themselves above the rim of the fountain three of them were hit, and
fell back swearing. The men behind the benches shouted at me to take
cover, and one of the wounded men in the fountain reached up and
pulled at my tunic, telling me to lie down. The men of B and C Troops
were rolling casks out of the warehouse and building a barricade, and
I saw that we were drawing all of the fire from them. We were now in a
cross-fire between the church and the barracks, and were getting very
much the worst of the fight. The men in the barracks were only seventy
yards away. They seemed to be the ones chiefly responsible. They had
piled canvas cots against the bars of the windows, and though these
afforded them no protection, they prevented our seeing anything at
which to shoot.

One of my men gave a grunt, and whirled over, holding his hand to his
shoulder. "I've got it, Captain," he said. I heard another man shriek
from behind one of the benches. Our position was becoming impossible.
It was true we were drawing the fire from the men who were working on
the barricade, which was what we had been sent out to do, but in three
minutes I had lost five men.

I remembered a professor at the Point telling us the proportion of
bullets that went home was one to every three hundred, and I wished I
had him behind that fountain. Miller was lying at my feet pumping away
with a Winchester. As he was reloading it he looked up at me, and
shouted, "And they say these Central Americans can't shoot!" I saw
white figures appearing and disappearing at the windows of almost
every house on the plaza. The entire population seemed to have taken
up arms against us. The bullets splashed on the combing of the
fountain and tore up the grass at our feet, and whistled and whispered
about our ears. It seemed utter idiocy to remain, but I could not