I came across Lieutenant Roberts, of the Tenth Cavalry, lying under
the roots of a tree beside the stream with three of his colored
troopers stretched around him. He was shot through the intestines,
and each of the three men with him was shot in the arm or leg. They
had been overlooked or forgotten, and we stumbled upon them only by
the accident of losing our way. They had no knowledge as to how the
battle was going or where their comrades were or where the enemy was.
At any moment, for all they knew, the Spaniards might break through
the bushes about them. It was a most lonely picture, the young
lieutenant, half naked, and wet with his own blood, sitting upright
beside the empty stream, and his three followers crouching at his
feet like three faithful watch-dogs, each wearing his red badge of
courage, with his black skin tanned to a haggard gray, and with his
eyes fixed patiently on the white lips of his officer. When the
white soldiers with me offered to carry him back to the dressing-
station, the negroes resented it stiffly. "If the Lieutenant had
been able to move, we would have carried him away long ago," said the
sergeant, quite overlooking the fact that his arm was shattered.

"Oh, don't bother the surgeons about me," Roberts added, cheerfully.
"They must be very busy. I can wait."

As yet, with all these killed and wounded, we had accomplished
nothing--except to obey orders--which was to await further orders.
The observation balloon hastened the end. It came blundering down
the trail, and stopped the advance of the First and Tenth Cavalry,
and was sent up directly over the heads of our men to observe what
should have been observed a week before by scouts and reconnoitring
parties. A balloon, two miles to the rear, and high enough in the