comrade, or a worthless girl; he will march and starve and thirst world
without end if he has a leader who holds his confidence; and he is, on the
whole, a rather fine specimen of the true American--being usually Irish or
German.

[Illustration: American Cavalry entering Mayaguez on the 11th of
August.]

Our brigade commander, General Theodore Schwan--silent, upright,
tall, and spare--was regarded with affection and respect by every one who
came into personal contact with him, officer and man alike. He was shrewd,
clever, and distinguished, but never too busy or elevated to listen to the
humblest soldier from the ranks, and from first to last a gentleman. Of his
staff it is the highest praise to say that they were in every way worthy of
their chief. Bluff Captain Davison, gruff Captain Hutcheson, studious Major
Root, saturnine Major Egan, wounded Lieutenant Byron, patient Lieutenant
Poore, dashing Captain Elkins, and courteous Lieutenant Summerlin, I salute
you all in the most military manner of the soldier dismounted! You were my
friends in need, you lent me money, you gave me fatherly counsel and passes
of freedom to the shimmering tropic dawn--and I shall not forget.

At the head of the Eleventh Infantry was Colonel I.D. DeRussy, who, with
his ministerial drawl and dry wit, was a sharp contrast to his blunt,
impetuous, and fiery second in command, Lieutenant-Colonel Burke. But, so
far as I am aware, perpetual harmony reigned between them; and both were
beloved by their men. The battalion of artillery was commanded by Captain
Frank Thorp of Light Battery "D," my own outfit. He was best known in the
ranks as "Side-wheeler," from a peculiarity of gait, and, though well on
in years, was at all times gallant, courageous, and capable. A stiff
disciplinarian, he kept his guardhouse well filled from week to week; but
he was as quick to reward as punish, when warranted by circumstances. It
is worthy of note that although he took each day enough medicine to lay an
ordinary man on his back, or in an early grave, yet he was well and fit
from start to finish.

Captain Macomb of the Fifth Cavalry is not an easy man to describe in cold
ink. Handsome, stalwart, and grave; black-haired, black-eyed, a scarf of
yellow knotted at his throat,--he was Custer without the vanity or Lancelot
devoid a Guinevere.

[Illustration: The Public Fountain in Aguadilla, a Favorite Rendezvous for
Runaway Lovers.]

When he clattered through the ma