
Author: Grumpy
You and the cop-killer are running at each other, guns in hand. One of you is going to die.
Lesson:
Preparation is the mother of survival. Expect the unexpected. Know when to run, and when to shoot.
January 20, 2011, Miami, Florida. Sergeant Laurick Ingram meets Detectives Amanda Haworth, Roger Castillo, Diedre Beecher and Oscar Plasencia for a briefing at the Miami-Dade Police Department’s Northside Station. They’re members of a squad assigned to apprehend violent career criminals and they have a warrant for the arrest of one Johnny Simms.
The two female officers are the lead on the case; the two males have been chosen because they’ve arrested Simms in the past for parole violation and know him by sight. Simms, 22, is wanted for murder. He’s believed to have cold-bloodedly shot a man dead for disrespecting Simms’ sister. The plan is to visit the homes of the suspect’s mother and last known girlfriend. They hope to gain information as to his whereabouts, and to urge them to contact Simms and convince him things will go easier if he turns himself in.
Arriving at the mother’s duplex, the cops alight from their vehicles. They’ve planned a “soft” contact: No helmets or shields, no long guns, no kicking down doors. They’re wearing conspicuous tactical Kevlar vests identifying themselves, marked POLICE and MARSHAL because they’re also special deputies of the U.S. Marshal’s Service due to their frequent fugitive task force duties. Each wears an exposed sidearm. Castillo and Haworth carry department-issued GLOCK 17 pistols while Beecher has a privately owned/department-approved Smith & Wesson Model 3913. All three 9mm pistols are loaded with ammo which has worked particularly well on their mean streets, Winchester’s Ranger-T 127gr. +P+. Plasencia, always more comfortable with a .45, is authorized to carry his personal GLOCK 21 loaded with Federal HST 230-gr. +P.
They know the girlfriend’s house is only a couple of blocks away, and if he’s there and the mother calls to warn him after the police leave, he’ll “rabbit.” It’s decided the sergeant will drive to the girlfriend’s place to discreetly surveil it while the others talk to the mom. Because they’re the ones most likely to recognize Simms if he tries to exit through a back door, the two male officers — who usually work as partners anyway — flank to the side of the duplex while Haworth and Beecher go to the front door.
They identify themselves, and the suspect’s mother welcomes them inside. Castillo begins moving forward, toward the front of the building. Out on the side Castillo hears Haworth say over the hand-held radio, “He’s inside, everybody come around.”
He has heard Amanda Haworth’s last words.
Suddenly, there’s gunfire from inside the duplex.
Rapid Response
Plasencia, 53, reaches reflexively for his GLOCK as he races toward the front of the house. The shots are still breaking, coming fast.
As he rounds the corner, he’s inside a corridor formed between the target house and a 10-ft. high wrought iron security fence. Shots are still going off. Plasencia sees Detective Beecher tumbling out the front door and falling to the ground and a man coming out the same door behind her, shooting at her in her disadvantaged down position. The light-complexioned African-American man is tall, muscular, clean shaven with close cropped hair, wearing jeans and stripped to the waist exposing his gang tattoos. Plasencia recognizes him as Johnny Simms and recognizes also there’s a GLOCK pistol in his hand.
Endgame
Simms turns to see Detective Plasencia running at him, gun drawn, and charges at the lawman full speed, raising his own stolen pistol.
For Plasencia, the world suddenly goes into slow motion. There’s time to assess the background behind the gunman, an auto repair shop with many people visible. He knows he has to get closer to guarantee hitting the only safe backstop, the body of the assailant. The gunman is racing toward him, firing now.
Plasencia jumps to his left, coming to a stop in a deep, coiled crouch — the fastest way to cease a headlong rush and maintain balance. Strong-hand only he levels his GLOCK and, using the top of the slide to aim, opens fire.
He has heard the gunfire coming from inside the duplex, but now the world has gone silent. He cannot hear Simms’ gunfire, nor his own. But he can feel the recoil, and — focused on the opponent’s body and gun — he can see his .45 slugs strike home. Simms’ body flinches and jerks as each of the big bullets hit him, and spins away from the cop as the last shot strikes home. Seeing him turn away and fall heavily to the pavement, Plasencia ceases fire.
They are now some five yards apart. Simms is on his back, motionless, the medium-sized GLOCK still in his hand. Plasencia covers him with the G21 and, after a couple of seconds, kicks the weapon out of the vanquished opponent’s hand. It skitters under the wrought iron fence and into the adjacent parking lot.
Simms’ face bears an expression of surprise. Looking down at him, Plasencia sees his foe’s consciousness fade, seeing him take one last breath. He realizes Johnny Simms is dead.
The Scope Of The Horror
Oscar Plasencia had rounded the corner in time to see DeeDee Beecher fall, and to see Simms shooting at her before Plasencia diverted the gunman’s attention to himself. He will soon learn of the horror which has taken place inside the duplex in the first flurry of gunfire.
Hearing Mandy Haworth calmly say, “He’s inside, everybody come around,” Plasencia presumed the situation was contained. His partner Roger Castillo may have presumed the same. If so, it was a fatal mistake.
When the suspect’s mother indicated to Haworth who was in the living room that Simms was present and Haworth said so on the radio, the suspect was in an adjacent back bedroom and obviously overheard. With no warning he burst from the room, shooting at the officers from close range as he charged.
Haworth was the first to fall, shot in the head. As he ran past her body Simms fired a viciously gratuitous execution shot barely missing her vest and tearing through her thorax. The only other officer in the house, Beecher, reflexively moved to the front door to find a more tactical position, just as Roger Castillo gained the same doorway and began to enter. Simms shot him through the brain, killing him instantly, and the detective’s body fell backward and sideways out the door.
Beecher tripped and fell out the door, in an impossibly compromised position as the onrushing Simms fired at her. This was Oscar Plasencia’s first glimpse of the action as he came around the corner. Though it appeared to him — and probably to Simms — the killer had shot her down, her dropping out of his line of sight caused the thug’s .40-cal. bullets to pass above her, and she narrowly escaped being shot. With her knee badly injured in the fall, she ended up in an awkward position which compromised her ability to draw her own pistol and react.
It was at this moment Simms caught sight of Plasencia and turned his attention to him, probably thinking he had killed Beecher. When Simms turned and ran at Plasencia shooting, he would have been between Beecher and Plasencia, putting Plasencia now in Beecher’s line of fire.
Detective Roger Castillo died at the scene. He left behind his wife, also a Miami-Dade police officer, and three young sons. He was 41, with 21 years on the job. Detective Amanda Haworth was rushed to the hospital but did not survive. Detective Haworth, 44, had served for 23 years, and left behind her partner and her young son.
Time Factor
Oscar Plasencia told American Handgunner that according to the investigation, only 17 seconds elapsed between when Detective Haworth broadcast her last words and when Detective Plasencia said over the radio officers were down and the suspect was, too. He estimates his own shootout with the cop killer lasted perhaps four seconds.
Oscar told me, “I was asked how many rounds were fired. I thought I fired three rounds and Simms, one. In fact, I fired five rounds and Simms, two (at me). All my rounds connected. His went high right over my head and in the door and wall of a nearby unit. I was told one of my rounds struck him in the elbow, three center of mass, and the last as he spun, center of mass but landing in the back between the shoulder blades.”
Simms, armed with a stolen 14-shot GLOCK 23, had fired 10 shots at the initial shooting scene, and two at Plasencia as they closed in on each other in the final confrontation.
Aftermath
When responders arrived, Plasencia was placed in a police car isolated from the scene. By the time he was transported to the Homicide unit’s office, the Police Benevolent Association’s attorneys were already there. Today, the Florida Department of Law Enforcement investigates Miami-Dade’s officer-involved shootings but at the time, the county investigated their own. He wasn’t required to make a statement. “The attorneys gave a proffer on my behalf,” he recalls. A department psychologist was brought in for him, a doctor Plasencia knew. “He was helpful,” Oscar remembers. “He gave me all his contact numbers and told me to contact him anytime. Then he paused and said, ‘You probably aren’t going to call me, are you?’ I just smiled at him. I was pretty sure I could cope with it.”
Once fully investigated, the death of Johnny Simms at the hands of Detective Oscar Plasencia was ruled a justified homicide. The family of the deceased cop killer never filed suit.
The long-term aftermath was different.
“Roger was my friend, my regular partner,” Oscar told us. “I saw him lying there outside the door, the pool of blood under his head, the color drained out of his face, knowing he was dead. There was a long time where I just couldn’t talk about it. Now, eight years on, I still feel some survivor guilt. ‘Why them and not me?’ Roger and Amanda both had young children. My kids were grown. ‘Why them and not me?’ Could I have done something different?”
Plasencia completed his career, retiring at the rank of sergeant, and staying on part time as a reserve deputy. “The department was good to me,” he says. “They were very supportive of all of us, and our families.”
After you’ve killed a violent criminal, there’s always the possibility of vengeful retaliation. Simms had been a big-time gang-banger. Gang Unit intelligence soon revealed the Bloods had “green-lighted” Oscar, that is, had put out the order he should be murdered on sight by any gang member who spotted him. Plasencia and his family remained vigilant, but the threat fortunately never materialized.
The psychological aftermath of having had to kill a human being has two all but inescapable symptoms. One is sleep disturbance, and Oscar seems to be one of the few to escape it. The other, however, is what the great police psychologist Dr. Walter Gorski called Mark of Cain Syndrome: the awareness people are treating you differently after the shooting. If you’re treated badly and accused of police brutality as a killer cop, you don’t feel good about it. If you are treated as the hero you rightfully are, it still changes your identity in the eyes of others.
In the wake of this incident, Oscar Plasencia received many well-deserved awards. Locally, he was awarded the Gold Medal of Valor and named officer of the year by his department, and by the Dade Chiefs Association, the Dade County PBA, the state Fraternal Order of Police, and the Florida Sheriff’s Association. He made Level One of the National Association of Police Officers Top Cops awards, presented at the White House. From the U.S. Marshals came a Law Enforcement Officer of the Year award, and the Marshal’s Task Force gave him a heroism award. There was also a Federal Law
Enforcement Association award presented in Denver, and Officer of the Year from the National Latino Peace Officer Association.
And today, Oscar Plasencia says with a catch in his voice, “I’d give it all back in a heartbeat to have Amanda and Roger back with us.” He still wears a wristband bearing the names of his fallen sister and brother.
Lessons
After the tragedy the question was raised of why they didn’t send a SWAT team. The answer is, tactical teams are sent in when they know there’s a dangerous person inside the given four walls. Fugitive warrant service involves a lot of desk time researching, and a lot of shoe leather visiting people who might provide leads on the suspect. This case was part of the latter routine. “You can’t call SWAT out on a ‘maybe,’” Plasencia would later tell a local reporter.
No one has thought about this more in the eight intervening years than Plasencia himself. He told me in retrospect, “I wish there had been more preparedness. I understood the soft approach (no helmets, no shields, no heavy armament). Maybe we could have had a shield and set it by the door just in case. I normally carried a short-barrel shotgun for entry but left it in the vehicle because I was covering the back. I don’t think a long gun would have made any difference.”
“How many rounds were fired?” is a question which should probably never be asked by investigators, nor answered by the involved party. In an adult lifetime spent studying these things, I can still count on my fingers the number of gunfight survivors who could keep an accurate count once it went beyond a very few shots. This case is a classic example.
Why close the distance? Greater distance usually favors the defender skilled in shooting, but in this case the danger a missed shot would present to bystanders and downed police personnel behind the murderer drove Plasencia to do what he did, and it had exactly the same benevolent result he intended. His movement toward the threat obviously distracted the killer from his attempt to execute the downed Detective Beecher, and very likely saved her life.
“When they see the armor, they shoot for the head.” That was the mantra of Richard Davis, the armed citizen and gunfight survivor who invented the soft, concealable body armor which has saved literally thousands of lives since. It was clear to investigators then and now Simms saw the officers were wearing ballistic vests, and deliberately targeted them for head shots. It was equally clear to Oscar Plasencia that in his final shootout with Simms, the cop killer was aiming high, for his head.
The always easy 20/20 vision of hindsight tells us if the body armor had been concealed under a POLICE-emblazoned light raid jacket, it might have turned out differently, and the killer’s mish-mosh of ball and jacketed hollow point ammo, which is typical of criminals, might have lodged in Kevlar instead of fatally piercing unprotected brains.
Expect the unexpected. The officers went to Simms’ mother’s house hoping to get leads to his whereabouts or to convince her to tell her son to give himself up. While they obviously recognized the possibility he might be present, they didn’t really expect it. Action beats reaction. A hand on a pistol, ready to draw against a sudden ambush, might have at least somewhat evened the odds.
Don’t let altered perceptions throw you. Well-trained by his department and studying these things on his own time, Oscar knew beforehand tachypsychia and auditory exclusion afflict well over half of people involved in such encounters. When things went into slow-motion silence, he didn’t let it distract him. He knew about tunnel vision too, and fought through it successfully, constantly vigilant to keep his shots from endangering innocent people behind the murderer.
Maintain your skills. Oscar Plasencia was a “gun guy” fond of 1911’s who would have carried one on duty if the regs allowed, and he practiced regularly with the GLOCK .45 he wore at work. The skill he maintained was evident in his 100 percent hit ratio under extraordinarily difficult circumstances.
Know when to run, and when to shoot. Oscar waited to shoot until he was certain he could hit his target and not send a bullet past the cop killer into the inhabited background the situation had given him. His fast jump-into-a-crouch gave him a stable firing platform from which to fire five fight-stopping bullets into a fast-attacking multiple cop-killer. He had “gotten off the X” because he was watching the opponent and the opponent’s gun, and successfully evaded the murderous gunfire directed at him.
Analyze in macrocosm as well as microcosm. Here, we’ve focused on the involved officers and the circumstances into which they were forced. Looking at the big picture, we need to remember Johnny Simms wasn’t just a member of the Bloods gang but a shot-caller there. The reason Plasencia and Castillo knew him was they had arrested him before on a warrant for violating probation arising from an armed robbery charge. Yet a judge had turned him loose, freeing him to commit one murder and then to murder two police officers and attempt to murder two more.
All of us at American Handgunner wish to thank Oscar Plasencia for sharing the lessons he learned so painfully. This article is respectfully dedicated to the memory of Detectives Amanda Haworth and Roger Castillo of the Miami-Dade Police Department.

Henry Heth was born on December 16, 1825, in Black Heath, Virginia. His father, John, was a captain in the U.S. Navy. Henry’s mother, Margaret, played aunt to one George Pickett, the man who years later led his Confederate Division on the eponymous Pickett’s Charge during the Battle of Gettysburg. Heth usually went by Harry.
Harry Heth’s was a military family. When he came of age, the young man entered the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. In 1846, he was inadvertently stabbed in the leg during bayonet training. At a time before antibiotics when even mild wounds could lead to sepsis and gory death, Heth somehow pulled through. The following year, Heth graduated as the goat (not GOAT)—the cadet at the very bottom of his academic class.
Harry Heth led a company during the 1855 Battle of Ash Hollow, killing a great many Lakota women and children, among other things.
Three years later, Heth penned the Army’s very first marksmanship manual titled “A System of Target Practice.” For the next several years, the young lieutenant did lieutenant things leading troops around the American West. Then there was a bit of a dustup at Fort Sumter, and everybody’s world went all pear-shaped.
Harry Heth Does Proper War
The 1860s were a fruitful time for a West Point grad, even one with sub optimal grades. America faced off against itself, and trained military men were in short supply. That meant meteoric promotions and command time aplenty.
Among other things, Heth logged a stint as Robert E. Lee’s Quartermaster. An Army runs on its stomach, and this was a terribly important job. Lee and Heth subsequently developed a friendship. Heth was one of the few subordinates that the notoriously professional General Lee referred by his first name. In May of 1863, Heth was promoted to major general and given a division in A.P. Hill’s Corps.

Criticality
Now some 162 years distant, it is easy for us modern folk to lose sight of just what an iffy thing the American Civil War actually was.
More adroit commentators than I have spilt rivers of ink on the details. A few quite-talented novelists have penned some compelling alternative histories as well. Suffice to say, had the Confederacy prevailed and the United States advanced as something not quite so united, our modern world would be quite different today.
The particulars of two world wars, social evolution, and the Information Age would be unrecognizable from what our history books currently depict. All that really turned on a single battle that unfolded in and around the Pennsylvania community of Gettysburg in July of 1863.
Lee was in overall command. He directed his subordinate commanders to avoid a decisive engagement with Union forces until he had his reserves positioned.
However, Harry Heth was an impetuous man. While marching east from Cashtown on July 1, Heth deployed two full infantry brigades forward in a reconnaissance in force. He later claimed to have been looking for fresh shoes for his men. Historians have since disputed this. Regardless, when Heth’s two brigades met the Union cavalry under General John Buford, it was game on.
Inflection Points
Any amateur student of Civil War history knows the rest. Pickett’s Charge petered out under withering fire, and Joshua Chamberlain’s audacious bayonet charge ultimately turned the tide of the fight. Before Gettysburg, the Confederate Army was within striking distance of the White House. Afterwards, it was a long, bloody slog all the way to Appomattox. All that kind-of hinged upon Harry Heth.
Prior to the unpleasantness at Gettysburg, Harry Heth had invested in a new campaign hat. Hats were ubiquitous back then and meant more than just comfort on a sunny day. This one arrived just a bit oversized for Heth’s head. To compensate, the good general liberally lined his new chapeau with newspaper.
While fighting at Gettysburg, Heth and Rebel Major General Robert Rodes prosecuted a combined attack against a Union Corps, putting the Yankees to flight.
Amidst the chaos of battle, Heth caught a Minie ball to the nugget. That big, fat .58-caliber round penetrated his hat, tracked around his ersatz newspaper lining, and exited the far side without debraining him in the process. The fortunate general spent the next 30 hours unconscious but eventually recovered.
Denouement
Heth fought honorably later at places like the Wilderness, Spotsylvania, and Cold Harbor. He stood alongside his friend Bob Lee when it was time to pack it in at Appomattox Court House.
After the war, Heth sold insurance and later took a government job as a surveyor. He died in 1899 at the age of 73, the unkillable Confederate general who quite possibly lost the American Civil War.
Photo Credit: This painting by Marine Corps artist Col. Charles H. Waterhouse depicts Marines and Cuban insurgent allies fighting Spanish troops during the Battle of Cuzco Well on June 14, 1898.
The capture of Guantànamo Bay, Cuba, by U.S. Marines in 1898 was a brief but violent phase of the Spanish-American War. Overshadowed by the more publicized land and sea battles—and largely ignored by historians—the ramifications of this victory would have far-reaching consequences in future relationships between Cuba and the United States.
Guantànamo Bay was commercially important to the Cuban economy because of the sugar port of Caimanera on the western shore of the inner bay—about five miles from the open sea. At the entrance to the outer bay—Fisherman’s Point—a busy fishing village sprawled on a sandy beach beneath 30-foot cliffs. The Spaniards used the villagers to pilot ships entering the bay and bound for Caimanera.
The Cubans had been in revolt against their Spanish masters since 1895. But after three years of bloody fighting, the conflict was still unresolved. The Cuban insurgents controlled only two provinces on the island—while the rest of the country was under the heavy fist of the Spaniards.
Spanish troops held Guantànamo City, Caimanera, and the railroad connecting the two cities. A line of blockhouses defended the rail line, and a blockhouse and rifle pits had been constructed on the cliffs overlooking Fisherman’s Point. A fort on South Toro Cay commanded the narrow channel leading from the outer to inner bay. Caimanera was also protected by a fort, and the Spanish gunboat Sandoval patrolled the inner bay.
Declaring War on Spain: The Blockade Begins
After the sinking of the battleship Maine in Havana Harbor on February 15, 1898—and the subsequent declaration of war by the United States against Spain—a naval blockade of Cuba, under the direction of Adm. William T. Sampson, was put into effect. However, recoaling a hundred blockading ships became an immediate major problem. Only 13 coaling vessels were available to the blockade fleet, and the nearest coaling station was at Key West, Fla., a distance of 90 miles.
Military Eyes Guantànamo As A Coaling Station
A few weeks before war was officially declared, U.S. Navy Secretary John D. Long had visualized Guantànamo Bay as an ideal advance coaling station, and directed the U.S. Marine Corps to organize a battalion for service in Cuba.
On April 6, 1898, Col. Charles Heywood, commandant of the Marine Corps, ordered selected Marines from bases on the East Coast to assemble at the Brooklyn Barracks at the New York Navy Yard.

A detachment of 60 Marines of D Company, under the command of Capt. William F. Spicer, departed Portsmouth, N.H., by train. Private John H. Clifford was one of the group. In his article, “My Memories of Cuba,” which appeared in the June 1929 issue of Leatherneck magazine, Clifford described the flurry of excitement upon reaching the Navy Yard: “Brooklyn Barracks bustled with wartime activity. Detachments were arriving from everywhere. The barracks were overcrowded and finding a place to sleep was a problem. Eventually a battalion, consisting of five rifle companies and one artillery company was formed. The battalion strength was comprised of 636 enlisted personnel—along with 24 officers—and was placed under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Robert W. Huntington.”
The Marine rifle companies were issued Lee straight-pull rifles—a high-velocity, 6mm weapon that used smokeless powder. The artillery company, under Capt. F.H. Harrington—and battery commanders First Lts. C.G. Long and William N. McKelvy—was provided with three-inch rapid-fire guns and the Colt 1895 machine gun.
John Clifford continued: “On April 22, with the Navy Yard Band leading the way, we marched down three Brooklyn streets. Thousands of patriotic, cheering Americans lined the parade route as we headed back to the yard and went aboard the Kanapaha.”
On April 26, the Marine troopship, escorted by the Montgomery, sailed for Key West, Fla. During the voyage, the rifle companies were exercised in volley firing, and the three-inch guns fired one round each. In the late afternoon of the 29th, the Panther anchored at Key West. The Marines disembarked, and for the next month drilled and engaged in gunnery practice.
Marines Prepare For Landing At Guantànamo
About three o’clock on the morning of June 6, the Marines struck their tents, loaded their baggage, and once again marched aboard the Panther. The next day the battalion sailed for Cuba and an amphibious landing at Guantànamo Bay. Before any attack could be launched, however, the telegraph cables connecting Guantànamo with Caimanera and Haiti would have to be cut.
The Marblehead, St. Louis, Yankee, and the cable-steamer Panther were assigned the dangerous task. The flotilla was placed under the command of Cmdr. Bowman McCalla aboard the Marblehead. McCalla had orders to reconnoiter the bay while the St. Louis and Adria cut the cable at its source—Fisherman’s Point.
The cable-cutting went off without a hitch as the Marblehead and Yankee steamed into the bay. McCalla observed Spanish soldiers entrenched on the cliffs and in front of the blockhouse. He immediately ordered his ship and the Yankee to open fire on the enemy position. The blockhouse was swiftly pounded to rubble and most of the trenches destroyed.
During the bombardment, the Marblehead and Yankee were in plain view of the Spanish artillery batteries on South Toro Cay and the Caimanera fort. The Spaniards fired several nuisance salvos, without effect, and at dusk, the St. Louis raced down the channel, fired a few quick shots, then dashed back to Caimanera.
Commander McCalla conferred with Admiral Sampson. They decided to land the Marine battalion at Fisherman’s Point and establish a campsite at the clifftop blockhouse.
Preparatory to the invasion, the Marblehead, along with the Dolphin and Vixen, bombarded the landing beach and enemy trenches. They were soon joined by the St. Louis, Yankee, and the Adria. The exact number of Spanish troops in the vicinity was not known; however, about five thousand soldiers, commanded by Gen. Felix Pareja, were reported to be encamped a short distance inland.

Aboard the Marblehead, a war correspondent for the Boston Herald described the amphibious operation: “The first landing of American forces on Cuban soil took place about eight o’clock on the morning of June 10. A detachment of 40 marines from the Oregon and 20 from the Marblehead went ashore at Guantànamo Bay and occupied the east entrance of the harbor below Fisherman’s Point.
“At one o’clock the Panther, escorted by the Yosemite, arrived with more than 600 marines. The men climbed into cutters and were towed by steam-launches to the beach.
“The landing, carried out under a blazing-hot afternoon sun, was unopposed. B Company, under Lieutenant N.H. Hall, was the first contingent ashore. C Company, led by Captain George F. Elliott, was the next to land, and both companies deployed up the steep cliff to the ruins of the blockhouse.
“The entire assault proceeded as efficiently as a Sunday-school picnic. Within an hour, the marines had burned the village and taken possession of the hill. Color Sergeant Richard Silvey hoisted the Stars and Stripes above the blockhouse—the first American flag to fly over Cuba. The site was enthusiastically given the name of Camp McCalla, after the popular commanding-officer of the Marblehead.”
Vulnearable Camp McCalla
The Spaniards had evidently made a hurried departure from the hill. Scattered about the trenches and blockhouse were many personal possessions—along with hammocks, machetes, ammunition, and two field pieces. Also discovered in the rubble were a batch of official telegrams giving the strength of Spanish fortifications in the area. It was suspected that the messages had been deliberately discarded to deceive the Americans, but they were turned over to Admiral Sampson so he could investigate their authenticity.
In his report to Marine Headquarters, Lt. Col. Huntington commented on the Marine campsite: “The hill occupied by our troops is not a good location—but the best to be had at this time. The ridge slopes downward and to the rear from the bay. The plateau at the top is very small, and the surrounding countryside is covered with thick, almost impenetrable, brush. Our position is commanded by a range of hills about 1200 yards distant.”
With the bay at their backs—and the jungle and hills to the front and sides—the Marines were in an endangered position, but tents were pitched and outposts established. Shortly after sundown the Marines ate their first meal in Cuba—hardtack and coffee.
About 10 o’clock a sentry sounded an alarm. The Marines were rousted from their sleep, and a skirmish line was quickly formed. Spanish voices were heard in the distance and lights were seen in the brush, but no attack materialized.
The Marines had a restless night and awoke to another scorching hot day. The only sounds emanating from the jungle were the cooing of mourning doves—which in reality were the Spaniards signaling to each other.
In the early afternoon, Colonel Laborde, commander of the Cuban insurgents in the area, told Huntington that the main Spanish force in the vicinity was headquartered at a freshwater well at Cuzco—six miles southeast of Fisherman’s Point. The well provided the only drinking water for the enemy troops—which comprised about five hundred soldiers.

Late in the day, Privates William Dumphy and James McColgan of D Company were on outpost duty about three hundred yards from camp. They were relaxing under a tree, but were soon lulled into carelessness by the constant heat and hypnotic sounds of the tropical forest. Suddenly, without any warning, Dumphy and McColgan were attacked and killed by a Spanish patrol that had sneaked unobserved through the thick brush. Both men were shot through the head at close range. The bodies of the Marines were stripped of shoes, hats, and cartridge belts—and then horribly mutilated with machetes.
“They Never Had A Chance To Defend Themselves”
In his handwritten diary, Private Henry D. Schrieder of C Company recalled the events that followed: “About five-thirty we heard shots. Moments later, a Cuban scout rushed into camp shouting that a Spanish force was heading our way.
The outposts were immediately alerted and hurried measures were taken for defense of the camp. Enemy Mauser bullets quickly began zipping over our heads. The Spaniards were hiding in the brush on all sides of us. Many had leaves and branches tied around their bodies so that they could scarcely be distinguished from the undergrowth. With our entrenchments still not completed, we made easy targets.
“Colonel Huntington tried to lead the battalion in a counterattack, but the underbrush was so thick and thorny that he continued the advance with only one company. Upon reaching the outpost defended by Dumphy and McColgan, the butchered bodies of our fellow marines were discovered. They never had a chance to defend themselves.”
The search for the elusive enemy was abandoned at dark and Huntington and his frustrated detachment returned to the camp. Throughout the night, the Marines never slept. Deadly, high-velocity bullets riddled their defenses. Furious volleys—interspersed with sporadic fire—kept the battalion on adrenalin-flowing alert.
About one o’clock in the morning, Assistant Surgeon John B. Gibbs was standing in front of a hospital tent. He had just remarked to another doctor, “Let’s get out of this. I don’t want to be killed here!” when a Spanish bullet struck him in the head—passing through one temple and out the other.
Sergeant Charles H. Smith and his squad from D Company were dug in on the east slope of the hill on picket duty. They withstood enemy attacks throughout the night. Smith was killed, and Corporal Glass and Privates McGowan and Dalton were wounded. First Lieutenant W.C. Neville and several men ventured out to recover Smith’s body, but they came under heavy fire and were forced to fall back.
Henry Schrieder continued his account: “The Spaniards launched a dozen attacks before daybreak. The assaults were most threatening after midnight, when it seemed that the camp was completely surrounded. We held our ground defiantly, and our volleys seemed to have been delivered with good judgment, for they sufficed to hold the enemy in check.
“The night was uncommonly dark but the Marblehead, anchored out in the bay, kept her searchlight trained on the thickets. The lightbeams—along with the muzzle flash of Mauser rifles—served to guide our aim.
“Snipers Became A Major Problem”
“At daylight on the 12th, the artillery field pieces, under the command of Lieutenants Long and McKelvy, commenced pounding the Spanish positions with rapid fire barrages. About this time, the Texas arrived and landed 40 marine reinforcements and two Colt machine guns. The weapons were hauled up the hill and mounted on the earthworks. The additional fire power promised more security for our men defending the camp, and gave Colonel Huntington the opportunity to deploy one company as skirmishers and move forward to dislodge the Spaniards. The efforts of the skirmishing party—supported by gunfire from the camp and numerous salvos from the Marblehead—seemed almost continuous, but the Spaniards kept shifting their attacks from place to place.

“Snipers became a major problem. Accordingly, all tents and supplies were moved to the side of the hill facing the bay, and a trench 40 yards long was dug on the south front. A barricade was also constructed as enemy forces were reported to be assembling for an all-out assault on Camp McCalla.
“At ten o’clock on the morning of the 12th, Privates Dumphy and McColgan and Surgeon Gibbs were buried on the south slope of the hill. The solemn ceremony was continually interrupted by the enemy—to whom the sacred purpose of those sharing in this observance must have been apparent. The prayers were concluded under the zing of Mauser bullets. The salutes we fired over the graves were aimed at the Spaniards.”
Following the burial service, a flagpole and a large American flag were sent ashore from the Marblehead. The permanent flag was raised over Camp McCalla by the Marine battalion adjutant, First Lt. Herbert L. Draper. As the Stars and Stripes whipped in the breeze, the Marines cheered and ships in the harbor fired salutes and blew their whistles.
At the conclusion of the flag-raising ceremony, a defense perimeter was established, and C and D Companies took over the outpost positions. Ten Cuban scouts were attached to each picket company.
Repelling the Spanish Charge of Camp
As soon as darkness settled over the jungle, a large Spanish force attacked the outposts. Hearing the gunfire, the Marblehead and Panther closed the shore and sent salvo after salvo into the woods. Several shells exploded in the vicinity of D Company. Word was quickly passed back to camp, and the ships were ordered to cease firing. Commander McCalla assumed responsibility for the error. He stated that upon noticing the muzzle flash from the Marine rifles, he had mistakenly believed that they were Mausers.
For most of the night, the men of D Company were kept busy defending their outpost. Under the circumstances, casualties were light.
Sergeant Major Henry Good and Private Goode Taurman were killed, and Privates Burke, Wallace, Martin, and Roxbury were wounded. Just before daybreak, a large Spanish force sneaked through the high brush on the hill and charged Camp McCalla, but was beaten back by heavy rifle and machine-gun fire.
Later in the morning, reinforcements of 50 Cuban insurgents commanded by Lt. Col. Enrique E. Tomas arrived. The Cubans, familiar with guerrilla tactics, deployed in front of the camp—burning the thicket as they advanced—and cleared an area so as to deny the Spaniards the cover they had been using to their advantage.
Sporadic enemy sniper fire continued to plague the Marines. They stayed by their guns, ready for immediate action. By nightfall, the battalion was on the verge of exhaustion. In addition to the unbearable heat, the Marines had not slept or rested for more than 72 hours.
At daybreak on June 14—while half the Marine battalion was at breakfast—the Spaniards launched a heavy attack on Camp McCalla from the direction of the Cuzco hills. But once again they were beaten back.
The Marblehead’s steam-launch, heading for Fisherman’s Point, opened fire on the retreating Spanish troops, chasing them along the beach with her rapid-fire one-pounder.
Colonel Huntington realized that his overly-tired Marines could not keep fighting off enemy raids, both day and night, while waiting for promised reinforcements to arrive.
A large-scale Spanish assault could possibly drive the battalion off the narrow beachhead. Huntington discussed the situation with Colonel Laborde. The Cuban commander suggested a surprise attack on the Spanish headquarters at Cuzco.
Defeat of the enemy troops—and destruction of their water supply—would force the Spaniards to withdraw from the area. A strategy conference was held with Commander McCalla, and the plan was given the go-ahead. It was nine o’clock when the Marines received their orders—and the sun was already hot and bright.

In his official report of the expedition, Captain George Elliott stated: “In accordance with verbal instructions, I left camp with 160 men of C and D companies—commanded respectively by First Lieutenant L.C. Lucas and Captain William F. Spicer. We were accompanied by 50 Cubans under Lieutenant Colonel Enrique Tomas. My orders were to destroy the well at Cuzco. This was the enemy’s only drinking water supply within 12 miles, and made possible the continuance of annoying attacks upon Camp McCalla.
When we were about three miles from Cuzco, I sent the first platoon of C Company, and 25 Cubans under Lieutenant Lucas, to traverse a high hill on the left. I had hoped to cut off any enemy pickets in the vicinity, however, our detachment was seen by a Spanish outpost. The Spaniards immediately ran to warn their main body of soldiers at Cuzco.
“Lucas and his platoon were successful in gaining the crest of the hill, but came under heavy enemy fire from the valley below—a distance of 800 yards. Meanwhile, Second Lieutenant P.M. Bannon led the second platoon of C Company along a path below the crest and hidden from view by the Spaniards. In order to keep from being seen, it soon became necessary for Bannon’s column to leave the narrow trail and proceed through the heavy brush. Captain Spicer and D Company followed in single file.
“We Were Under Attack By An Unseen Enemy”
“The crest of the hill was in the shape of a horseshoe—two-thirds encircling the Cuzco valley and the well. By late morning, C and D Companies, along with the Cubans, had occupied one-half of the horseshoe ridge.
“Meanwhile, Second Lieutenant L.J. Magill—on outpost duty with a platoon of A Company—heard the firing and came to our assistance. His detachment was directed to cover the left-center of the ridge.
“We were under attack by an unseen enemy. Individual Spaniards were sighted here and there and fired upon. They would dash from cover to cover, enabling us to find targets, which otherwise was impossible because of the thick chaparral in which the Spanish soldiers successfully concealed themselves.
“The enemy, rushing from one position to another, gave Magill’s platoon the opportunity to catch the Spaniards in a crossfire. The Spanish defense was quickly reduced to straggling shots.
“The Dolphin, which had been ordered to cruise along the shore and support us if necessary, was signaled to destroy the house used as the enemy’s headquarters, and also to bombard the valley.”
By this time, however, the ship had steamed too far up the coast and her shells began falling on Magill’s position, forcing the platoon to dig in on the reverse side of the ridge. Sergeant John H. Quick jumped to his feet and—amid a barrage of Mauser bullets—signaled the Dolphin to cease firing.
Lieutenant Magill was ordered to form a skirmish line and move down into the valley toward the sea. Lieutenant Lucas, with 40 men, fought his way into Cuzco, destroyed the well, and burned the building being used by the Spaniards as their headquarters.

Magill’s platoon ransacked the enemy’s shore signal station and confiscated a heliograph signal outfit that had been in constant use since the Marine landing.
The mission was a resounding success. Eighteen Spanish soldiers, including one officer, were captured—along with 30 Mauser rifles and a large quantity of ammunition. For the Americans, casualties were remarkably low—one Marine wounded and 12 overcome by the heat. Spanish losses were approximately 30 killed and 150 wounded. The fight at Cuzco was the first pitched battle between American and Spanish troops during the war. With their fresh-water supply cut off, the Spaniards retreated to Caimanera and the town of Guantànamo.
Striking the Spanish at Caimanera
On June 15, Captain John Philip, commanding the Texas, received orders to bombard the fort at Caimanera and drive out the Spaniards. The Texas, followed by the Marblehead, carefully steamed past the Toro Cays and entered the inner harbor. Captain Philip maneuvered the battleship as close to the shore as possible without running aground, and opened fire with his 12-inch battery. The Marblehead joined in the action—the blasts from its five-inchers drowned out by the thunder from the big guns of the Texas. The Suwanee took position off the starboard side of the Marblehead and participated in the attack.
Carlton T. Chapman, a war correspondent aboard the press boat Kanapaha, described the bombardment in vivid detail: “The St. Paul and other vessels remained in the lower bay. Sailors crowded the rigging and swarmed every lofty perch. They had grandstand seats and could see it all—the ships, the red-tile roofs of Caimanera, and the fort where exploding shells hurled thick clouds of yellow dust skyward.
“The marines on McCalla Hill had even a better view. A dark blue thundercloud in the background made a magnificent setting for the ships and the spiraling smoke which floated across the bay and melted into the distance.
“The sailors and marines cheered, shouted and waved their hats whenever a shell from the Texas struck the fort. The flash of the discharge and the resulting explosion seem to be instantaneous. Then comes the smoke from the guns—rolling and swelling out in a vast cloud—followed by shock waves from the explosions reverberating across the water and ringing in your ears.
“The battleship was silhouetted most of the time—standing out in bold relief against the flame and smoke one moment, and enveloped in a thick cloud of haze the next. Except for a few shots from the fort at the opening of the action, there was no reply from the Spaniards, The bombardment was halted after an hour and a quarter and the fighting men-of-war withdrew down the bay.”
The Marblehead’s launch remained in the channel and began grappling for mines. The boat’s crew had no sooner hooked one of the deadly devices when enemy soldiers along the shore opened fire on the sailors. The launch was struck several times, but the bow gunner turned his one-pounder on the Spaniards and the other members of the crew replied with their rifles. The battle was running hot and heavy. Suddenly the boat’s gun mounting loosened and the one-pounder fell overboard.
The Suwanee, hearing the shooting, dashed up the channel and shelled the enemy positions, driving the Spanish troops into the jungle. Henry Schrieder remarked: “Two mines were picked up by the Marblehead’sAdria launch. Both were French-made and packed with about a hundred pounds of guncotton each. The mines were manufactured in 1896 and placed in position when war was declared.

“Two Spanish soldiers came into camp and surrendered. They reported that their forces near Camp McCalla had been without food for three days, and one body of 500 men would give themselves up if not prevented by the officers.
“Spanish snipers in the bushes and trees along the north shore of the bay continue to be a nuisance. At dark, searchlight beams from the ships shined up and down the channel and into the thickets looking for any movement. About ten o’clock, the Marblehead, Suwanee, Dolphin and St. Paul steamed up the bay and bombarded the enemy shoreline for a half-hour.”
The following morning, June 16, the Oregon arrived escorting two large coal colliers. Captain Charles Clark, commanding officer of the Oregon, requested permission for his men to get in some target practice. The request was granted and, in the early afternoon, the Oregon fired a few salvos into Caimanera—hitting the telegraph office and railroad station. As soon as the first shell exploded, a train standing alongside the station immediately put on a full head of steam and took off up the tracks with its whistle shrieking.
Huntington Targets Remaining Resistance
A few days after the bombardment of Caimanera, Commander McCalla began to concentrate his efforts on clearing the enemy minefield, which still posed a danger to ships. A minesweeping operation was carried out using two steam-launches and two whaleboats from the Marblehead and Dolphin—but they were quickly fired upon by a detachment of Spanish infantry across from the Toro Cays. McCalla was determined to eliminate the danger, and an expedition was planned.
At three o’clock on the morning of June 25, Colonel Huntington left camp with C and E Companies, along with 60 Cubans under Lt. Col. Tomas. Their mission was to clean out Spanish resistance on the west side of the bay.
The Marines crossed the channel in 15 boats. Henry Schrieder narrated: “The Marblehead took position close to the beach to cover the landing. The boats advanced in three columns and the marines were landed quietly and rapidly. A thorough reconnaissance was made, but the enemy was gone. Evidence indicated that they had left in a great hurry—probably the night before. We reembarked at nine o’clock. A column of Spaniards was seen from the Marblehead—one or two men at a time crossing a dry lagoon a few miles to the northwest. They were not fired upon.”
Meanwhile, around June 22 to June 25, an American expeditionary force of about 16,000 men had landed east of Santiago without opposition. A week later, the historic battles of El Caney and San Juan Heights ended in victory for U.S. forces, and opened up the approaches to Santiago itself.
On the morning of July 3, a demand was sent to the city’s commander, Arsenio Linares, to surrender the town or suffer bombardment. After several days of negotiations, Linares surrendered the city on July 15.
Less than a week after the surrender of Santiago, Guantànamo Bay was used as a staging area for the invasion of Puerto Rico. This was the last important episode for Guantànamo Bay in the Spanish-American War. The conflict ended on August 12, 1898, with the signing of the peace protocol and an armistice.
The American base at Guantànamo Bay was not formalized by lease agreement between the United States and Cuba until five years later, when in 1903 it was acquired as a coaling and naval station.
In 1903, George F. Elliott was appointed Brigadier General Commandant of the Marine Corps, relieving Maj. Gen. Charles Heywood. Elliott was the only commandant to receive his early training at West Point, and retired with the rank of major general in 1910.