General Ernst at its head
advancing along the main road, and as, when I saw them, they were near
the river, I guessed they would continue across the bridge and that they
soon would be in the town.

As the firing from the Sixteenth still continued, it seemed obvious that
General Ernst would be the first general officer to enter Coamo, and to
receive its surrender. I had never seen five thousand people surrender
to one man, and it seemed that, if I were to witness that ceremony, my
best plan was to abandon the artillery and, as quickly as possible,
pursue the Second Wisconsin. I did not want to share the spectacle of
the surrender with my brother correspondents, so I tried to steal away
from the three who were present. They were Thomas F. Millard, Walstein
Root of the _Sun_, and Horace Thompson. By dodging through a coffee
_central_ I came out a half mile from them and in advance of the Third
Wisconsin. There I encountered two "boy officers," Captain John C.
Breckenridge and Lieutenant Fred. S. Titus, who had temporarily abandoned
their thankless duties in the Commissariat Department in order to seek
death or glory in the skirmish-line. They wanted to know where I was
going, and when I explained, they declared that when Coamo surrendered
they also were going to be among those present.

So we slipped away from the main body and rode off as an independent
organization. But from the bald ridge, where the artillery was still
hammering the town, the three correspondents and Captain Alfred Paget,
Her Majesty's naval attache, observed our attempt to steal a march on
General Wilson's forces, and pursued us and soon overtook us.

We now were seven, or to be exact, eight, for with Mr. Millard was
"Jimmy," who in times of peace sells papers in Herald Square, and in
times of war carries Mr. Millard's copy to the press post. We were much
nearer the ford than the bridge, so we waded the "drift" and started on a
gallop along the mile of military road that lay between us and Coamo.
The firing from the Sixteenth Pennsylvania had slackened, but as we
advanced it became sharper, more insistent, and seemed to urge us to
greater speed. Across the road were dug rough rifle-pits which had the
look of having been but that moment abandoned. What had been intended
for the breakfast of the enemy was burning in pots over tiny fires,
little heaps of cartridges lay in readiness upon the edges of each pit,
and an arm-chair, in which a sentr