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.
[Illustration: 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.