clears the port sill, coming so close to it, in fact, that for
one breathless second we think that it will strike. As the shell passes
from view, another sigh of relief comes from the spectators. "Hay"
passes a grimy towel over his perspiring face.

"Whew! that was a ticklish moment," he said, solemnly. "I'd just as soon
not handle any more defective shells."

Which exactly represented our sentiments.

Three minutes later Number Eight was barking away at the forts ashore,
and the episode of the cartridge that missed fire was a thing of the
past.

The bombardment of Santiago had now lasted over an hour. As yet not one
of the American vessels had been reached by a shell, nor had the forts
suffered any perceptible damage. The fleet, roaring and thundering, was
swinging back and forth through the great semicircle, the smoke from the
guns was banking along the beach, and from Morro Castle and its
attending batteries came sharp, defiant answers to the interminable
volleys fired by our squadron.

"It's a good thing Uncle Sam's shot locker is pretty capacious,"
remarked Flagg, as we shoved another cartridge into the yawning breech
of our five-inch gun. "If we haven't fired over three hundred rounds
since seven o'clock I can't count."

"It'll be double that before we get through," grunted "Long Tommy," as
we stepped back from the loaded gun. "Steady, there. Stand by!"

A motion to "Hay," who held the firing lanyard, and almost instantly
came the sharp, vicious report of the breechloader. Each man sprang back
to his station, and the process of reloading went on without delay. The
battle smoke from Number Six, which had filled our port for some time,
cleared away just then, enabling us to see "Hay's" last shot strike
squarely upon the outer line of earthworks of the Punta Gorda battery.

"Splendid shot, 'Hay'!" exclaimed our division officer, briefly.

"Bully, that's what it is--bully!" cried "Stump," patting the second
captain upon the back.

"Hurray! it's knocked out a gun," reported "Dye," from nearer the port.
"I saw the piece keel over backward."

There was no time for further comment. When a gun's crew is firing at
will, and the excitement of combat has taken possession of the
individual members, the task in hand requires all one's attention. We of
Number Eight had suffered one delay, and we really felt that the lost
time must be made up.

Personal impressions in battle have been described in prose and poem
un