ck and the hands for shovels. A dashing young fellow of one of
the companies on the right of the line was some distance in advance
of his fellows when the halt was made. Instead of falling back on the
line with the other men, he stopped where he was. One of the officers
shouted at him several times to fall back, as he was in danger of his
own men shooting him, but he did not hear. The officer then walked
down to where he was, grabbed him by a leg, and started to drag him
back to the line. He had but started when he felt the man's whole body
quiver, and he flopped himself over on his back, saying as he did so,
"I'm done for." Some of the men came to the soldier and assisted the
officer to carry him to a place of security. With a bayonet one of the
men cut off his clothing, when a Mauser hole was seen just above the
heart, where the bullet entered, passing through his body and coming
out between the shoulders, near the spine. The man said no more at
the time. His wounds were bound by sympathetic hands. All except the
wounded man returned to the firing-line. The Spanish fire was heavy,
and kept up for four hours, occasionally a soldier dropping out,
wounded or killed. When all was quiet, the officer and one of his
soldiers returned to see if the young man were yet alive. They found
him sitting against a small tree. His first words were: "Bill, give
me a cigarette." The man is living to-day.

Just about the time this man was wounded a man in the next company on
the right suddenly threw down his bayonet, jumped to his feet, paused
for a second or two, looking in the direction of the Spanish trenches,
then threw both hands to his breast, saying, "I'm hit." He turned about
and walked into the dense thickets of cactus and Spanish bayonet, and
was never seen nor heard of again. He undoubtedly crawled far back into
the heavy tropical growth and died, where the vultures claimed him.

One of the coolest men who ever received a wound was an infantryman
at San Fernando, in the Island of Luzon, on the 16th of June. The
insurgents made a determined effort to retake the town early
on the morning of that day. They opened up simultaneously from
every quarter, and the kind and variety of missiles used would be
beyond the wildest expectations of that sweet-throated midnight
serenader, the Thomas-cat. Out of an old smooth-bore cannon they
threw railroad spikes, horseshoes, old clocks, lemon-squeezers,
and cobble-stones. From their Remington