I can see the Spaniards over
there; try a thousand-yard range and see if you can't get some of
them. Fire low!' I never saw such nerve as that officer had; he'd have
stirred courage in everybody."

"Didn't he get hit?" he was asked.

"I'll tell you about that in a minute; but while he was out there
shaking hands with death, you might say, I was witness to a little
incident in the blockhouse that is worth telling about: A lot of us
were in there from different regiments--some from the Thirteenth, some
from the Sixteenth, and some colored boys from the Twenty-fourth. We
were all blazing away through the firing-openings in the walls.

[Illustration: Bringing Up Captain Capron's Battery.]

"Just beside me was a big negro, who didn't seem more than half
interested in what he was doing. I saw him pull a dead Spaniard out of
the door with a listless movement, and then pick up his rifle as if he
thought the whole thing a bore. Suddenly, a bullet came in with a
zip along the underside of his gun barrel, glanced against the strap,
and took the skin off the negro's knuckles as if they'd been scraped
with a knife. And then you should see the change! He wasn't
scared--not a bit; but he was mad enough to have charged the whole
Spanish army alone. How he did talk--not loud, just quietly to
himself--and how he did grab his cartridges and begin to shoot.

"Speaking of cartridges, some of the boys ran short because they had
thrown away a lot in their haversacks; but I had put two beltfuls in a
pair of socks and pinned them inside my shirt with safety pins, so I
had plenty, and I was peppering away from behind a brick chimney, when
one of the Thirteenth lads called out to me: 'Come over here,
Seventy-one; I've got a fine shot for you.'

"I looked around and saw him standing by a window that was barred with
iron, but had no sash to it. He was kneeling on the floor, just
showing his head over the sill, and looking at the Spanish line. He
was a nice looking lad, not a day over twenty-one, and his face was as
smooth as a girl's. 'All right,' said I, going over to him, 'Where's
your shot?'

"'There,' said he, pointing to one of the hills: 'nobody's fired at
that one yet, but I'm sure the dagos are there. Set your sights at six
hundred yards and we'll try it together!'

"So I fixed my sights, and we both fired out of the window with our
rifles resting on the ledge. As I drew back I saw there was something
queer with the boy, and noti