an unceasing fire. {3} As the senior surgeon was absent he had chief
responsibility that day for all the wounded, and that so few of them
died is greatly due to this young man who went down into the firing-
line and pulled them from it, and bore them out of danger. The comic
paragraphers who wrote of the members of the Knickerbocker Club and
the college swells of the Rough Riders and of their imaginary valets
and golf clubs, should, in decency, since the fight at Guasimas
apologize. For the same spirit that once sent these men down a
white-washed field against their opponents' rush line was the spirit
that sent Church, Channing, Devereux, Ronalds, Wrenn, Cash, Bull,
Lamed, Goodrich, Greenway, Dudley Dean, and a dozen others through
the high hot grass at Guasimas, not shouting, as their friends the
cowboys did, but each with his mouth tightly shut, with his eyes on
the ball, and moving in obedience to the captain's signals.

Judging from the sound, our firing-line now seemed to be half a mile
in advance of the place where the head of the column had first
halted. This showed that the Spaniards had been driven back at least
three hundred yards from their original position. It was impossible
to see any of our men in the field, so I ran down the trail with the
idea that it would lead me back to the troop I had left when I had
stopped at the dressing station. The walk down that trail presented
one of the most grewsome pictures of the war. It narrowed as it
descended; it was for that reason the enemy had selected that part of
it for the attack, and the vines and bushes interlaced so closely
above it that the sun could not come through.

The rocks on either side were spattered with blood and the rank grass
was matted with it. Blanket rolls, haversacks, carbines, and
canteens had been abandoned all along its length. It looked as