It was as though fifteen regiments were encamped along the sidewalks
of Fifth Avenue and were all ordered at the same moment to move into
it and march downtown. If Fifth Avenue were ten feet wide, one can
imagine the confusion.

General Chaffee was at General Lawton's head-quarters, and they stood
apart whispering together about the march they were to take to El
Caney. Just over their heads the balloon was ascending for the first
time and its great glistening bulk hung just above the tree tops, and
the men in different regiments, picking their way along the trail,
gazed up at it open-mouthed. The head-quarters camp was crowded.
After a week of inaction the army, at a moment's notice, was moving
forward, and every one had ridden in haste to learn why.

There were attaches, in strange uniforms, self-important Cuban
generals, officers from the flagship New York, and an army of
photographers. At the side of the camp, double lines of soldiers
passed slowly along the two paths of the muddy road, while, between
them, aides dashed up and down, splashing them with dirty water, and
shouting, "You will come up at once, sir." "You will not attempt to
enter the trail yet, sir." "General Sumner's compliments, and why
are you not in your place?"

Twelve thousand men, with their eyes fixed on a balloon, and treading
on each other's heels in three inches of mud, move slowly, and after
three hours, it seemed as though every man in the United States was
under arms and stumbling and slipping down that trail. The lines
passed until the moon rose. They seemed endless, interminable; there
were cavalry mounted and dismounted, artillery with cracking whips
and cursing drivers, Rough Riders in brown, and regulars, both black