabin in a place little used. I§2 Theodore Westzvood Miller On account of an accident to the steering apparatus the ship was considerably delayed, and it was not until the following morning that we sailed out of the harbor, passing the Merri- mac, the Rcina Mercedes , and Morro Castle. As we passed under the shadow of this very old and interesting fortress all the men cheered, and the band played <( The Star-Spangled Ban- ner ” in honor of Old Glory, which waved high over the battlements. Theodore, who lay quietly in death on board the ship, had done much in gaining this place for our flag, but could not join with the rest in enjoying the glorious result of his efforts and sufferings. The ship taking the Eastern Passage, we soon passed Aguadores, Siboney, Baiquiri, where Theodore, with the Rough Riders, had landed seven weeks before, and Guantan- amo. Towards evening we rounded the end of the island, sighting the lighthouse at Cape Mairi. All aboard were very quiet, as most of the men were too weak to be about. The ship had on board about twelve hundred men, the ma- jority of whom occupied staterooms as the Grande Duchcsse was a good-sized passenger ship. The band, although quite weak them- selves, entertained and cheered the rest several times during the trip. The men had the regu- lar traveling rations, but, although there was a Theodore Westwood Miller ! 53 large supply of this aboard, it was of such a kind that, in their weak condition, few could eat it. After a long, hard, but smooth voyage, we finally sighted Montauk Point about eleven o’clock, August 15th, and at four o’clock we had rounded the point and dropped anchor in Fort Pond Bay. Here we received the joyful news of the signing of the Protocol, which was greeted with many and very enthusiastic hur- rahs by every soldier aboard, with the excep- tion of two, for with Theodore lay another hero who had passed away to his everlasting rest that morning. It was with a feeling of tremendous relief that we saw the shore of Long Island which was to everyone on board (< home,” whether we came from the west or the east, from the north or the south, for it was a part of our much be- loved country. We had expected to go ashore immediately, but we w T ere sadly disappointed. The quarantine officers, deciding that one of the three deaths which had occurred during the voyage, was due to the so-called yellow fever, compelled us to remain on the ship until all could be disinfected which, in spite of all the officers of the 71st and 16th could do, occupied four long and trying days. The sick were first removed, then the privates, and finally, on Friday, the officers. I 54 Theodore Westwood Miller Extremely welcome was the news, on the day after reaching Montauk, that brother Ed was on shore waiting for me. As it seemed that I would be considerably delayed on the ship, and then five days in the detention camp, it was decided that Ed should start at once for home with the casket. Accordingly late Wed- nesday evening it was taken ashore on the Ma- rine Hospital Service barge where it was given over to the charge of Ed. Through unneces- sary delay and misunderstanding concerning health officer’s papers, he could not proceed to New York until Friday, August 19th. Upon reaching there the casket was immediately transferred to the Erie station in Jersey City. In the meantime I had come ashore shortly after Ed left Montauk, and very unexpectedly escaped the five days’ detention camp. Accord- ingly it was possible for me, on the following day, August 20th, to join Ed, and we, together with Charles Hemenway, left Jersey City by the Erie Railway about two o’clock in the afternoon. At seven o’clock Sunday morning, August 2 1 st, Theodore’s body reached Akron, and was met by Father, Ira, Robert, Lew, Mr. Marvin, and Mr. Billow, who immediately took charge of the casket. Thus in silence Theodore, after an absence of eight months, returned home after a most pleasant and honored life Theodore Westwood Miller 155 among the heroic Rough Riders and after a glorious death in the land of the enemy and in the front ranks of our glorious army, fighting for his country, and for a cause in which he thoroughly believed. Although this little account has already been somewhat personal, I would like to take this opportunity to express openly my 7 gratitude to Almighty God, who surely guided and pro- tected me and made it possible to bring back Theodore's body to his home. CHAPTER X The tidings that Theodore’s body had been brought home were sent quickly to the friends who were awaiting the summons. Classmates from far and near were soon at hand. From Chautauqua, just then in session, many friends came to pay sad tribute. Letters in great number and scores of telegrams brought ex- pressions of sympathy. A profusion of flow- ers transformed the library, where the coffin rested, into a fit chamber for the heroic dead. Yet, in spite of all, the tragic fact remained that human sympathy, struggle as it may, can find no voice. The conventions and sym- bolism of condolence are the pathetic failures of humanity. One could not fail to note how- ever, a genuine grief in those who now visited hospitable Oak Place, for the first time a house of mourning. With thoughtful courtesy, the Grand Army of the Republic asked the privilege of bury- ing the young soldier with martial honors. This request was gratefully granted by the family. It was arranged that a memorial service should be held in the early afternoon, Theodore Westwood Miller 157 and that afterward there should be a private service at Oak Place. The memorial exercises were designed to do honor, not only to Theodore Miller, but to three other Akron soldiers who had lost their lives in army service. The Methodist Epis- copal Church — the family church of the Mil- lers — was chosen for the occasion. The pulpit and altar were tastefully adorned with flowers. The national colors were used ef- fectively and served to dispel the gloomy funereal ideas which are usually associated with such a service. In spite of the sadness which all felt, there was also a sense of tri- umph in it all, a consciousness that it was a ceremony full of meaning for the larger na- tional life. As the choir 1 struck the key- note of the service: “The Good Die Not,” this sense of triumph grew more vivid in the great company of relatives, friends, and townsfolk who filled the large building. The addresses 2 served to deepen this impression. Sympathy for those who felt the keenest pangs of bereavement was expressed, but stress 1 A double quartette including : Mrs. Henry Perkins, Mrs. S. S. Haynes, Mrs. D. L. Marvin, Mrs. Frank Seiberling, Mr. Selden Marvin. Mr. Charles Burnham, Mr. Frank Marvin, Mr. George Jackson. 2 Judge N. D. Tibbals spoke in behalf of the Grand Army, and Bishop John IJ. Vincent delivered an address on Theo- dore Miller. 158 Theodore Westwood Miller was laid upon the glory of the soldier’s death and its value to the nation’s tradition of cour- age, loyalty, and self-sacrifice. The service at Oak Place was brief and simple. At its close, Theodore’s body was borne from the house by a group of his Yale classmates . 1 The proces- Entrance to Glendale sion to Glendale was headed by the members of the Grand Army of the Republic who led 1 The pallbearers were: Charles R. Hemenway, Man- chester, Vt.; James I. Liniaweaver, Philadelphia; Edward S. Harkness, New York; James R. Judd, Honolulu; William Dar- rach, Germantown, Pa.; and Stephen H. Kohler, Akron, O. Theodore Westwood Miller T 59 the way past the scenes of Theodore’s boy- hood, up the valley in which he had so often played, to the portals of the beautiful inclos- ure. Thence the cortege wound its way up to where the sister Eva had been buried years before. A crowd of people had already gathered near the family lot, where, beneath the shadow of the graceful figure on the monument, the open grave was ready. It was not hideous with bare earth, but lined and bowered with green things and bright flowers — a quiet resting place for the hero who was to live on, not a grave to swallow up his memory. Again a simple service — the martial liturgy of the veterans with its naive imagery of battle and victory, a hymn, <( Nearer my God to Thee ” ; then the lowering of the coffin and the last look. They who saw cannot soon for- get the scene : The figure of the strong father supporting the frail, but brave little woman who was saying farewell to one of her cherished <( little boys 8 ; the group of broth- ers and sisters dumb with grief; the pale face of Jane looking from a carriage window. She had been ill for a year or more, and this blow was to hasten the end which came within a few months. Yet even Theodore’s family must have been vaguely comforted by the thought that his life had been in a sense 160 Theodore Westwood Miller complete. He had held up a type of man- hood which by his very death would bless and inspire his fellow-men. This the final chapter cannot, perhaps, find a more fitting conclusion than in one of the addresses 1 delivered at the memorial service. It sums up Theodore’s career and interprets its meaning: — - <( A11 good is gained at somebody’s cost. In that great aggregation of individuals which we call Society, the interest, real or apparent, of the social unit, must often be sacrificed for the good of the whole. (< When the nation is in danger, or when some high call of humanity appeals to it, the individual must answer the summons. In army or navy he must go forth to face death, if need be, for the sake of the na- tion. « Going forth in obedience to such a call, he repre- sents the whole people. His relations and his value are at once changed. He was before that simply a constit- uent unit. He is more now — vastly more. Individu- ality is lost in the larger relationship. He stands now for great ideas, great principles, and wraps up in his personality the great multitude we call the State. He was a unit. He is now the Nation. «A soldier is more than an individual, more than a man! You cannot think of him or estimate him as one citizen, as son, brother, father. When you look into his closed eyes you see constitutions, history, laws, rights, prerogatives, powers. When you touch his cold body you touch a sacred thing, and you hear drumbeat and bugle call and the thunder of armies! i That of Bishop Vincent. Theodore Westzvood Miller 161 « It is a great thing to be a dead soldier ! He may have died by accident, by disease, by starvation, or by the bullet of the nation’s foe; but his death sends a thrill through the nation. « Society is more than an aggregation of individuals. It is an organism with a unity of life. A soldier is a personality in whom the nerves of the body concen- trate. <( It was not merely a man that was killed. The shot was a shot at the nation’s heart, and the soldier received it and saved the nation. But the nation’s heart throbs at the stroke, and the strength and cour- age of the smitten soldier goes into the nation’s life, and the nation is greater and mightier because of the brave soldier’s death. « < No man liveth unto himself, and no man dieth unto himself. } Pre-eminently is this law of inter-relation and inter-dependence true in the life of a great people. Therefore to the soldier’s name, to his memory, to his family, and to the centre of influence which he person- ally controls, comes a current of power, a reward of appreciation, honor, gratitude, and renown from the country’s heart. It is a great thing to be a dead soldier ! <( The event which brings us all here to-day amidst this reverent silence, the hushed awe of these obsequies, is an illustration of the fact I have stated. The Gov- ernment and its flag, and all the people of the nation, are involved in this solemn service. A soldier has fallen — for the sake of the whole people. We honor the dead, not only as son, as brother, as friend, as fellow-citizen, as neighbor, but as a private soldier in the Army of the Republic. (< Read the graphic report of the surrender of Santi- ago and the hoisting of our flag over the city: <( Read this, and, as you read, rejoice at the victory won by our arms under our glorious flag. And as you rejoice, remember that the nation’s triumph is because of wise leadership, and that wise leadership won its triumph through brave boys fighting to the death in the trenches and thickets, and on the plains about Santiago. <( Thus we come to feel the significance of this event. The good we gain is gained at our neighbor’s cost. At our common cost, indeed, for every such bereave- ment to some extent gives sorrow to every patriotic heart. But our sympathetic sorrow, intense as it can be imagined, is nothing compared to the agonies of father, mother, brothers, sisters, intimates who bury their beloved this summer day. We to whom the cost of war is slight — a few dollars in contribution and in internal revenue stamps, and the solicitude we feel when news is delayed, and the stirring up, now and then, of angry passions — these are often all. But think of the burning memories, the blighted hopes, the bit- terness of bereavement, the hunger of heart for one more look, one more word, the long, long years of patient, silent sorrow for these dear ones whose bur- dens we try, so ineffectively at our best, to help them bear ! Theodore Westwood Miller 163 « The imposing splendors of a military campaign, blare of trumpets, flaunt of banners, storm of music, flash of steel, thunder of artillery, shouts of victory, and the echoes of all these when the good news comes home through cable and wire, and the daily papers tell the story to a triumphant and enthusiastic people — all these find marked contrast in the silent solemnities of a service like this, where our tread is soft, our voices low, our music muffled, lest we disturb the dead or distress the living whose dead we bury. Thus are the nation's triumph, honor, and joy won at the expense of bruised and broken hearts. (< War ? ( War is hell,* said General Sherman. War is awful work. It makes havoc with human affec- tions; it brings pain at separation, and unutterable grief at death. But again, war disciplines character; it saves nations ; it exalts into prominence civilizations that represent the highest type of humanity and phi- lanthropy; it depresses and paralyzes nations that in this age stand for a lower type of administration and social life. War gives heroism opportunity. It kindles the spirit of s}-mpathy. <( The war, across the black clouds of which the bow of peace now springs, has united the nation, north, south, east, and west, in bonds stronger than any that have yet been woven or forged. It has given to the nations of the Old World a larger knowl- edge of our power, progress, and distinctive civiliza- tion. It has established our right to a voice in the affairs of the planet. It has increased the confidence of our people in our system of government. It has emphasized the radical defect of a civilization in which caste and priestcraft are dominant. It has brought the classes of society together and aimed a blow at anarchism and socialism. It has taught the youth of to-day, the men and women of to-morrow, larger 164 Theodore Westwood Miller respect for national ideas. It has given notable lessons in religious fidelity, reverence the acknowledgment of God, the value of sobriety. It has elevated into prominence young men, as distinguished for their hu- mility and religious faith as for their heroism and skill. It has brought out of the blackness of despot- ism millions of people who have for centuries been under the galling yoke of bondage. It has opened the way for a pure Christianity into regions that do not know the alphabet of Christianity. “The war has done good — but the cost! Oh, the cost of it, in human life! The dear boy we bury to- day is a part of the loss. But it is something to have been able to contribute to a consummation which ar- rests the attention and excites the plaudits of the whole world and that guarantees freedom to millions of the race. “The story of to-day is soon told. It is the story of a dead boy, an Akron boy, — dutiful son, affection- ate brother, loyal friend. It is the story of an Amer- ican boy, the blood of an honest and sturdy ancestry in his veins; the product of our civilization at its best; a product of the American home, the American public school, the American college; a Christian in in- heritance, training, profession, and character — reverent, honorable, a gentleman, a manly boy and mother’s boy — his heart throbbing to the last with tender love for his mother, — his 'darling mother, > as he called her, — and for all the dear ones in the old homestead. “When the war came, Theodore resolved to enter the army. He found a place among 'The Rough Riders. > He was in his twenty-fourth year, a gradu- ate of Yale in the class of ’97, full of laudable ambi- tion, genial, popular with his class and college mates, respected by his professors, the light of a large hope shining on his future career. In camp he was well Theodore Westzvood Miller 165 known, an indefatigable worker, patient and uncom- plaining under privations, cheerful and giving cheer to his comrades, with hints and help wherever he had opportunity. <( Theodore’s journal is full of interesting details of camp life and march, ocean voyage, perilous landing, courageous assault, boldness, daring, and the delight of the soldier’s life. It is graphic, vivid, full of humor and patriotism, and radiant with hopefulness. It is, in good clear English, the story of American bravery amidst the discomforts of camp, hospital, and battle- field. At the end of his twenty-fourth day after en- listment, he says: ( My experience thus far has paid me for any sacrifice I have made, and I would not have missed it for anything.’ <( He fought his first battle on the twenty-fourth of June. The description of it is in his journal and is most interesting. A postal on the twenty-fifth to his mother says: < First battle yesterday and had a very fortunate escape. I was not wounded at all. Was in left flank. Am well. It is a, good cause and the Cubans are worthy. God leads us. Lovingly, Theo- dore.’ « Friday, July 1, was his last record. That day he entered again into the conflict. Suddenly he received a wound, severe, fatal. A week of waiting in the hospital. If it was a week of pain, it was a week of unfailing patience, of hope, of desire for life, of submis- sion to the God of his mother, of holy silence. Then came sleep profound, protracted. And when he awoke it was on the shore beyond the River of Death. <( Everybody came to know Theodore. He seems to have elicited general sympathy. He was brave, wise, and patient. ( That is my boy,’ said Sister Bettina, a nurse of the Red Cross, as she picked him out as her special ward. And there he lay that long week i66 Theodore Westwood Miller between July i and July 8, when he slept the sleep of the glorified. I love to think of the tender care he re- ceived from his loving nurse who at the last washed him and wrapped him in a clean snow-white sheet for his burial. I love to think of the world of memories he had to draw from during the days and the nights of his patient waiting' — pictures of a home unexcelled in all the land for mutual affection ; of a mother that loved him and all her children more than she loved her own life; of a father who idolized his boy and kept a heart warm and tender for the whole circle about a fireside where love had glowed for long, long years; of brothers and sisters whose memory was a joy to him and to whom he said in his letter of June 23: ' My dear family: I want to send my love, and I mean love to all of }'ou separately and collectively, and I hope you will accept it in that way. 5 « I am glad to believe that during that week of si- lence, there came to him memories of the holy truth which he had learned and in which he had been con- firmed in childhood, with which he was perfectly famil- iar, and to which he certainly turned during the days and nights of waiting. I can hear his heart throb with restful joy at the memory of the old words — so full of meaning to him now — 'The Lord is my shep- herd, I shall not want. He leadeth me beside the still waters. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with med Or the words of comfort and strength that were house- hold words to him, 'Rock of ages, cleft for me, I will hide myself in Thee^ and 'Jesus, lover of my soul, let me to Thy bosom flyd « I am glad to know that during these days he had hope of recovery and of a home-coming. And then he fell asleep and woke in the land where home and earth and love and blessedness have new significance; Theodore Westzvood Miller 167 in the land where death never comes, where life is life, and where hope is consummation and realization. <( So that, in reality, Theodore Miller is not dead. We who shall stand by his grave to-day believe in a life of the spirit that never ends. In the high inter- pretation of the Christian faith, there is no death. Life ended is life begun. Vision obscured is vision renewed. « Theodore Miller is not dead ! He will live in mar- bles that commemorate him, in memories that embalm him, in affections that enshrine him. He will live in the archives of his nation, in the deeper red, the fairer white, the richer blue, and the more radiant stars that make his country’s flag. Theodore is not dead ! Some- where else he lives, knows, loves, hopes, grows, and looks forward -with confidence to a meeting and a greeting of friends beloved. Does the tree die when autumn winds strip it of verdure? Does the sun die when the night drinks up its radiance ? <( Theodore is a sweet and significant name. It means a I remember when he came. And now he passes away. The gift God gave to his father and mother they give back to God, to whom, indeed, they long ago gave him. And this summer day, after this storm and a fury of battle, his body finds peace; for a short time this afternoon it finds a place in the dear old library where he spent so many happy days of babyhood, boyhood, and young manhood, and then before the sunset to-day and for all the days of the long years, it will sleep under the shadows of the pleasant trees in Glendale. There, with Eva, first born of the dear household, will Theodore, last born rest as the years go by. (< Sleep, Theodore ! The thunder of battle shall no more disturb thee. Sleep under the green sod of the summer and the stainless snow of the winter — thy i68 Theodore Westwood Miller dead face turned upward toward the overarching heav- ens, thy brave heart and strong arm forever silent ! « But, Theodore, son, brother, friend, soldier, Chris- tian, after all thou art no longer in the grave. I hear thy words of faith, ( God leads us.> He leads the nation to honor, victory, and power. He leads loyal souls to reward. Thou art with Him, and we will be by Him led to thee. Thy soul is marching on. The shadow shall sleep in Glendale. Thou thyself hast begun a career of life and growth and glory. « It is a great thing to be a dead American soldier, for he can never die ! » APPENDIX So far as possible the letters which came in large numbers to Theodore’s family have been woven into the body of this little volume. Scores of letters full of sympathy and appreciation have not found a place. It would be a pleasure to the family to have these printed, but for obvious reasons the purpose and scope of the book forbid. There are, however, a few letters, resolutions, and other detached materials which it seems important to include in an appendix. These are added without at- tempt at organization or comment. A ROUGH RIDER THEODORE W. MILLER Wounded, Santiago, July i ; Died, Siboney, July 8 Once for a day beside the northern sea Our paths were blent together on Fate’s chart, And then the thin lines, set divergently, For all time led apart. But ’tis his name, ’mid all the new war’s slain, That brings me near to battle’s awe and dread. — • That keys the heart within me to the pain With which man mourns the dead. iyo Theodore Westwood Miller His were the virtues that our grandsires knew, The steadfast faith, the sturdy loyalty, And the clean soul that, like a compass true, Holds straight in any sea. ’Twas like him that he went unheralded! ’Twas like his generous heart to give his all; 'Twas like him, too, following where valor led, Among the first to fall. ’Twas like him! And the phrase I write again; ’Twas like the simple courage of his soul To strive amid the boldest, win, and then Lie prone across the goal. ’Tis of such brain and brawn that God has made A nation, setting wide its boundary bars, And to its banner giving the high aid And courage of the stars. And if in these late days man still may cling, To what is high and noble in all time. Then I, remembering, to his bier may bring My slender wreath of rhyme. Meredith Nicholson. — In the Ishmaelite , August , i8q8. FROM COLONEL ROOSEVELT In Camp, Montauk Point, N. Y. | August 17, 1898. S J. Asa Palmer, Esq., Care of Aultman, Miller & Co., Akron, Ohio. My dear Sir: — I am looking forward to the receipt of that diary. Indeed I did know young Miller, and Theodore Westward Miller iji valued him most highly. When he was wounded I had no idea it would prove fatal, and was deeply grieved and shocked at his death. I only wish it were possible for me to leave this regiment and come out to the fu- neral; but it is out of the question. Pray tell the members of his family for me, how sincere my sympathy with them is and how much I appreciate the quiet heroism of Theodore Miller, — one of the best men in a regiment full of good men. Faithfully yours, Theodore Roosevelt. FROM FREDERIC REMINGTON My Dear Mr. Miller: — I remember him only as a strong, bright- eyed type of the American schoolboy, an athlete, etc. I exposed the awfulness of the consecration of a two- years’ enlistment to them in even more than its nat- ural terrors, as fully as I could imagine them ; but it was old talk to young men — they were determined to enlist and expected to be killed. I said Wood and Roosevelt were bad men and would certainly get them all killed — it all went for nothing — so they enlisted and your son died as a soldier for the Republic; and in my narrow mew of such things he is (< consecrated.” There is nothing greater. Meanwhile, I feel for you in your sacrifice. Yours faithfully, Frederic Remington. I 7 2 Theodore Westwood Miller FROM THE WOLF’S HEAD SOCIETY My Dear Mrs. Miller: — We, who were privileged to be Theodore’s most in- timate associates the last year in college, want to express to you our deepest sympathy in your terrible sorrow. He was the truest and most unselfish of friends, and the example of his splendid life was a constant source of good to all who sought his ac- quaintance. We who knew him so well, can, perhaps, appreciate our loss the deeper. And, keen as our grief is, it seems but a further unfolding of his char- acter that he died as he lived, fighting for the right. Most respectfully, the members of W. H. S., ’97. James Israel IJineaweaver, Charles Reed Hemenway, William Darrach, Charles B. DeCamp, Thatcher M. Brown, Walter L. Goodwin, W. J. Lapham, Ebenezer Hill, Jr., James R. Judd, Edward S. Harkness, Franklin M. Crosby, Arthur W. Bell, G. W. Updike. Theodore Westwood Miller iyj FROM A GROUP OF CLASSMATES Dear Mr. Miller: — A few members of the class of ’97, who are in New Haven this fall, about fourteen in number, met in- formally last evening to take fitting action in memory of the death of your son. We were desired to express to you and your fam- ily, in some appropriate form, the sympathy of every man present. His death is so keenly felt by us that an expression of this sympathy in formal resolutions would, we feel, be entirely inadequate. He was a stanch friend and delightful companion, and the memory of his noble life here at Yale, and the way be bravely laid it down in Cuba, will ever be to us, his friends and classmates, a source of inspira- tion. There was no larger-hearted man in the class than “T, 11 and as we close again our broken ranks, it is with the knowledge that there is one place that can never be filled again. Realizing that we can express but little of what we feel, but trusting that you will understand how deeply we sympathize with you, We remain sincerely, Albert F. Judd, Jr., Cornelius P. Kitchel, Harry H. Townshend. New Haven, Oct. 8, 1898. Theodore Westwood Miller I 7+ FROM THE CHAUTAUQUA BOARD Whereas, Our President Lewis Miller and his fam- ily have been sorely bereaved in the loss of a be- loved son and brother, We do hereby express our sincere sympathy in this affliction; and while the fact that Theodore Miller died in the defense of his country can afford but slight consolation to his family in the freshness of their sor- row, it is a matter of congratulation and rejoicing that his young life, after a childhood of innocence, a most honorable college career, and a record of unsullied manhood, was courageously offered on the altar of his nation’s honor, and that through all the years to come the record will endure to give lustre to his family name and add glory to our national tradition. We request that this resolution be placed on our minutes and that a copy be presented to the family, as our feeble but earnest tribute to the dead soldier boy, and our testimony to our sympathy with his be- reaved parents. Edward A. Skinner, Frank Higgins, John H. Vincent. Chautauqua, N. Y., Aug. 2d, 1898. Theodore Westwood Miller 175 FROM AN INTIMATE FRIEND The impression which I had when I first met Theo- dore in our Freshman year has always remained with me, only growing and intensifying as the days passed and we came to know each other better. It was that of a man who entered thoroughly into the present, liv- ing in it and enjoying it with greater zest than any other I have ever met. He never failed to make use of every opportunity that presented itself, and brought to every changing scene the same enthusiasm and earnestness. When combined with steadfast adherence to the highest principles, these qualities always carry with them the love and respect of all with whom one comes in contact, and these Theodore certainly enjoyed as few men have. To anything he felt was right he devoted himself, and followed wherever it led. Because of this confidence and trust in himself, he always was forced into the place of a leader among us all. For he never sought to gain anything for himself. His final sacrifice was only the culmination of a life of self-sacrifice and of aid and com- fort to and sympathy with others. — From a letter to Mr. Miller from Charles Hemenway. ij6 Theodore Westwood Miller THE MEMORIAL GATEWAY AT YALE Soon after Theodore’s death it was suggested in several quarters that some memorial should be pro- vided by his Yale classmates. One plan was to found a scholarship, but this was abandoned when the idea of erecting a gateway on the Yale campus was pro- posed by Henry S. Coffin. The latter suggestion ap- pealed more vividly to the imaginations of his college friends, and seemed more appropriate for a soldier’s monument. A committee of the class was appointed, and, after careful consideration, the following circular letter was sent out to the mem- bers of the class: — New York, 1 January, 1899. ( As you have probably heard, Theodore Westwood Miller, of our class, joined the Rough Riders early in June, went with them to Santiago, and was engaged in the first part of the campaign there. He fell, shot through the lungs, in the charge on San Juan Hill on July 1st, and died just a week later in the hospital at Siboney. Theodore Westwood Miller 177 At a meeting of ninety-seven men held at the Yale Club early in October, and also at one held simultane- ously in New Haven, to consider action looking toward the placing of some memorial on the campus, this com- mittee was appointed, and, after carefully considering all forms a memorial of this character might take, it was decided to erect a gateway between the Chapel and Dur- fee Hall. The decision of the committee was ratified by a later meeting of the class, and the consent of the corporation secured. For this purpose one thousand dollars will be required, and it is greatly desired that every man give what he can, so that the tribute may be, so far as possible, one from the entire class. We earnestly request you to give this matter your attention and to add whatever you feel able to the memorial fund, trust- ing that you will be in full sympathy with the purpose of the committee to make the memorial, as nearly as possible, worthy of the man for whom it is erected, and whom we all knew and respected during our four years together. As it is necessary for your committee to know within a limited time how large an amount we can command, we request you to respond to this letter as early as possible, even in case your present circumstances may prevent your contributing. / 7 c? Theodore Westwood Miller Please make checks payable and send to Thatcher M. Brown, treasurer, 59 Wall Street, New York city. Yours truly, Edward S. Harkness, Robert S. Brewster, Thatcher M. Brown, Harry L. de Forest, Francis P. Garvan, Charles R. Hemenway, Knox Maddox, Charles H. Studinski. Committee. The response to this appeal was unexpectedly prompt and generous. The work was taken in hand without delay. Mr. Charles C. Haight, of New York, was chosen as architect, and under his supervision a gate- way, strong and simple, harmonizing admirably with the two buildings — Battell Chapel and Durfee Hall — which it joins, has been erected. This gateway forms the principal means of approach to the campus from the Elm Street side, and spans one of the most fre- quented of the routes of student wayfaring. The gateway has two panels. That facing Elm Street bears the inscription found on opposite page. The other panel, turned toward the campus, bears a decorative symbolic design, consisting of a pair of crossed sabres superimposed upon wings of victory. Above the carving are the words (< Ist U S Vol Cav,” and below, the line <( Las Guasimas San Juan Santi- ago.” On either side the letters “RR® are intertwined. It is hard to imagine a monument more thoroughly satisfying to Theodore’s friends. It stands in the Theodore Westwood Miller M 9 midst of the Yale life which he loved, as a symbol of manly virtues by which that life must be preserved. IN MEMORY OF THEODORE WESTWOOD MILDER CLASS OF 1897 WHO FELL MORTALLY WOUNDED IN THE CHARGE ON SAN JUAN HILL AT SANTIAGO DE CUBA 1st JULY 1898 BORN 30th JAN. 1875 DIED 8th JULY’ 1898