t me tired eyelids. 'Twas
six o'clock whin we cashed in an' each wint to th' mournful jooties
iv th' day, silently but with a heart full iv courage. At high
noon, we fell upon th' inimy an' poored out about eighty-five
thousan' dollars worth iv near-slaughter on him. His guns was
choked with cotillyon favors an' he did not reply at wanst, but
whin he did, th' scene was thruly awful. Th' sky was blackened
be th' smoke iv smokeless powdher an' th' air was full iv cotton
waste fr'm th' fell injines iv desthruction. A breeze fr'm shore
carried out to me ears th' wails iv th' wounded tax payers. At
twelve fifteen, I descried th' bloodthirsty Higginson--an' a good
fellow Caleb is at that--on th' roof iv his boat. "Hi-spy," says
he. "Hi-spy ye'er gran'mother," says I. "I've had me eye on ye
f'r fifteen minyits an' ye're a dead man as I can prove be witnesses,"
I says. An' he fell off th' roof. I was sorry to take his life
but war knows no mercy. He was a brave man but foolhardy. He
ought niver to've gone again' me. He might've licked Cervera but
he cudden't lick me. We captured all th' men-iv-war, desthroyed
most iv th' cruisers an' ar-re now usin' th' flag-ship f'r a
run-about. Th' counthry is safe, thanks to a vigylant an' sleepless
army. I will go up to New York tomorrah to be measured f'r th'
prisintation soord."

"There it is, Hinnissy. Who won? I don't know. I can't tell at
this minyit whether I ought to be undher th' bed larnin' German
f'r th' time whin a Prooshyan sojer'll poke me out with his saber,
or down at Finucane's hall callin' a meetin' to thank th' definders
iv th' fireside. Nobody knows. It's a quare game, f'r they tell
me afther th' battles has been fought an' th' kilt has gone back
to holeystonin' th' deck an' th' smoke fr'm th' chafin' dish has
cleared away, th' decision is up to a good figurer at Wash'nton.
It depinds on him whether we ar-re a free people or whether we
wear th' yoke iv sarvichood an' bad German hats f'r all time.
He's th' officyal scoorer an' what Higginson thinks was a base
hit, he calls a foul an' what McArthur calls an accipted chanst
is an error. Afther th' gallant lads in blue an' gold has got
through, a wathry-eyed clerk named Perkins H. Something-or-other,
sets down an' figures out th' victhry. Th' man behind th' fountain
pen is th' boy. It's up to him whether th' stars an' sthripes
still floats over an onconquered people or whether five pfennigs
is th' p