As these
fever-worn veterans arrived at Montauk they presented a spectacle well
fitted to move strong men to tears. In solemn silence they marched
from on board the transport Nueces, which had brought them from Cuba,
and noiselessly they dragged their weary forms over the sandy roads
and up the hill to the distant "detention camp." Twenty-eight of their
number were reported sick, but the whole regiment was in ill-health.
These were the men who had risked their lives and wrecked their health
in service for others. Forty days they had stood face to face with
death. In their soiled, worn and faded clothing, with arms uncleaned,
emaciated, and with scarce strength enough to make the march before
them, as they moved on that hot 2nd of September from the transport to
the camp, they appeared more like a funeral procession than heroes
returning from the war; and to the credit of our common humanity it
may be recorded that they were greeted, not with plaudits and cheers,
but with expressions of real sympathy. Many handkerchiefs were brought
into view, not to wave joyous welcome, but to wipe away the tears that
came from overflowing hearts. At no time did human nature at Montauk
appear to better advantage than in its silent, sympathetic reception
of the Twenty-fourth Infantry.
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