105: “A Splendid Little War:” The Spanish-American War and Theodore Roosevelt’s Rough Riders
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Thomas Alva Edison, the Wizard of Menlo Park, as he was known, made a recent appearance in our Origin of the Movies episode.

because in addition to the electric light and countless other inventions, he also gave us the motion picture camera. It reminded me that Edison didn't do well in the traditional school classroom when he was a boy. This prolific inventor and successful businessman learned better at home. At school, it's reported that he'd likely be lost in thought. His mother, Nancy, recognized a different approach to learning was required for her son. And the rest is history. As a parent, I appreciate that.

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It's mid-morning, July 1st, 1898. We're at the jungle's edge by the San Juan River, just below the hills of San Juan Heights on the Caribbean island of Cuba. Spanish soldiers entrenched on these hills fire Mauser rifles at the U.S. troops below. For their part, the Americans, awaiting orders to advance, are hiding in the river in tall grass, just hoping not to catch a bullet. Well, most are hiding. Not Captain Bucky O'Neill.

Convinced a brave officer never takes cover, Bucky paces back and forth, sucking on a cigarette. A sergeant calls to him, "Captain, a bullet is sure to hit you." Pulling the cig from his mouth and exhaling a cloud of smoke, Bucky answers with a laugh, "S sergeant, the Spanish bullet isn't made that will kill me." But a moment later, as he looks toward the hill's defenders, a bullet rips through his mouth and exits the back of his skull.

This is all too much waiting and dying for the impatient, mustachioed, bespectacled, former Assistant Secretary of the Navy turned Cavalry Colonel Theodore Teddy Roosevelt. They've been stuck here for hours. His unit, the 1st US Volunteer Cavalry, aka the Rough Riders, are only meant to serve a supporting role today, but by God, are they really just going to sit here and get mowed down? Or is there not? He's ready to lead the charge.

Just then, a messenger riding through the rain of bullets brings an answer to one of Teddy's earlier messages. It's an order. Move forward and support the regulars in the assault on the hills in front. Hell yeah. Theodore knows this is his crowded hour. Leaping on his war horse, Little Texas, he forms his men into columns. One man is still on the ground though. The larger than life colonel rides up and calls down to him. Are you afraid to stand up when I am on horseback?

But then, a Spanish bullet rips through the prone soldier. He never even got to answer. One of the few with a horse here, Teddy rides up to the next line of troops. Again, he and his men are supposed to serve in a supporting role today, but Theodore isn't one for the back row, especially when the soldiers in front of his aren't advancing. What gives?

He finds a captain unwilling to move without orders from his superiors. Not good enough for the Rough Rider Colonel. This captain may not be under his command, but Teddy answers, "I am the ranking officer here, and I give the order to charge." The captain demurs, so Theodore bellows at him, "Then let my men through, sir." The mustachioed Colonel rides hard up the hill before him. As bullets whiz by, he looks back to see his Rough Rider sprinting with grins on their faces.

Yet ahead of him are the 9th Cavalry's black troops, or as they've been known since the Indian Wars, Buffalo Soldiers. They too charge bravely up the hill and are soon tearing down a barbed wire fence. As they do, they undoubtedly see Theodore charging through on his steed, his blue neckerchief flapping behind him. A bullet grazes his elbow and his horse, but the determined colonel won't slow down.

Of those you can see, only his orderly, Henry Bardshah, is keeping pace. Though Buffalo soldiers and Rough Riders alike are right on their tails, screaming, shouting, and sprinting up this hill in 100 degree heat, all as Spanish bullets fly. Now only 40 yards from the top, Teddy faces another wire fence. He dismounts Little Texas and pushes past this obstacle while Henry shoots two Spaniards. Seeing the approaching US forces, other defenders flee the large hacienda up here.

And with that, Theodore Roosevelt and Henry Bardshahr glory in their reaching the summit. Finding a large iron kettle, he and the troops dub it Kettle Hill. So was Teddy the first up here? Hard to say. Infantry, cavalry, rough riders, and Buffalo soldiers alike mixed so much amid the heat of this charge, you wouldn't guess the U.S. military is racially segregated by looking at the group.

Indeed, one Buffalo soldier of the 10th Cavalry, Sergeant George Berry, came up here carrying both his and a white unit's colors. George was close by when the third's color bearer fell, and he valiantly assumed the burden of carrying this additional banner. Personally, I like Teddy's answer as to who first reached the summit. Quote, their name was Legion. Close quote. With a little nod to the Bible, it's a solid way to say all of these units arrived about the same time.

Still, no time to debate this now. There's more fighting to do. Looking out about 700 yards across the valley, Teddy and the others on Kettle Hill see that US forces are still fighting to take nearby San Juan Hill. Never one to shrink from a fight, the Rough Rider Colonel will later recall his reaction. Obviously, the proper thing to do was to help them. For five to 10 minutes, they fire at the blockhouse and trenches on San Juan until US Gatling guns enter the mix, that is.

The Spanish flee in the face of such rapid fire. US troops rush toward the peak of San Juan and Theodore is ready to get in on the action. He orders his men to stop firing, leaps over more wires and begins to charge out. But as Spanish bullets come his way, Teddy stops. He realizes only five men followed and two have been shot down. He charges back and shouts at his men, "What are you, cowards?" The Rough Riders respond, "We're waiting for the command."

There, the spectacled Colonel bellows, "Forward march!" At those words, rough riders, Buffalo soldiers, and men from other regiments poured down into the valley. They joined the other US forces swarming atop San Juan Hill. And up here, looking down the hill's west side, the Americans see their ultimate goal is now so very close, just off the bay's shoreline below, in the city of Santiago.

Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. Last time, we learned about the causes of the Spanish-American War. Today, we hear its major stories. Now, we know the issue at hand is Cuba, but this war isn't going to stay local to the island.

First, we're heading to the Pacific for battles among both the islands of the Philippines and the oft-forgotten Mariana Islands. But after these battles, we'll return to the Caribbean and follow U.S. forces from Cuba's Guantanamo Bay to the rough rider-held San Juan Heights, then out to the waters for the naval battle of Santiago.

Finally, we'll wrap up with some thoughts on how this brief, splendid little war, to quote John Hay again, as I did in the last episode, will have far-reaching effects on the United States, its military, and its ascent as a world power. As always, so much to do.

And we begin by going two months back, but thousands of miles across the Pacific to a corner of the world so unknown to the United States in 1898, President William McKinley is literally looking at a globe trying to find it. The Philippines. Ready? Rewind. It's a hot and humid tropical night, April 30th, 1898.

The steely-eyed, mustachioed Commodore, George Dewey, and the crew of the USS Olympia are aboard their 340-foot vessel near Manila Bay in the Philippines. Under the yellow moon, they can see their scout ship approaching. It brings news that the Spanish have concentrated their fleet around the stronghold in this naturally occurring harbor. Very well. This intelligence will be of great use in the coming attack. Okay, before the guns start firing, here's a little background.

While the causes of the Spanish-American War are related to Cuba, the fighting starts far away from the Caribbean. The US will engage the waning yet still global Spanish Empire wherever possible, and this includes the 7,000 island archipelago in Southeast Asia that Spain has ruled since the 16th century: the Philippines. Only days ago, April 26, President William McKinley instructed Commodore George Dewey to depart British-ruled Hong Kong with the Asiatic Squadron to hit the Spanish fleet in Manila Bay.

"Dewey, Asiatic Squadron, commence operations at once, particularly against the Spanish fleet. You must capture or destroy them." Given those options, our Commodore prefers the latter. And upon receiving these instructions, George reportedly said, "Thank the Lord, at last I've got the chance and I'll wipe them off the Pacific Ocean." Yeah, George is itching for this fight.

The Civil War vet has been prepping ever since tensions began flaring up between the two powers. He even ordered his ship's white sides painted a dark gray to make it that much harder for the enemy to spot them on the horizon. Now, the Asiatic Squadron's seven vessels aren't the U.S. Navy's most impressive. It consists of four armored cruisers, two gunboats, and one revenue cutter. But then again, Spain is a power on the decline. So how will George Dewey's squadron fare?

Well, time to find out. It's now the early pitch black pre-dawn hours of a hot Sunday morning, May 1st, 1898. Hoping to maintain the element of surprise, the crews on each of George Dewey's seven ships maintain silence and make do with no visible light save one lamp on each vessel stern that lets them see one another as they steam along in single file.

Slowly and as quietly as an entire squadron can, the ships approach Manila Bay's entrance. They're passing through waters well within range of Spanish batteries on nearby Corregidor Island. Entering the westward facing bay, the American Navy men know they must remain mindful of the Spanish batteries on the mainland. Only one problem, the men of the USS McCulloch seem to think they're falling behind.

They cram coal into the furnace to pick up speed, but this causes a shower of sparks to fly out of the smokestack and illuminate the still dark morning. All brace for impact. A minute passes. One lieutenant whispers, "Well, if someone don't see that, the whole island must be asleep." "Not quite." A short while later, a bugle sounds on the mainland. Lights flash, then a Spanish battery booms. Its few shots miss the squadron though.

The USS Concord responds with a four-inch shell. A shot in the dark, quite literally, but judging by the sound, USS Olympia officer Thomas J. Vivian is sure they hit a garrison. The American vessels press on. They know torpedoes and underwater mines are hidden in the bay's waters. But as they steam northeast into the bay, luck, it seems, is on their side. None of the US Navy vessels fall victim to these stealthy defenses.

They steam deeper in, passing the city of Cavite on their starboard side and approaching its nearby northern neighbor, the city of Manila, just as the sun rises around 5:30 a.m. And this is when the squadron sees their target. Five miles to their south at the Cavite Naval Station is the Spanish fleet. With 12 vessels at his command, Admiral Patricio Montoro y Pasaron appears well prepared for this naval battle. So is Commodore George Dewey.

The American squadron steams hard and fast at the Spanish fleet. As it does, Spanish batteries on the shore open fire. The American crews don't flinch. They let loose ferocious war cries and raise flags emblazoned with the nation's new three-word slogan: "Remember the Maine." As the Olympia closes in on the Spanish fleet, the Commodore turns to the captain and coolly delivers that memorable one-liner: "You may fire when ready, Gridley."

Focusing their guns on the Castilla and the Spanish flagship Reina Cristina, the Americans make short work of Admiral Montojo's fleet. Determined to see this through bravely, the Spanish commander steams toward the Olympia. Alas, bravery can't make up for firepower. The showdown between the flagships is quickly over. The Reina Cristina has lost 60 crew members and is torn to shreds. Montojo has little choice but to abandon ship and order her scuttled.

By 7:45 a.m., Commodore George Dewey can barely see through the smoke in the bay, and he knows that after five passes on the Spanish fleet, he's low on munitions. He has the squadron let up. As the air clears, George can tell they've got this. He asks one of his men, "What time is it, Reese?" The Navy man responds, "7:45, sir. Breakfast time. Run up the signals for ceasefire and to follow me."

When the men wonder if this ceasefire will give the Spanish an undue advantage, George confidently answers, "We will have plenty of opportunity to burn powder. We haven't begun fighting yet." With stomachs full of sardines, corned beef, and hardtack, and the incredible realization that not a man has been lost, the American squadron gets back to it at 10:45.

Amid the flurry of guns firing and sea water sputtering, the Asiatic squadron takes down ship after ship, while the Spanish strip their vessels of their nation's flag and escape the burning wrecks. With the removal of the colors, the Spanish fleet has surrendered. But George isn't done here. He now turns his squadron's attention toward the bastions on the shore and begins to fire. Finally, at roughly 12:45, Cavite's last remaining bastion runs up a white flag. Spanish casualties are hard to pin down, but it's well into the hundreds.

Meanwhile, the U.S. squadron has suffered eight or nine injuries and not lost a single man. The Battle of Manila Bay has ended as a resounding victory for the Americans. When word of this commanding win makes its way back to the U.S., Commodore George Dewey becomes a national hero overnight. He and the Asiatic Squadron have just handed the United States the most decisive naval victory in the country's history. And George knows it. He writes to his son, "I doubt if any naval victory was more complete than ours."

Meanwhile, George has cut the telegraph cable and blockaded the bay as he awaits further instructions and reinforcements to help take control of the Philippines. And George has allies of some sort on land. Rebels are cutting off supplies meant for the Spanish in both Cavite and Manila. Yes, Filipino rebels. These are Filipinos who want independence from Spanish rule, and George sees one of their leaders whom Spain has exiled, 29-year-old Emilio Aguinaldo, as a valuable ally.

In May, George sends one of his ships to transport Emilio from Hong Kong back to the Philippines. And further, the Commodore provides the newly returned young rebel leader with arms. Emilio doesn't waste a moment. Though American troops are yet to arrive, Emilio and the revolutionaries officially declare independence from Spain. Their declaration reads, in part,

Having as witness to the rectitude of our intentions the supreme judge of the universe and under the protection of the powerful and humanitarian nation, the United States of America, we do hereby proclaim and declare solemnly in the name and by authority of the people of these Philippine islands, they are and have a right to be free and independent. That they have ceased to have any allegiance to the crown of Spain. That all political ties between them are and should be completely severed and annulled.

That sound familiar? Yep, the Filipinos are huge fans of Thomas Jefferson, or at least they're pretending to be to get the Americans on their side. And they're going to want that US support if they expect to take out Manila, which is essentially the key to ending Spanish domination of the Philippines. Now, those American troops are on the way. They just need to make a little stop first. It's June 20th, 1898.

The USS Charleston is escorting three transports with 2,500 soldiers and munitions to the Philippines to help the occupation. But this small squadron isn't heading straight to Manila. The Charleston's captain, Henry Glass, has orders to pick up something on the way. Another Spanish territory, or part of one at least. It's the largest of the so-called Islas de los Ladrones, aka Mariana Islands. That's right, Henry's heading to Guam.

All the squadron has heard of Guam is that it has three Spanish forts, and as they approach, Henry expects hard fighting, a battle to the death. But as they steam into Apra Harbor and pass under the first Spanish fortification, Fort Santiago, there's no resistance. Now deep into the harbor, they're approaching a small island with another fort, Fort Santa Cruz. Henry doesn't want to lose the advantage. His cruisers pummel the fort, hoping to strike the Spaniards before they can retaliate, but the enemy isn't returning fire.

What's going on? Three islanders make their way out to the Charleston. They're stunned when the Americans inform them that Spain and the US are at war. Evidently, the last ship to come to Guam arrived nearly two weeks before the declaration of war. So no one here has heard a word about this. None of the Spanish forts are even manned. Haven't been for years. They don't even know if the cannons are safe to fire. The island only has 54 Spanish troops.

Through messengers, the just-appointed Spanish governor, Juan Marina, agrees to a meeting, so long as the Americans come ashore, that is. Spanish governors are not permitted to board foreign ships. Henry wonders if it's a trap, but it isn't. Juan signs a surrender document on the spot. The Spanish troops are taken as prisoners while Henry meets the only U.S. citizen on the whole island, Frank Porchestac. Frank assures the captain he need not worry about Guam. This U.S. citizen will keep his eye on things. And that's it.

Reassured, Henry Glass and his fleet continue on to Manila. Without any bloodshed or loss of life, Guam is officially captured. And notably, the United States just took its first step toward building an overseas empire here in the Pacific. But that's enough of this ocean for the moment. We now return to the Caribbean island where the tensions between the US and Spain first began. That's right, the fight has finally come to Cuba.

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It's just after 1 a.m., June 10th, 1898. Frank Keeler and his fellow Marines are disembarking from the USS Panther on Cuba's southern coast at a place called Guantanamo Bay. Only a few months ago, Frank was living a quiet life in his hometown of Bangor, Maine. But now, the young patriot finds himself thousands of miles south of home under tropical stars, numbering among the first of the U.S. military to set foot on Cuban soil amid war. Let me fill you in on the situation here.

See, while the real object is taking Santiago, which is some 50 miles to the west, the Navy wants a coaling station here in Guantanamo Bay so that its vessels now blockading the island don't have to go all the way up to Key West to refuel. Commander Bowman McCalla of the USS Marblehead has already cleared the bay's lackluster protection, a poorly armed blockhouse, but this coaling station will need protection from the high ground. And that's where Frank and the other 600-plus soldiers come in.

They're here to go up a nearby 150 foot high hill to establish a base, Camp McCalla, for that very purpose. Immediately, right there at 1:00 AM, Frank and the boys hike back and forth from the ships up the hill, moving all manner of supplies. Hours pass, the sun rises and sets as the incessant mosquitoes bite and the Marines continue their tireless back and forth marching.

As they do, Frank and all of his fellow troops know that behind every bush between this hill, the valley, and shore, a Spanish soldier might just be waiting to fire. It's now 10:00 PM. Finally, after 21 exhausting hours of hiking, Camp McCalla is set. But just as the troops start to relax, a sentry raises the alarm. "Fall in!" Pressing through overwhelming fatigue, the Marines take up defensive positions to defend the camp. They aim their rifles out into the dark night, ready for the fight.

But nothing happens. After two hours, the Marines realize the Spanish won't hit them unless they least expect it. Needless to say, it's going to be a rough night. They sleep dressed with rifles by their sides. Well, almost all of them. Others keep watch at strategically chosen posts. It's now a few hours later, 5:00 AM, June 11th. Frank should know he's looking at his watch right now. And suddenly, hidden Spanish guerrilla fighters open fire.

Young Marines spring from their sleep to engage in their first battle ever. For an hour, the fighting goes back and forth. With the fire coming in so hot and thick, Frank says that, "Bullets came among us like rain." At this point, another company comes to aid Frank's position, and together they drive the Spanish back.

As the fighting ends, Frank and those with him look for two Marines who've gone missing. They find their missing brothers in arms half an hour later, under a tree, mutilated and robbed of their boots and other belongings or clothing. The sight is horrific and further convinces Frank that the Spanish are monsters. At 11 p.m. that night, Frank and seven other Marines go out to picket, that is, take a scouting position closer to enemy lines.

Frank is about 10 yards away from three other Marines when, out in the darkness, they hear the Spanish rustling in the bushes. The four Americans sit in the dark with the mosquitoes for half an hour. Then Frank sees a Spaniard cross an opening in front of him. Perhaps out of fear, perhaps to avenge the two fallen Marines earlier today, Frank acts on the opportunity and fires. But he misses. Worse still, he's given away their position. It's dark. He's disoriented. What can he do?

For 15 painful minutes, he barely moves a muscle, all the while hearing the Spanish move around their picket. And then, bullets begin to fly. Frank moves to join the other three Marines. They're gone. Okay, the New Englander knows he has only one chance then, to run like hell back to the main American line and hope to God they don't mistake him for a Spaniard. He'll later recall...

I started on the run and across the open space, made the fastest time I ever made. Double quick at drill was a small pace beside this. From the start, the bullets followed me. How I thanked the darkness. One bullet struck the ground in front of me and splattered mud all over me as if someone had thrown a big rock into a mud puddle nearby. This was soon followed by others that did the same. Finally, Frank realizes the gunfire has stopped. He pauses and hears a lieutenant call out the order to identify himself.

50 guns are trained on Frank, ready to fire. Thankfully, he remembers the countersign. He hollers, "Texas!" With the correct words spoken in his New Englander voice, he's welcomed back. But it's only 15 minutes later that the fighting begins again. The volleys go back and forth through another long night, right up to daybreak on June 12th. Yet, it proves another success for the Americans. At noon, they're greeted by a very welcomed sight.

About 60 Cuban rebels from across the bay decked out with straw hats and armed with machetes and Springfield rifles, courtesy of the USS Marblehead. At 1:15 comes an even better surprise: the flagstaff. Time to raise the American flag over Camp McCalla. Americans and Cubans alike cheer as the stars and stripes go up over the camp. The ships in the harbor answer, saluting the flag with shots of cannon and steam whistles.

The message is clear. The Americans are here, and they didn't come to lose. After a few more skirmishes, Frank and the Marines manage to hold Guantanamo. It does indeed serve as the coaling station for the blockade of this island. But what of Lieutenant Colonel Teddy and the Rough Riders, or the Buffalo Soldiers we heard of in the opening? Well, now that American ground forces at Guantanamo have paved the way for the rest of the American infantry to land, they can begin the main part of the U.S. military's master plan here, which is to invade and occupy Santiago.

As I told you earlier, the city of Santiago is about 50 miles west of Guantanamo Bay. It's also the Spanish Army's headquarters on the island. Thus far, the blockades set up by the new and improved U.S. Navy vessels have done a fine job crippling the Spanish fighters. That means that the American landing party, including the Rough Riders, Buffalo Soldiers, and so many other units, may need only to deliver a final blow in Santiago. That should make the Spanish fold here in Cuba.

And so, less than two weeks after Frank and his fellow Marines landed at Guantanamo Bay, the portly mustachioed general, William Shafter, lands the army at Daiquiri, about halfway between Guantanamo and Santiago. And yes, cocktail fans, the story goes that the drink is actually named after this rum-producing Cuban city. But by the time the Americans arrive, Daiquiri is abandoned. Huh. It seems that the Spanish are fortifying Santiago and the road the Americans have to travel to get there.

Luckily for the Americans, they meet up with more of the Insurrectos, who lead the way to Ciboney, a beachfront town between Daiquiri and Santiago. It too is abandoned. Damn. The Spanish must be gearing up for something really big. You know, the biggest issues the Americans have seen thus far are the heat, mosquitoes, illness, and land crabs. Given all these pulled resources, though, perhaps their luck is about to change.

That's exactly what they find on their way to Santiago as they reach Las Guasimas. It's just past sunrise, about 6 a.m., June 24th, 1898. Theodore Roosevelt, his cowboy and celebrity-filled cavalry unit, the Rough Riders, and several war correspondents are making their way inland from Siboney to a point where two trails meet called Las Guasimas.

See, they know that the Spanish rear guard is there and the Americans can't break through to Santiago without dealing with these troops first. Thus, Teddy and the crew are riding through dense woods up and down the hills to Las Guasimas to support the Americans marching on the main road. As one correspondent writes of the Rough Riders' march, quote, "They wound along this narrow winding path, babbling joyously, arguing, recounting, laughing, making more noise than a train going through a tunnel," close quote.

But after a few hours of this fun, as the Rough Riders reach Las Guasimas, their laughter is cut short as they hear the sound of gunfire and men screaming. As TR will later recall, the air seemed full of the rustling sound of the Mauser bullets. Up ahead, Americans are under attack. The Rough Riders spread out and charge toward the battle. Moving forward and engaging, it's clear to the famous cavalry unit that the Spanish hit these American troops hard.

All around them, men lie wounded and dying. Edward Marshall, another correspondent, writes, everyone went down in a lump without cries, without jumping in the air, without throwing up hands. They just went down like clods in the grass. Wow. Some of the men try to save their fallen comrades. Meanwhile, Teddy is right in the thick of it.

After another squadron leader, Major Brody, falls, he's tasked with taking command of the left wing squadron. And from there, well, I'll let Teddy tell it. To quote him, "A perfect hail of bullets was sweeping over us as we advanced. Once I got a glimpse of some Spaniards, apparently retreating far in the front and to our right, and we fired a couple of rounds after them. Then I became convinced after much anxious study that we were being fired at from some large red tiled buildings, part of a ranch on our front.

Smokeless powder and the thick cover in our front continued to puzzle us, and I more than once consulted anxiously the officers as to the exact whereabouts of our opponents. I took a rifle from a wounded man and began to try shots with it myself. It was very hot and the men were getting exhausted, though at this particular time we were not suffering heavily from bullets, the Spanish fire going high. As we advanced, the cover became a little thicker and I lost touch of the main body under wood.

So I halted and we fired industriously at the ranch buildings ahead of us, some 500 yards off. Then we heard cheering on the right and I supposed that this meant a charge on the part of Wood's men. So I sprang up and ordered the men to rush the buildings ahead of us.

They came forward with a will. There was a moment's heavy firing from the Spaniards, which all went over our heads, and then it ceased entirely. When we arrived at the buildings, panting and out of breath, they contained nothing but heaps of empty cartridge shells and two dead Spaniards, shot through the head. The country all around us was thickly forested, so that it was very difficult to see any distance in any direction. The firing had now died out, but I was still entirely uncertain as to exactly what had happened.

I did not know whether the enemy had been driven back or whether it was merely a lull in the fight and we might be attacked again. Lucky for Teddy, he soon learns the Spanish are retreating. Major General Joseph Wheeler, an ex-Confederate soldier, supposedly yells as they retreat, "We've got the damn Yankees on the run!" Whoops, old habits die hard, huh? This isn't Chickamauga, Joe, wrong war.

And speaking of this not being the Civil War, the United States isn't used to hearing about casualties these days. So the news of 16 dead and 52 wounded Americans at the Battle of Las Guasimas feels substantial. Worse still, for US forces, the Spanish are getting away to further fortify Santiago. The only American group to see any silver lining at Las Guasimas, I suppose, are the Rough Riders. Those war correspondents liked seeing this brave unit of cowboys, athletes, and America's who's who in action today.

But despite the losses, the Americans see their path ahead. San Juan Heights are now visible off in the distance. Just on the other side of those hills is the city of Santiago. And if you think the war correspondents adore Teddy and the Rough Riders now, well, that adoration will only grow exponentially one week from today.

We already know about Theodore Roosevelt and his Rough Riders' moment of glory at the Battle of San Juan Hill, in which they charged not the battle's namesake peak, as many will later mistakenly say, but neighboring Kettle Hill. They're brave. They're gallant. And I don't mean to take away from that at all, but so are the many other faceless soldiers that don't get highlighted by the press, such as the Black troops known as Buffalo Soldiers.

When this July 1st, 1898 battle wraps up around 4 p.m., both sides have hundreds of casualties. Exact reports differ, but approximately 200 Americans and 200 Spaniards are dead. Each side has hundreds more wounded. The Kettle Hill charging Rough Riders make up 89 of those casualties alone. This figure makes Teddy proud. Not that he enjoys seeing his men die, but he glories in their sacrifice being, quote, the heaviest loss suffered by any regiment in the cavalry division.

close quote. But this war isn't over. Looking down at Santiago from the San Juan Heights, Teddy and all the survivors of the Battle of San Juan Hill know the Spanish will hardly hand over the city without a fight. Nonetheless, the Americans are confident and things seem to keep going their way. Reporting on the fighting in these first days of July, the LA Herald predicts Santiago will fall in a matter of days.

"The men fought gloriously, and if the same measure of success which attended today's engagement follows the fighting of the next 24 hours, the American flag will fly over Santiago's walls on Sunday." Whew, braggadocious, but this swagger isn't unfounded. After all, that very Sunday, in the waters outside Santiago, things are looking even better for the Stars and Stripes.

It's a clear, hot Caribbean morning, July 3rd, 1898, and there's a naval stalemate in the waters just off Santiago's coast. Spanish Admiral Pascual Severa Itopete and his squadron of six warships are in the bay. Meanwhile, U.S. Rear Admiral William T. Sampson's fleet is only a few miles outside, blockading this natural harbor in an eight-mile-long semicircle.

The Spanish squadron is outnumbered and outgunned, and thus far hasn't dared to challenge or attempt to run the blockade. At the same time, the American vessels don't dare to approach with those Spanish batteries along the shore. Thus, the two naval forces have sat and stared at each other for 33 days. It's now 8:45 a.m. The bright-eyed, thin-haired, goatee-wearing Commodore Winfield Scott Sly is on his armored cruiser, the USS Brooklyn.

He sees that Rear Admiral William T. Sampson's ship, the USS New York, is hoisting a signal which indicates they are to disregard the movements of the Commander-in-Chief. The Rear Admiral is going to land for a discussion with General William Shafter. But that puts quite a burden on Winfield. As second in command, this means the fleet will look to him if the Spanish finally challenge the blockade. And they just might. With the U.S. Army and Cuban fighters poised just outside Santiago, Spanish leaders must be getting desperate.

Further, a few US vessels are down at Guantanamo Bay right now fueling up with coal. Now is as good a time as any for Admiral Pascual Cervera to run for it. If successful, maybe he can shore up Spanish naval defenses 500 miles to the east on the neighboring island of Puerto Rico. It's only some 30 minutes or so later, after 9 a.m., that Commodore Winfield Sly sees a column of smoke near the harbor.

One of his navigators shouts, "Report to the Commodore and the captain that the enemy ships are coming out." Winfield grabs his binoculars. Yes, the Spanish squadron is coming out. He looks over at Nansen, ordering him to signal to the fleet to clear for action against the escaping enemy. Winfield looks eastward. Maybe the New York is back? No dice. The rear admiral is gone. This is Winfield's fight. Okay then, time to lead.

The Spanish squadron emerges from the south facing bay. Seeing this, an officer of the USS Brooklyn yells to Winfield, "Commodore, they are coming right at us!" He answers, calm and collected, "Well, go right at them." Winfield's fleet gives chase. The Spanish squadron begins to bear west toward the Cuban coast. It looks like they just might make it. As the Commodore and the American fleet give chase and turn to port, his ship, the USS Brooklyn, just avoids colliding with the USS Texas.

But soon it's clear: the Americans will catch the Spanish. Admiral Pascual Saavedra does the only thing he can for the good of his squadron in this moment. He directs his ship, a modern first-class cruiser, the Maria Teresa, toward the American fleet. Valiant, but she's outgunned. Flames dance across the Maria Teresa's wooden decks. The Admiral will later recall: "The fire was gaining ground with great rapidity and veracity.

I therefore sent one of my aides to flood the aftermagazines, but it was impossible to penetrate into the passages owing to the dense clouds of smoke and the steam escaping from the engine hatch or to breathe in that suffocating atmosphere. One after another, the American fleet picks off their foe. The Spanish beach their vessels in an effort to save lives as men abandon these smoldering wrecks. But this only presents new problems for the sailors.

as Captain Evans of the Iowa will later recall. The Cuban insurgents had opened fire on them from the shore, and with the glass, I could plainly see the bullets snipping up the water around them. The sharks, made ravenous from the blood of the wounded, were attacking them from the outside. He sends a message informing the Cubans to stop attacking the Spanish or be fired upon as the Americans rescue as many Spanish as they can take prisoner. Not all make it though.

The crew of the Texas lets out a great cheer when the Vizcaya beaches, but Captain Jack Phillip is sickened as he hears the shrieks of Spaniards caught in the flames. He orders his men to stop. "Don't cheer, boys! Those devils are dying!" Only one Spanish ship remains: the Cristobal Colón, a sleek, dark cruiser roughly the length of a football field. She tries to outspeed the Americans, to live to fight another day, but it's to no avail.

About half past noon, the Colón has run out of her quality Spanish coal for her engines and switches over to coal picked up at Santiago. She slows as a result and falls within range of the American's massive firepower. Aboard the Brooklyn, Commander Mason calls out to Commodore Winfield Sly. She's hauled down her colors and fired a Lee gun. Winfield replies, "What does that mean?" "Why, it means she's struck." "I'm damn glad I didn't have to surrender. I wouldn't have known how."

The naval battle of Santiago has ended in a complete and total U.S. victory. With over 300 Spanish sailors dead, roughly 150 wounded, and 1,800 taken prisoner, Admiral Pascual Severa's squadron is simply no more. Meanwhile, the American fleet suffered one death: a sailor aboard Commodore Winfield Sly's USS Brooklyn. Now, a quick side note: this naval battle creates a political battle over who should receive the laurels of victory.

Commodore Winfield Sly, who led the American fleet? Or the fleet's official commander, Rear Admiral William Sampson, who had the USS New York steaming back the second he heard the sounds of battle, but only arrived in time to watch things end? Well, the Rear Admiral feels he deserves the honor so much, he sends an aide to cut off one of Winfield's men before he can send word of victory to the United States.

William Sampson's message reads, "The fleet under my command offers the nation as a 4th of July present, the whole of Cervera's fleet." That's right, he completely omits his second in command. Their dispute over the glory will rage for years. Regardless of who gets the credit though, the Battle of Santiago is a truly significant victory.

With one Spanish fleet destroyed in the Pacific and another in the Atlantic, at Manila and Santiago respectively, the war is effectively over. But the U.S. moves quickly to take one last Caribbean island from the Spanish before the fading power can sue for peace, the island of Puerto Rico. Three weeks after the naval battle of Santiago, July 25, 1898, U.S. troops under the command of Civil War and Indian Wars veteran General Nelson Miles first set foot on the isle.

The military campaign, if we dare to call it that, is described by the US military as, and I quote, a picnic. The most significant fighting here doesn't even happen until August 9th and 10th, and it's only two days later, on August 12th, that the US and Spain sign a peace agreement, an armistice, ending hostilities in preparations for a peace treaty. A total of seven US servicemen die in Puerto Rico. Now, what does this peace treaty do? Frankly, it sounds the death nail for the Spanish empire.

To quote from it: "Spain will relinquish all claim of sovereignty over and title of Cuba. Spain will cede to the United States the island of Puerto Rico and other islands now under Spanish sovereignty in the West Indies, and also an island in the Ladrones to be selected by the United States. The United States will occupy and hold the city, bay, and harbor of Manila pending the conclusion of a treaty of peace which shall determine the control, disposition, and government of the Philippines."

Spain will immediately evacuate Cuba, Puerto Rico, and other islands now under Spanish sovereignty in the West Indies. In a world of empires, it's an unquestionable blow to Spain's imperial pride. My mind is drawn to Captain Victor Concasipalao's reaction to hearing the bugle sound on his ship at the Battle of Santiago. To quote him, "It was the signal that the history of four centuries of grandeur was at an end, and that Spain was becoming a nation of the fourth class."

Additionally, the peace agreement says that the two countries will come together shortly to finalize the deal. But note what I said: the two countries. No Cubans, Puerto Ricans, Filipinos, or Guamanians get invited to the party deciding their future. And the US and Spain agree upon the following important provisions when concluding their Treaty of Paris that December. I quote: "Spain relinquishes all claim of sovereignty over and title to Cuba.

and as the island is, upon its evacuation by Spain, to be occupied by the United States. Spain cedes to the United States the island of Puerto Rico and other islands now under Spanish sovereignty in the West Indies, and the island of Guam in the Marianas, or Ladrones. Spain cedes to the United States the archipelago known as the Philippine Islands. The United States will pay to Spain the sum of $20 million.

So Spain gets some cash while the burgeoning American overseas empire grows as it takes Guam, the Philippines, and Puerto Rico out of its conquered foes' hands. What of occupied Cuba though? As we learned in the last episode, the Teller Amendment prohibits the United States from annexing this former Spanish island. But that doesn't mean it can't make Cuba a U.S. protectorate.

In a few short years, Senator Orville Platt will put forth the Platt Amendment, which heavily curtails Cuba's ability to make treaties or take on public debts and further grants the United States, quote, "the right to intervene for the preservation of Cuban independence, the maintenance of a government adequate for the protection of life, property, and individual liberty," close quote, as well as the ability to lease,

To quote again, "lands necessary for coaling or naval stations at certain specified points to be agreed upon with the President of the United States." Ah, a coaling station, like the one in Guantanamo Bay. Yes, the United States will indeed lease it. And further, in 1903, the US will essentially force the island nation to choose between annexation or incorporating the Platt Amendment into its new constitution. Cubans will consign themselves to the latter.

It was back in July, 1898, before the official documents but after most of the fighting, that ambassador and soon to be Secretary of State John Hay wrote the following to his buddy, Theodore Roosevelt about the Spanish American War. "It has been a splendid little war, begun with the highest motives, carried on with magnificent intelligence and spirit, favored by that fortune which loves the brave."

Little indeed. While 5,000 men in the US military died in 1898, less than 500 of them met their end in battle. For American servicemen, yellow fever and other diseases proved far more deadly than military engagements. And that phrase as a whole, a "splendid little war," will echo into the next century. So will many of this war's outcomes. For one thing, many in the United States see this as a war of healing, if such an adjective applied to war makes sense.

See, this war put former Federals and Confederates on the battlefield together. Despite former Confederate, now US Army General Joseph Wheeler mistakenly calling Spaniards "damn Yankees," the sight of former Confederates in Union blue fighting alongside Northerners as brothers in arms is a real "burying the hatchet" moment for many Americans. That said, this isn't the Civil War. The Spanish-American War creates new military heroes, like the celebrated "Cool Kids" unit, the Rough Riders.

These cowboys quickly become a legend in the US, while Colonel Theodore Roosevelt is now a household name. This will only help his political career. The hard-fighting black units known as Buffalo Soldiers certainly do not receive their due credit at this time, but are continuing to build their credibility and reputation. Further, the United States is now heading into the 20th century with a modern army and navy. But the most evident change, of course, is on the global stage.

While historians can and do squabble over the exact dates of historical durations and definitions, the Spanish Empire is, if not dead, close to it. Meanwhile, from its ashes, we have a rising, overseas American empire. There's much more to say about this expansion and how these territories respond to answer to the United States rather than Spain. That's particularly true of the Philippines, but we aren't ready to go there just yet.

Next time, we need to hear the tale of another group of islands the U.S. is annexing this year that has nothing to do with Spain. That's right. Get ready to say aloha to the Kingdom of Hawaii. HTVS is supported by fans at patreon.com forward slash history that doesn't suck. My gratitude to Kind Souls for providing funding to help us keep going. Thank you. And a special thanks to our patrons whose monthly gift puts them on producer status.

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