abundant military stores, forty miles of trenches defended by sixty thousand men; and far more to be dreaded the deadly climate, the overwhelming rains, the deep rank soil soaked under the tropical sun and the dense vegetation, and still more the pestilence—­the ghastly Yellow Fever, and scarcely less poisonous and fatal pernicious malarial fevers, and dysenteries that exhausted as fast as fever consumed.  Fortunately, it was decided that the place to attack Havana was Santiago, and there the regular army, with the exception of the regiments sent to the Philippines, was ordered and in due time reinforced by volunteers, safely embarked and disembarked, to become the winners on bloody fields and receive the surrender of the Spanish garrisons of the city and province of Santiago.  The vaunted fleet of Cervera, having attempted flight, perished—­the wrecks of his fine ships strewing the southern coast of Cuba, where they remain as memorials, like and unlike the distorted iron that was the Maine, in the harbor of Havana, and as the shattered and charred remnants of the fleet of Montejo, at Manila, still cumber the waters of the bay off Cavite, telling the story of the glory of our victorious heroes there.

The responsibility of the Chief Magistrate of the United States in the late war was remarkable.  Everything of moment was referred to him from the Cabinet officers of the Government, and he gave all the closest attention, making, after conscientious consideration, the decisions that determined the course of action taken.  This was true in unusual measure of the Treasury, State, War and Navy Departments.

It is well the President resisted while he could the “rush line” in Congress, that strove headlong for war, and strenuously urged in the time gained essential preparations, and that he pressed the war the day it was declared with a hurry message to Admiral Dewey, who won his immortal victory on the other side of the world within a week of his orders by cable to “destroy” the squadron of the enemy that might be found somewhere on the west coast of Luzon.

Nearer home there was a harder task.  The Spanish army in Cuba was much more formidable on the defensive than in the offensive.  There were greater numbers of soldiers of a better class in the service of Spain on the island, than had been supposed, and they did not lack, in the degree believed, discipline, ammunition or provisions.  The Spaniards had an effective field artillery, more than one hundred guns, and their Mauser rifles were excellent, far-reaching; and, in field ammunition, they were ahead of us in smokeless powder.  Our regiments would have given way before the Spanish rifles, that told no tales except with bolts, that flew invisible, fatal arrows, from the jungles, if the American soldier had not been of stuff that was like pure steel, and marched unflinchingly through the deadly hail, regarding the bitter pelting as a summons to “come on” and carry the