Читать книгу Exploits and Adventures of a Soldier Ashore and Afloat - William Llewellyn Adams - Страница 7

The “Pandora Box”—​Call for Volunteers—​Mustered In—​Breaking of Horses at Mt. Gretna—​Liberality of the Ladies of Harrisburg and Hazleton—​Departure of the Tenth Pennsylvania for the Philippines—​My First Rebuff, by Major-General Graham—​Thirty Thousand Soldiers Celebrate the Victory of Santiago—​Troopers Decorated with Flowers by the Maidens of Richmond—​The Concert Halls of Newport News—​The Ghost Walks—​Off for the Front—​Convoyed by Battleships—​Porto Rico—​Spanish Hospitality—​Wounded by a Shell—​Jack the “Mascot” Passes the Deal—​Reception in New York, Harrisburg, and Hazleton.

The destruction of the United States battleship Maine in Havana harbor, on the night of February 15, 1898, was the key to the mysterious “Pandora Box,” containing maps of new United States possessions, the commission of an admiral, the creation of a President, the construction of a formidable army and navy, the humiliation of a proud nation, and numerous other undisputed ascendencies.

The uncivilized, brutal, and oppressive methods resorted to by the Spaniards in conducting military operations on the Island of Cuba and other territory adjacent to the United States had long been a theme of discussion by patriotic and sympathizing Americans. When the news flashed over the wires that the big man-of-war, the Maine, had been blown up and two hundred and sixty-six members of her gallant crew had been sent to a watery grave, the hearts of American youths burned with indignation and every mother’s son yearned to avenge what was considered Spanish treachery. What followed is entered in the archives of American history and is familiar to all. The call for volunteers was responded to universally, there being so many applicants to fill the ranks that only the flower of the American youth was accepted.

When the news was wired broadcast that Commodore Dewey had fairly annihilated the Spanish fleet in Asiatic waters, without the loss of a man, there was a burst of enthusiasm that can well be imagined by those too young to remember the occasion. At 9.00 A.M. on the second of May, 1898, this news was received in Hazleton, Pennsylvania. It was followed by a telegram from the Captain of the “Governor’s Troop,” Pennsylvania Volunteer Cavalry, of Harrisburg, which stated that twelve vacancies existed in that troop and that in accordance with the request of Governor Hastings these vacancies should be filled with the first volunteers from the city of Hazleton. In two hours’ time the recipient of the telegram, Mr. Willard Young, had notified and enlisted twelve of Hazleton’s stalwart sons, and at 7.40 A.M. the next morning, amidst the waving of the national colors and cheers from the populace the boys were escorted by the famous old Liberty Band to the Lehigh Valley Station where, after bidding adieu to relatives, sweethearts, and friends, they boarded a train for Mt. Gretna, the military rendezvous.

The men who comprised this Hazleton assemblage were—

Ario P. Platte, Jr.

Schuyler Ridgeway

John J. Turnbach

William K. Byrnes

Willard Young

Charles H. Rohland

Edward R. Turnbach

Stephen A. Barber

Edwin W. Barton

Herbert S. Houck

Clarence H. Hertz

William L. Adams

En route to Pottsville the train was boarded by my life-long friend, David L. Thomas, who was on his way to his law office. On learning the destination of the patriots he laid down his “Blackstone” and wired his parents in Mahanoy City that he had cast his fortunes with the avengers of Spanish tyranny. Of this group of volunteers, two loyal soldiers have answered the last roll call, namely: Ario P. Platte, Jr., and David L. Thomas.

Arriving at Mt. Gretna we beheld, under miles of canvas, Pennsylvania’s gallant National Guard. Upon inquiry we found the cavalry headquarters, consisting of the “City Troop” of Philadelphia, the “Sheridan Troop” of Tyrone, and the “Governor’s Troop” of Harrisburg, stationed in a clump of forest near the lake.

Immediately reporting to Captain Ott, commanding the “Governor’s Troop,” we were assigned to quarters in large Sibly tents and met the old members of the troop, among whom I was delighted to find Feight and Barker, two classmates of mine at “Dickinson Seminary.” We were at once issued mess kits, the most necessary equipment required by a soldier when not in the face of the enemy, and, roaming hither and thither, awaited the usual medical examination preparatory to being mustered into the service of the United States, which, after several dreary and monotonous days, occurred on the 13th of May. After being fitted in natty cavalry uniforms we were drilled twice daily on foot by an ex-sergeant of the regular army, whose service in the regulars had qualified him for the arduous task of breaking in raw recruits. This drill was an experience not relished very much, as profound obedience was required, and many wished the war was over before it had really begun.

Before bringing the troop to attention, the sergeant would usually say: “Now boys, I want you to pay attention to my orders, and if you make mistakes I am apt to say some things I do not really mean.” So we would take his word for this, but ofttimes thought things we did mean. This was his song: “Fall in,” “Troop attention,” “Right dress,” “Front,” “Count off,” “Backward guide right,” “March,” “As skirmishers,” “March,” “Get some speed on you,” “Wake up,” “Wake up,” “Assemble double time,” “March,” “Look to the front, and get in step, you walk like farmers hoeing corn,” “Close in,” “Close in,” “Take up that interval.” These were the daily commands, until the troop was able to execute close and extended order to perfection. Then came the horses, and the monkey drill, and some pitiful sights of horsemanship, until each of the boys had accustomed himself to his own horse and had become hardened to the saddle.

DETACHMENT OF GOVERNOR’S TROOP, MT. GRETNA PA., 1898.

At first we were equipped with the old Springfield rifle, but this was soon replaced by the Krag-Jorgensen carbine. Each trooper was soon fully equipped as follows: horse, McClellen saddle, saddle bags, bridle, halter, and horse blanket, carbine, saber, Colt revolver, belts, and ammunition, canteen, mess kits, sleeping blanket, shelter half, and uniforms.

The ladies of Harrisburg and Hazleton were extremely generous to the troop. From Harrisburg each soldier received a large and beautiful yellow silk neckerchief, a Bible, and a large quantity of pipes and tobacco. From Hazleton came literature and boxes after boxes of edibles, which were greatly relished by the troopers.

Some time was consumed in the breaking of horses, getting them bridle wise, and training them to the saddle, and this afforded great amusement to the thousands of spectators who visited the reservation daily. The troop, which consisted of one hundred privates and three commissioned officers, was made up of men from various walks of life. Lawyers, athletes, students, merchants, ex-regular-army soldiers, cowboys, and Indians swapped stories around the camp-fires at night. Every day, after the usual routine of duty had been performed, games of all descriptions were indulged in, poker under the shade of an “A” wall tent usually predominating. One of the entertaining features of the camp was a quartette of singers, members of the “Sheridan” and “Governor’s” troops, and ex-members of the University of Pennsylvania Glee Club. These boys were always in demand.

“Broncho buster,” George S. Reed, an ex-Texas ranger, Nome gold miner, and survivor of several duels, the most noted man of the “Governor’s Troop,” had cast his fortunes with the soldier “lay out,” and had boasted that there never was a broncho foaled that he could not cling to. “Broncho’s” debut as an equestrian was to ride a horse we called the “rat,” a bad one. Reed had great difficulty in getting his foot in the stirrup, as this animal would bite, buck, and kick, and besides held a few tricks in reserve. Finally, taking a desperate chance, “Broncho” swung himself into the saddle and the show was on. The horse plunged, bolted, and bucked, in trying to unseat the rider. When all efforts seemed to have been exhausted, the “rat” bucked, and made a complete somersault, rolling the ranger on the turf, then rising and doing a contortion, wriggled through the saddle girth and blanket, and bolted for the timber. “That horse is mad,” said Reed, brushing the dust from his uniform. “Did you see it loop the loop?” The horse that fell to “Broncho’s” lot was a gentle animal, that could tell by instinct when the canteen was empty, and would stand without hitching at any point where the goods could be supplied.

Each day brought forth news of the mobilization of troops and the progress of the war. Mt. Gretna, an ideal place for a military rendezvous, presented a grand spectacle. Regiments were rigidly disciplined and drilled to the requirements of war, sham battles were fought, galloping horsemen could be seen repulsing the enemy, while the wild cheering of the infantry in the charge, and the reckless maneuvering of artillery in establishing points of vantage for getting into action, had the aspect of mimic war.

Days rolled by and the troops yearned for active service. The Tenth Pennsylvania Infantry, having received orders to proceed to the Philippine Islands, was the first regiment to break the monotony. There was great activity in breaking camp, and a speedy departure amidst a wild demonstration enthused the boys whose fate lay with the fortunes of war, and whose valiant bravery along the south line, from Bacoor to Manila, will ever remain vivid in the annals of the insurrection.

The news of the departure of the “Rough Riders” for Cuba was heralded with much joy as a forerunner of our getting to the front, also the distribution of regiments to southern camps, where the sons of the “Blue and the Gray” commingled and fraternized as comrades fighting for the same cause, and spun yarns of the bloody strife of the rebellion in which their fathers had opposed each other in a bitter struggle.

The promulgation of the general order directing our departure for the South was received with cheers. Breaking camp was immediately begun, the loading of horses and equipment on the train being accomplished with the dexterity of a troop of regulars. All along the route the train met with an ovation. There was waving of flags and handkerchiefs, bells were tolled, and the shrill whistles of factories welcomed the boys on to the front. Arriving at Falls Church, Virginia, we at once set to work unloading our horses and accoutrements of war, which was accomplished with almost insuperable difficulty, due to our having reached our destination at night and in a blinding rain-storm.

Among the members of our troop was a Swedish Count, and at this point I recall a little incident which it will not be amiss to relate. We had unloaded our horses and were awaiting orders, when the Count approached me and said:

““Bill, ven do ve eat?”

““I guess we don’t eat, Count,” I replied; “these are the horrors of war.”

“Vell, py tam,” said the Count, “dis vore vas all horrores. I vanted to blay benuckle on der train und der corporal say: ‘You go mit der baggage car, unt cook some beans,’ unt by tam, I couldn’t cook vater yet.”

We remained at Falls Church over night, and in the morning marched to Camp Alger through blinding torrents of rain and fetlock-deep in mud. This camp, like most Southern camps, was very unhealthy, the heat was stifling, and many soldiers succumbed to fever. Here the troops of cavalry were consolidated into a squadron, consisting of Troop “A” of New York, Troop “C” of Brooklyn, “City Troop” of Philadelphia, “Sheridan Troop” of Tyrone, and “The Governor’s Troop” of Harrisburg, under the command of Major Jones, formerly captain of the “Sheridan Troop,” who relieved Captain Groome, of the “City Troop” of Philadelphia, who had been temporarily in command.

Camp Alger was a city of tents, as far as the eye could discern in every direction, there being about thirty thousand soldiers in the camp. My first duty at this Post was a detail as “orderly,” at General Graham’s headquarters. With a well-groomed horse, polished saddle, and soldierly immaculateness, I reported for duty. Entering the General’s spacious tent and saluting, I said:

“Sir, Trooper Adams, of the ‘Governor’s Troop,’ reports as orderly to the Commanding General.”

“Very well,” replied the General; “give the Colonel of the Second Tennessee my compliments and tell him I will review his regiment at 4.30 P.M.”

“Yes, sir, but, by the way, General,” said I, “where is the Second Tennessee located?”

“Make an about face and follow your nose,” the old man replied, and I did; but if the old General could have heard the mute invectives aimed at him I probably never would have told this yarn. I do not blame him now, as I realize how unmilitary I was. I had no difficulty in finding the Colonel of the Second Tennessee, as I kept my nose right in front of me.

The news of the victory of Santiago was celebrated by the troops in gorgeous style. Regiment followed regiment in wild acclaim, cheers after cheers resounded from the throats of the thirty thousand soldiers who were anxiously awaiting their call to the front. Bonfires of tar barrels were kept burning all night, and the excitement of the camp was intense.

The cavalry was ordered to Newport News to await the arrival of the transports; but, unlike the Sixth Massachusetts, that was stoned in Baltimore at the outbreak of the rebellion, our greetings in the South were exceptionally friendly. At Richmond bouquets of flowers were scattered in profusion among the soldiers, and many a fair maiden left the station with a pair of cross sabers pinned to her shirtwaist.

Our camp at Newport News was on sandy soil on the banks of the James River, which afforded excellent bathing and fishing. Here the cavalry received their khaki uniforms, which were the first issued to United States troops and had the appearance of an officer’s regimentals. As a consequence it was a common sight to see a “doughboy” saluting a trooper as he strolled through the city. A member of a Kentucky regiment was heard to remark: “That Pennsylvania cavalry is hot stuff; they are all officers.”

A few days after pitching camp, something happened; it is an occasion when a soldier possesses that air of complacency which invariably pervades the atmosphere. It is when the “ghost walks” (pay day) that the soldier is not only happy, but has a keen desire for making every one with whom he comes in contact happy. As a dispenser of pleasure, when he has “the necessary,” his speed brooks no competition, and all others look like “pikers” compared with “the man behind the gun.”

In 1898 Barton’s Theatre and Concert Hall was a nightly scene of revelry, by cavalry, artillery, and infantry, and from a spectator’s point of view it was hard to decide which was of more interest, the scenes in front or in rear of the footlights. Songs that reached a soldier’s heart were sung by dashing “prima donnas from the cottonfields of Dixie,” the soldiers joining in the chorus. After the “ghost had walked” this particular concert hall fell into the hands of the boys, among whom was found talent far surpassing anything behind the footlights. The soubrettes of the ballet dance mingled with the boys, and these scenes were equivalent to the “Can Can” of the famous “Red Mill” of Paris, or a Creole “Bal Masque” during a New Orleans “Mardi Gras.”

As the orchestra struck up the music to “For he is only a Soldier Boy,” a dashing southern beauty, in military costume, would saunter to the footlights, accompanied by a chorus of lesser lights, whose evolutions, combined with their singing, were extremely pretty and inspiring to the soldiers. This sketch brought forth deafening applause, dying out only as a trooper announced that he would endeavor to recite “The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere,” or perhaps “Tam O’Shanter,” while another would volunteer to inflict us with “Casey at the Bat” or “The Face upon the Bar-room Floor,” to the mournful strains from the dirge of Imogen, a sure harbinger for the dispensers of “sangaree” to get busy and take orders. Another song, and the dance was on once more and continued until the “dog watch” of the night, when the soldiers realized that at reveille every man must be in ranks to answer to the call of his name or suffer the alternative, a berth in the “brig.”

This was the bright side of war, and, as each soldier was intent on getting to the front, it was the exception rather than the rule to hear of a misdemeanor being committed, or even to hear of a man being confined to the “guard house.”

Newport News was a gay place in ’98. Its people were very hospitable and friendly with the troops. Old Point Comfort and the Forts of Hampton Roads were but a short run by rail from the camp, and these were favorite resorts of the soldiers. Great excitement prevailed when the order for the Porto Rican expedition—“Pennsylvania Cavalry to the front”—​was received.

The transport Manitoba had been fitted from an old cattle scow to a serviceable troop-ship, and had just returned from conveying a detachment of “Rough Riders” to Cuba. This vessel was spacious but lacking in the accommodations of our present-day transports that ply the Pacific. Considerable time was spent in getting our horses and munitions of war on board. When the signal to cast loose and provide was given we had on board three troops of cavalry, three batteries of field artillery, one battalion of Kentucky infantry, and detachments of engineer, hospital, and signal corps, seven hundred head of horses, and three hundred head of mules, besides the cargo of munitions of war.

Our time on board was occupied in preparing for a harder campaign than materialized. Carbines and six-shooters were oiled, and sabers burnished (the scabbards of these, being nickel-plated, required merely a coating of oil to keep them from rust). Our boots were greased, and the front and rear sights of our carbines were blackened. The boys scalloped the rims of their campaign hats, and some were tattooed by adepts in the art. Cards and reading were other pastimes of the voyage.

The fifth day out the United States cruiser Columbia and battleship Indiana were sighted; they had come to convoy the ship into the harbor of Playa Del Ponce. Arriving in the harbor at night, we had the misfortune to run on a sand-bar, where, being compelled to anchor with a list of about forty degrees, the possibility of our landing at night became rather vague. While making preparations for an attempt to land, a heavy gale encompassed the bay, making our position perilous, and, as this continued throughout the following day, it was with the utmost difficulty that our horses and mules were landed, a number of them being swung overboard and allowed to swim ashore.

Having finally reached the ground of the enemy, great precaution was taken to avoid a surprise; the water was inspected to make sure that it contained no poisonous substance and the orders in posting sentinels were rigidly enforced—​each sentry before being posted had to be thoroughly familiar with his orders, being required to repeat them verbatim, and was also admonished as to the importance of keeping constantly on the alert. He was forewarned that to be found asleep on post in the enemy’s country meant to be tried by court-martial and if convicted to suffer the penalty of death.

Our first rendezvous was alongside of an old Spanish cathedral, surrounded by plantations of sugarcane, coffee, hemp, and tobacco; here we pitched a camp of shelter or “dog-tents” as they were generally called. As we were getting our accoutrements of war in shape the rapid fire of the Sixteenth Pennsylvania engaging the enemy could be distinctly heard, this engagement, however, being of short duration, like all other Spanish-American encounters in the West Indies.

Playa Del Ponce is the port of the city of Ponce, and is the shipping point for that section of the Island of Porto Rico. The town is surrounded by rich plantations of tobacco, coffee, sugarcane, and rice, also trees teeming with oranges, cocoanuts, guavas, lemons, grape-fruit, and groves of bananas and plantains. The staple production of the island is tobacco, from which is manufactured a very choice brand of cigars. The city of Ponce lies inland a distance of about three miles, and is typically Spanish in its architecture.

Shortly after our arrival at Playa Del Ponce, I had occasion to take my horse in the ocean for a swim, which was great sport and beneficial to the animal. In dismounting on my return to the beach, I had the painful misfortune to tread on a thin sea shell which penetrated my heel, breaking into several pieces. On my return to the camp I found the troop surgeon had left for Ponce, so seeking the assistance of a Spanish-Porto Rican physician, one Garcia Del Valyo, I was relieved after considerable probing, of the broken pieces of shell. The wet season being in progress and our hospital facilities limited, the doctor kindly offered me quarters in his beautiful residence, and recommended to my troop commander that I remain at his home until my wound had healed. To this the officer acquiesced.

I was given a room overlooking the bay on one side, with the town bounding the other; a crutch and an oil-cloth shoe were provided for me, with which I was able to hobble around with the two beautiful daughters of the old gentleman, namely, Anita and Consuelo Del Valyo. They spoke the Anglo-Saxon language fairly well and taught me my first lessons in Spanish, while I in return instructed them in my language. Both were artistes, being skilled in painting, sculpture, and music, and I often recall the happy evenings spent listening to the sweet notes of “La Paloma” as sung to the trembling tones of a mandolin accompaniment. Traditional custom permitted the piano and various Spanish songs during the day, but never “La Paloma,” wine, and the “Fandango” until after twilight. It was a picturesque sight to watch these senoritas perform the “Fandango,” clicking the castanets and gracefully tapping the tambourine as they whirled through coils of cigarette smoke.

I spent nine days in this hospitable domicile and was sorry when my wound had healed, but alas! I had to join my troop, which had departed for the interior. Before leaving Playa Del Ponce, I was presented with a small gold case containing the miniatures of these charming ladies. During the campaign on the island, I made several trips in to see them, accompanied by members of the troop, and before our departure from Porto Rico, had the extreme pleasure of attending a genuine Porto Rican “Fiesta.” It is sad to relate that the entire family suffered the fate of a large percentage of the population of Playa Del Ponce, in the terrible tidal wave which swept that portion of the island in 1899. Far be it from me to ever forget the kindness, engaging presence, and irresistible charm of these unfortunate people.

On my way to join the troop, I met the Sixteenth Pennsylvania Infantry, escorting about eight hundred prisoners of war into the city, where they were to remain in incarceration until the arrival of the transports which were to convey the Spanish soldiers to Spain. When they halted near the old stockade in the city of Ponce I secured some unique curios including a Spanish coronet of solid gold (a watch charm), rings, knives, Spanish coins, and ornaments of various kinds.

Having finally reached my troop and reported for duty, I joined my old “bunkies,” Young and Turnbach, and learned from them that the soldiers were starving to death on a diet commonly known as “canned Eagan,” others dubbed it “embalmed beef” and swore that no cattle were ever taken alive that supplied such meat, as they were too tough to surrender. Suffice it to say it was at least a very unwholesome diet. The British bull-dog “Jack,” a “blue ribbon” winner that had been purchased at a London dog-show by Norman Parke, a member of the troop, was a worthy “mascot” and general favorite among the soldiers of the squadron. Parke, having been detailed as orderly to Colonel Castleman, which necessitated his absence from the troop, presented the dog to Trooper Schuyler Ridgeway, in whom “Jack” found an indulgent master. Schuyler, in order to demonstrate the quality of the “encased mystery,” had a can of it tapped, and invited the dog to sink his teeth in it. “Jack” with true bull-dog sagacity refused, realizing, I presume, that it would be attempted suicide, and withdrawing a short distance gave vent to his spleen by a wicked growl, after which a pitiful whine which seemed to say, “Home was never like this.” Reed, the ranger, said he had played the starvation game before, even to chopping wood in some kind lady’s woodshed for his dinner, and added that Spanish bullets were only a side line to the present grit he had hit.

Camp life in the tropics in active service was not without its pleasures, however, and, as fruit grew in abundance, sustenance was maintained even if it was of the Indian variety. Details of mounted scouting parties galloped through the mountains daily, taking observations and frequently exchanging shots with guerrillas, who in riding and marksmanship were no match for the American troopers. The cavalry squadron figured in several skirmishes, but the retreat of the Spanish from the carbine volleys and glittering sabers of their foe put them to rout, so that I doubt if the same troops ever reassembled.

At last the news of the armistice was received, hostilities had ceased, and preparations for the trip to the home land were begun. Hither and thither we had marched for months, in cold and hot climates, slept in rain under ponchos with saddle-bags for pillows, lived on the scanty rations of field service, and now the time had come for our return, the war being practically over. The transport Mississippi, a miserable specimen of “troop-ship,” had been put at our disposal, and was to convey the greater part of General Miles’ expedition to New York City.

After striking camp and loading all the equipage of war accessories onto army schooners, a march of a few hours brought the cavalry to the point of embarkation. Playa Del Ponce presented a spectacle of grand military activity. Soldiers representing the army in all its branches were busily engaged in storing aboard ship the munitions of war and necessary rations for the homeward bound voyage. The artillery and cavalry were spared the irksome duty of loading their horses, these animals being left behind for the relief of the “regulars.” When all was in readiness and the signal given, the “homeward bound pennant” was flown to the breeze, as the ship’s bell tolled seven. Steaming northwest over a sea of calm saline billows, three cheers from the deck of the transport resounded to the shore, and, as the troops wafted adieu to this verdant island of the West Indies, it was with silent regret that lack of opportunity had prevented them from accomplishing the notable achievements of their forefathers—​but such are the fortunes of war.

Our return was uneventful until we reached Sandy Hook, where the transport was met and convoyed through New York Harbor by myriads of yachts, launches, and tugs loaded with relatives and friends of the boys who had offered their lives for their country and many of whom the grim reaper had grasped from loving ties and the comradeship of their compatriots.

The reception in New York City was one grand elaboration of hospitality, evidenced by the demonstration of the thousands of people who thronged the landing place. Numerous bands of music played inspiring airs, as the city’s fair ladies dispensed chicken sandwiches and demijohns of wine to the soldiers, while others fairly covered the squadron with garlands of beautiful flowers. The reception in New York lasted about four hours, after which the “Governor’s Troop,” led by its gallant commander, Captain (now Major) Ott, of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, marched to and boarded a section of Pennsylvania Railroad coaches, and was ere long rolling over the rails toward the capital of the Keystone State.

On the arrival at Harrisburg, the home of the “Governor’s Troop,” an immense demonstration awaited the boys. Leaving the train in their worn habiliments of the jungle, the troopers were soon dressed in ranks, answered roll call, had counted off, and were marching behind a band of music, under a bower of pyrotechnics that resembled a mythological scene in “Hades.” After parading through the principal streets of the city, the troop was marched to the armory, which was beautifully decorated for the occasion; here the battle-scarred heroes of a successful campaign sat down to a banquet, over which an host of Harrisburg’s fair maidens presided. Oh for a moving picture of that scene! Each soldier wore a vestige of the pretty silk neckerchief the Harrisburg ladies had presented him with. Speeches were made by prominent citizens, songs were sung and toasts responded to, and it was with a feeling of deep appreciation that the troop left the banquet hall to seek a much-needed rest. The following day was spent in meeting friends and relating episodes of the campaign.

A TROOPER

The Hazletonian complement of the “Governor’s Troop” had been apprised of a demonstration awaiting them at their home city, and upon the reception of the prescribed two months’ furlough, departed for the scene of the climax to the campaign. This Hazleton greeting was the most enthusiastic reception of all, perhaps because this was home. Alighting from the cars amidst thousands of people who thronged the platform and streets, the soldiers were met by a committee, relatives, and friends, and it was with great difficulty that the horses provided for the troopers were reached. As each man swung into the saddle, the famous old Liberty Band struck up a march, and as the procession, consisting of the Band, Reception Committee, Clergy, Grand Army, National Guard, Police, Fire Department, Secret Organizations, and others, turned into the main street of the city, a burst of exultation extolled the welcome home, and as the line of march advanced between thousands of people under a bower of phosphorescence it was with a keen sensibility of delight that we had lived to enjoy such a unique and prodigious reception. A sumptuous banquet was tendered the cavalrymen in the spacious dining-hall of the Central Hotel, where addresses and toasts were made by prominent Hazletonians, terminating a successful campaign of the “Governor’s Troop.” After the expiration of the two months’ furlough, this troop of cavalry was mustered out of the service of the United States.