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.