CHAPTER VIII.
THE FIGHT THAT FAILED.
Much has been written and more said about "the night before the battle." Then it is, that sentiment is supposed to seize upon a soldier; thoughts and talks of home, wife and mother are proper, and in fact necessary, according to all writers of fiction. But even in the face of this traditional outline of a soldier's last hours before an engagement, it must be written that the City Troopers retained their characteristic coolness. On that Friday evening a close observer of the Troopers' camp would have supposed that the men were upon familiar ground, and that a battle was months in the future, instead of being as sure to take place on the morrow as anything could be in human foresight.
All down the line the saddle packing went on amid jests and laughter. Had the Troopers been preparing for a homeward journey they could not have seemed more light-hearted. Few men spoke of the coming battle at all, yet it was in every heart, and many men felt a lump rise in their throats as the popular First Sergeant blurted out these words: "In a scrap like this the cavalry is sure to be heavily engaged. A good many of us are bound to be stopped, and, good God! just think of digging a hole to chuck one of this outfit in."
Captain Groome paced in front of company headquarters for nearly an hour, with only his inevitable cigar as a companion. Dozens of the men watched him, and speculated as to his meditations. Lieutenants Browning and McFadden passed through the camp several times, speaking with the men on minor matters, and avoiding absolutely all talk of the coming day. Later in the evening they wrote letters.
Within an hour after taps the heavy rumbling of artillery began to be heard. Five batteries, numbering thirty guns, passed near the camp during the hours between midnight and four o'clock, and many a sleepless Trooper listened anxiously to the bumping, thumping and rattling as the guns, caissons and ammunition wagons kept rolling by.
When the Troopers tumbled out at four o'clock it was pitch dark, and the everlasting rain was descending in torrents. A few feeble glimmering lanterns supplied just enough light to show the rain-filled plates, in which bacon and potatoes floated unconcernedly about. Coffee was consumed in quantities that only Troopers know how to master; and then, in the midst of the darkness and flood, feeding, saddling and loading of ox carts was accomplished. On this morning of battle little attention had been paid to uniforming. Some men wore Khaiki breeches, others the old familiar blue. Hats and caps of all varieties were seen, several men wearing broad straw hats secured from the natives. All wore blue shirts of various ages and conditions of cleanliness. Sleeves were rolled up, and scarcely two men appeared in the same kind of boots. The closest friends of the Troopers would never have recognized the rain-bedraggled warriors as the same men who so often had shone resplendent in the streets of Philadelphia as the guard of honor of The President or distinguished soldiers.
At last the command came, "Prepare to mount," and a moment later the cavalrymen had swung into the saddle, where they found themselves seated in good-sized puddles. The City Troop mounted ninety-five men and three officers, the only absentees being Privates Wetherill and Rowland, on sick report in Philadelphia; Brooke, in the Red Cross Hospital at Ponce, and Trumpeter Brossman, in a hospital at Guayama.
Captain Groome, in a blue silk shirt, Khaiki breeches, rode at the head of the column, while on his left rode Lieutenant Browning, in full Khaiki, and Lieutenant Ryan, commander of H Troop of the Sixth regular cavalry. Behind them came H Troop's trumpeter and the City Troop's faithful trumpeter, Dick Singer. Then the head of the column, Sergeant Wagner, with the guidon, and Sergeant Thibault and Private Bower leading the long line of two's. Each saddle had a poncho strapped upon it, the carbine swung from the off side, saber opposite to the carbine; each man wore a belt of one hundred Krag-Jorgensen cartridges, with his revolver strung in his belt. On the cantle behind, each man carried his blanket wrapped in his half of a shelter tent.
EN ROUTE TO THE BATTLEFIELD. MILITARY ROAD FROM GUAYAMA TO CANEY.
Without warning the sun came out in all its fury, and then occurred the phenomena, often witnessed there, of rain falling from an apparently clear sky. The hot sun made the rain come down much like steam, but it ceased to fall after a few minutes.
At six o'clock the two troops were in Guayama, and halted by the Custom House, while Captain Groome reported to General Brooke for orders. Half an hour was spent by the Troopers watching the passing of artillery, infantry, hospital and signal corps men. Sometime before seven o'clock Captain Groome returned with orders to go into line of battle and cover the left flank of the Americans. Simultaneous with the movement of the cavalry the entire brigade of four regiments, consisting of the Third Ohio, Third Illinois, Fourth Pennsylvania and Sixth Illinois, were also off. As the Troop passed along the road at a trot it overtook the Sixth Illinois and Fourth Pennsylvania. The infantry received orders to let the cavalry through, and the mass of soldiers parted. Away at a trot, between this friendly gauntlet of cheering infantrymen, the Troopers rode amid all sorts of shouts. The foot soldiers thought the cavalry was going in to deploy as skirmishers and start the fight, so they gave the Troopers a good, hearty American cheer, and from each company came encouraging yells, such as: "Give them bullets, boys!" "We will follow you!" And the Fourth Pennsylvania gave three times three for the City Troop and Old Pennsylvania. All in all it was a moment that the Philadelphia riders will not soon forget.
The Spanish earthworks, as nearly as could be made out by the Troopers, were something in the form of an S. After a two-mile ride the fresh dirt on these trenches was plainly visible, and it seemed that a few minutes more riding would bring the Troop within the range of the Spaniards. Suddenly the course turned abruptly to the left and the Troop came upon Major General Brooke and his staff, standing on a little hill to the right of the road, waiting for the artillery to get into position. Captain Groome reported to General Brooke, and received orders to take the two troops of cavalry into an adjoining field, to dismount the men and unsaddle the horses. There, surrounded by beautiful tropical flowers and heavy foliage, the men awaited the boom of the cannon, which had been agreed upon as the signal for opening the battle.
Strangely out of place looked the grim weapons and warlike trappings in that garden spot. Beneath the towering palm and rubber trees, amid hundreds of crimson blossoms the Philadelphia men gathered in groups to discuss the outlook, while their horses grazed at their feet.
It began to rain again about eleven o'clock, a dark, steaming drizzle. In the midst of it Mr. Davies, of the New York Sun, came over to inspect the cavalry. He informed Captain Groome that Major Redmond, in charge of the artillery, had just announced that he would open fire in a half hour.
A look down the line of the City Troopers at this crucial moment revealed still an absolutely amazing indifference to the conflict now all but upon them—most of their men were asleep. The three officers were sitting by the roadside chatting together a couple of hundred feet away from the remainder of the Troop. At the head of the column, with his arm through his bridle rein, lay Sergeant Wagner asleep. Sergeant Martin and Private Robb were entertaining a dozen or so of the men with an argument as to the relative charms of a Philadelphia girl and a native girl, "fat, black and greasy, with a cigar stuck in her face." A little farther back, sitting on the ground, was Harry Riley, holding the big bay mule he had been riding since reaching the island; he was quiet, but the mule was not. Next came a group composed of Billy Bates, whose beautiful little grey was lying at his feet like a faithful dog, Charlie Smith, Hecksher, Cliff Pemberton, Harry Godfrey, Bromley Wharton, the two Warden boys, Fred Neilson and "Doug" Jacobs. Charlie Smith was inviting them all to lunch with him on the mountain where the Spaniards were encamped. Coulston and Woodman were talking Spanish to each other, and Mills and Wheeler were asleep. Way in front were Jim Starr and Frank Bower, standing on a knoll and trying to see the batteries get into position, while Carroll Smyth, George McFadden and Charlie Brinton went about among the different groups distributing crackers.
In a nearby field a corps of field telegraph operators could be seen stringing their wires from tree to tree, and at times making use of the wire fences for continuing their lines.
About one o'clock Lieutenant Reynolds rode into camp at a furious rate and gave an order to General Brooke, who was standing in the road about three hundred yards to the right of the Troopers camp. At once the assembly sounded, and with many a sternly muttered, "At last," the City Troopers mounted and took their places.
Lieutenant Browning rode up, and all ears were strained to catch the order to advance. The lieutenant looked as if he was thoroughly disgusted with life, as in a calm tone he said: "The men will fall in and ride back to camp; General Miles has ordered all military operations to cease."
"Oh, hell!" exclaimed a Trooper near the lieutenant, throwing down his carbine as the pent up disappointment and suspense in his heart sought expression almost involuntarily. This forcible exclamation, and more particularly the tone in which it was uttered, seemed to represent the feelings of the entire Troop.
Listlessly the men mounted, grumbled "one, two, three, four," and sought a new camping ground at Hacienda De Placida. A more downcast lot of men than turned in that Saturday night, of August 13th, would be hard to find. By night it was told through camp how a messenger, on a played-out horse, had reached General Brooke with the order from General Miles, just as the gunners of Battery B, of Pittsburgh, had their hands on the lanyards awaiting General Brooke's orders to pull and give the signal for attack. Mr. Davies, of the New York Sun, afterward told Captain Groome that General Brooke had given the messenger a scanty welcome, and had remarked that he might have spared his horse a little, although his haste undoubtedly saved many lives.