spot on docks or upon buildings crowds had gathered to do us honor and give us a royal welcome.

As we passed under Brooklyn bridge we saw that all trains had stopped, traffic had ceased and upon the footpath were thousands frantically waving flags and shouting joyously their plaudits of praise.

The veterans had thoughtfully provided a generous luncheon for us while we sailed down the river, but even with this added strength the returning Cuban troops were not strong enough to withstand the effects of such a magnificent welcome as they received all along the route from Montauk, and especially upon the East river, in the journey from Long Island City to Whitehall street ferry.

Tears filled most eyes and some actually wept for joy.

As the boat came into the slip the body of Seventy-first veterans were seen on the wharf and directly in front of us stood our regimental band, second to none, led by its incomparable leader, Professor Fanciulli, playing "Home, Sweet Home."

Words can never describe the feelings of our Cuban soldiers of the Seventy-first at this moment. If there was one man among them who did not shed a tear, there must have been

"A soul so dead

That never to itself had said

This is my own, my native Land."

After a little delay in seating the field and staff officers in carriages and placing company officers and men in cable cars the parade began.

The progress up Whitehall street and along Broadway to Waverly place was impeded by the crowds of people who filled the

streets at every step of the journey. Besides these, the sidewalks, every window and roof of every building along the entire distance were filled with people. Bunting waved everywhere. Streamers of telegraph and ticker machines stretched in profusion from roof to street in front of several buildings, notably the Exchanges and the Western Union Telegraph Company. Old Trinity rang its chimes. Cheering was incessant. It seemed to us that there never could have been such a reception in New York city as this. The spontaneity and heartiness of this welcome proved its sincerity.

The sad note in the joyous refrain was that of sympathy for the weak, wan, sad, yellow faces of the sick and what these signs stood for.

At times as the procession moved along the sudden change of joyous cheers to something like a suppressed sob by the onlookers was painfully apparent.

The regiment left New York over 1,000 strong, a regiment of magnificent, healthy looking athletes. It paraded on its return less than 350 men, and of these not fifty who could say they had not been seriously ill or that at the present time they were wholly well. Where were the others? Those not dead were almost all sick, either in hospitals all over the country or on furloughs at their homes.

For weeks there was not a day when the papers did not record at least one dead of the Seventy-first, and on many of these days as many as six of the Seventy-first, who, in various places, had ceased to be among the living.

For any adequate description of the parade of the Seventyfirst, which parade, technically speaking, began at the Washington arch and ended at the armory, corner of Thirty-fourth street

and Park avenue, the newspapers of the following day must be consulted, though even these, their writers will confess, are wholly inadequate to portray the memorable march and its accompanying scenes.

It will not be expected that the one detailed to write this history, who in this procession rode in the first carriage with the Colonel, Lieutenant-Colonel and the Adjutant, and in the parade marched behind the Colonel with the staff (there were but three staff officers in the parade), will be able to describe what took place behind him.

From the moment that the Colonel gave orders to march and the band struck up its martial music to the tune of "Way Down South in Dixie" to the time of the arrival at the armory there was a continued ovation from thousands. Frequent halts were made for the benefit of the weak ones marching and those unable to march rode in carriages provided for them.

The escort of the Civil War veterans was most agreeable to us, and very gracious in them, and added a feature to the parade, at once unique and universally gratifying.

Adjutant Pride, the well-known Adjutant of Colonel Henry P. Martin, Colonel of the Seventy-first in 1861, marched the entire distance, and won plaudits of recognition and approval by his military bearing and attention to every detail of the parade. No less conspicuous were the other veterans, whose presence and carriage seemed like an approving benediction from worthies of the past. All who knew the past history of the Seventy-first, and especially those who had the pleasure and advantage of a personal acquaintance with the Civil War Colonel Martin, were pained to hear that he was too ill to be present at any of the exercises of the day. This pain was intensified when they learned

that the occasion of this illness was a severe cold caught a few days previous when the dear old veteran commander had journeyed all the way to Montauk, and not without much fatigue and exposure had visited his grandchildren assembled in camp there on their return from the campaign in Cuba.

After the ceremonies were over at the Armory the Chaplain went at once to Brooklyn to see Colonel Martin, whom he found suffering great pain from an acute trouble, but who at once arose and participated eagerly in a conversation that turned exclusively upon the experiences of the gallant Seventy-first.

This great day of the regiment's return to its home and parade in New York had not been complete without this official visit to the one man living, to whom more than to any other, the Seventy-first owes its worth and greatness.

Let the gallant command ever remember that nothing of glory in the living present ought for one moment to eclipse the greatness of its worthy past.

The "American Guard," the motto of which reads "Pro Avis Elpro Focis," has ever proved faithful to its ideal, and first, last and all the time has been ready for service whenever called upon to render it. All who in any way have contributed to the uncommon glory conceded to the command have been honored, and no less those who served it years ago than they who in the present day are considered active members.

When finally the armory was reached the applause was deafening; added to the hurrahs of the multitudes in the streets, upon the sidewalks and steps, in the windows and upon the roofs of the houses and hotels, were the booming of the cannon fired as salute and the music of the band playing "Home, Sweet Home " as the troops marched within the walls of their official

home.

་

Formation having been made upon the armory floor, Colonel Downs made a brief and appropriate address to the regiment, apologizing for keeping the men even a few moments from the arms and welcome of dear ones, expressing the sentiments appropriate to the occasion and reminding them, as prayer was offered when they left the armory to undertake their duties as volunteers, praise would now be appropriate, and called upon Chaplain Van Dewater to give thanks to God for His mercies. Scarcely had the brief words of thanksgiving been uttered when the band. played "Old Hundred," and the words "Praise God, from Whom All Blessings Flow" were sung by those who felt the force of every word they uttered, as seemingly they had never felt it before.

The armory floor and galleries were filled with relatives and friends of the returning soldiers, who were at once personally received with a cordiality, in some instances mingled with an untold sorrow, as the weakened forms and sickened faces told the story of severe suffering and wasted strength.

The Women's Aid Society, composed chiefly of the wives and sisters of the soldiers, was soon busily engaged in giving hearty refreshments to the troops.

After an hour or so of much rejoicing and feasting Colonel Downs formally announced that the Seventy-first Regiment was now on leave for sixty days, and was ordered to reassemble at Camp Black on the 26th of October for muster-out of the United States volunteer service.

On the 25th of October the Chaplain received a communication from a Greenport, L. I., undertaker, saying that the following dead of the Seventy-first were then lying buried at Montauk