Sleepily we obeyed, but the moment we reached the opening we were wide awake.

There, not three miles off, rolling in the ground swell, lay a great fleet, the searchlights sweeping the heavens and sea; the signal lanterns twinkling.
As we looked, we saw at the masthead of the foremost vessel the signal lights spell out A followed by D, the "Yankee's" private night signal.
Then, and our eyes almost started from our heads as we gazed, the lights continued to spell: "Blockade raised; hostilities ceased." "Hurrah!" shouted some one behind me.
"Wait a minute," said "Hay," "that's not all." The lights went on spelling: "We are on our way to New York.

You are to proceed to Guantanamo." The hurrah, as we spelled out the first sentences, was followed by a groan, as we read the last.

We were glad, indeed, to know that peace had come, but it was hard to see that great fleet homeward bound, and know that we must go back to our old post, to stay indefinitely.
"Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.".