Here were assembled on the evening of Aug. 8, 1898, all the forces assigned
to General Schwan, with the exception of Troop "A," Fifth Cavalry, which
did not appear until some thirty hours later. The command was composed of
the Eleventh Infantry, Light Battery "D" of the Fifth Artillery, Light
Battery "C" of the Third Artillery, and the troop of cavalry already
mentioned,--all regulars, and as resolute and picturesque a set of men as
ever wore the uniform of war.

* * * * *

Because we had no Volunteers with us, we were not granted even one little
word-spattering newspaper scribe, and so relinquished at the outset any
fugitive hopes of glory that otherwise might have been entertained. We were
out for business,--hard marching, hard living, hard fighting,--and the
opening vista was fringed with gore. We were none of us the darlings of any
particular State, nor the precious offspring of a peripatetic statesman
with a practised pull. We were at no time decimated by disease through
ignorant or insubordinate disregard of the primary principles of hygiene.
We didn't write long wailing letters home because we were obliged to sleep
on the damp ground, and had neither hot rolls, chocolate, nor marmalade for
breakfast. We were ragged, hungry, tough, and faithful. In other words, we
were regular army men, and, most distinctly, _not_ Volunteers.

[Illustration: Statue of Columbus, Mayaguez.]

There is a personality peculiar to the professional soldier, even though
he be but a half-fledged recruit, that defies analysis and baffles
description. He is of course built from the same clay as his brother of the
Volunteers; but the latter is a tin god, and the former is a devil. Yet the
difference does not spring from anything more fundamental than environment,