# A Recent Campaign in Puerto Rico/Chapter 6

CHAPTER VI
The Second Day Ends
A personal résumé of the fight — Lack of melodramatic accompaniments — A lost chance of glory — Another neglected opportunity — A glimpse of the flag — Once more into camp.
AT the risk of being considered tauto-logical, I cannot refrain from devoting another chapter to the Hormigueros fight: first, because it was my initial experience under fire; and, second, because there are more things in a soldier's memory than are set forth in the official report of his commanding general.
Our advance-guard, after leaving San German, marched rapidly along the level road leading to Mayaguez until about three o'clock in the afternoon. As the head of our column came into view, the country people living along the route gathered their most precious possessions into huge bundles, and hurried ​ Plaza Mercado, Mayaguez. ​away across the fields, — a sure sign that we were approaching the enemy's position. At the hour mentioned we were suddenly set upon by a blinding shower, and a halt was made for about fifteen minutes, when, the fury of the downpour having somewhat abated, we once more began to move ahead. The cavalry had gone off on a side road for some purpose not known to me, and the infantry was deployed in long lines to the right and left, while the artillery brought up the rear at an interval of about a hundred yards. At half-past three the skirmishers came to the Rio Rosario, but, being unable to ford it, were called back to the road and started across the iron bridge, already described by General Schwan. It was at this moment that the Spanish forces opened fire, concealed in a dense undergrowth about 500 yards in our front.
All jammed together as we were, it would seem that we might have been absolutely slaughtered by the leaden hail which was poured in upon us; and the only explanation of our marvellous immunity probably ​lies in the fact that the enemy were surprisingly bad shots. Bullets whistled by our heads, or kicked up the dirt at our feet; but, though the pop of rifles made up a continuous sound like the opening of a hundred thousand beer-bottles, not a vestige of smoke rose in the clear air, not a patch of hostile uniform was to be seen.
For some reason our infantry did not at once reply to the Spanish fusillade; and during this brief interval two men and two horses were wounded in the platoon of artillery which stood idly just behind the foot-soldiers, — too close, in fact, to be of any service, and in the way of everybody. Then the two Gatling guns under Lieutenant Maginnis went off into the field at our right, where they began to speak for themselves; and Gatling guns in action have a mighty cheerful effect upon your nerves, if they happen to be on your side of the fracas. Next, an order from the general sent the artillery galloping to the rear for about an eighth of a mile, where, after a short detour to the left and a mad race across swampy, ditch​ Mouth of the Mayaguez River. ​dug fields, it took up a temporary position on a convenient knoll. The main body of our command had meanwhile arrived, and got into the row without ceremony, the firing now being heavy on both sides. My memory serves me with no clear impression of the sequence of events after this period.
During the first hour of our fighting all the powder used by us was as smokeless as that of the foe, and again and again the remark was passed that this did not seem like the real business of war. In other respects as well there were few of the accompaniments that we conjure up in our stay-at-home imagination of battle scenes. There was a little galloping of hooves, not long sustained; an occasional sharp cry of command or sharper oath; an intermittent rumble and jar from the infrequently moved artillery, not yet in action; and perhaps a groan or two from the wounded. But, even when the field-rifles began to boom and shroud the landscape in drifting smoke, the make-believe aspect of the affair did not in any degree diminish. There were no clouds of dust, ​no heaps of slain, no cheers, no desperate charges, and not even a glimpse of the stars and stripes. Away to our right we could see crowds of spectators on the elevated platform surrounding the Sanctuary of Montserrate; and I remember thinking it was well no admission fee had been charged for the spectacle upon which they gazed, else they would have murmured themselves defrauded.
My own most thrilling moments came about in this way: The platoon of artillery to which I belonged had, as already related, decided that its position directly behind the hotly beset infantry was untenable, and consequently fell back at speed, for some distance. Standing at the head of the first piece, with all my faculties engrossed by the scene before me, I did not hear the order which should have sent me scampering to my seat on the limber-chest, and so suddenly found myself alone, with my comrades mounted and away in full career. A glance about me disclosed the fact that no other living thing was standing up within a radius of five hundred yards. I was a conspicuous mark for ​ A Bit of Yauco. ​the eager slayers in the adjacent underbrush; and I ought, of course, to rejoin my section as quickly as possible. So I ran. It occurred to me that here was my chance to show what I was made of. I would stop running, fill and light my pipe, and stalk in a leisurely manner down the white road, thus winning, perhaps, comment and applause from high places. I say all this occurred to me; but I also happened to recollect the story told of the survivor of Bull Run, who replied to a sneering criticism anent the Federal retreat from that famous field by the sententious rejoinder that "all them as didn't run was there yet," — and I felt that I could fully appreciate the point. So I continued to sprint as fast as I could, leaving the bubble Reputation for other seekers, or for myself upon some other day and field. I was not afraid, and I was simply doing my duty; but I sometimes think that I may have neglected the flood-tide of opportunity, and I often wonder why, in melodramatic crises, a man's mind is not always able to control his legs.
​I was not alone in the disregard of romantic possibilities. Later in the afternoon I saw a wounded private propped up against a fence, and bleeding copiously from a bullet-hole that extended through both cheeks. His eyes were closed, and he was making queer noises in his throat. As I happened to be idle at the instant, I stepped to his side, and inquired compassionately if I could do anything for him. He opened his eyes with a jerk, spat forth a couple of teeth, and replied: "If you'll tell me how the beginning of 'Sweet Marie' goes, I'll give you a piece of my face for a souvenir. I've been trying to get that blame tune straight for the last fifteen minutes, but keep getting off my trolley." And he laughed a ghastly laugh. I stared at him in amazement, and then, seeing that he was not delirious, strode moodily away. What that man ought to have said was, "How goes the fight?" or "A drop of water, for God's sake"; but it is the painful truth that he didn't.
A striking feature of the engagement was the thoroughly matter-of-fact manner in ​ Wooden Dock at Mayaguez. In the Offing can be seen the German Man-of-war "Geier." ​which both officers and men went about their work. There was no strutting, no posing, no shirking, but an evident intention on the part of all concerned, from General Schwan down, to do whatever had to be done without unnecessary fuss and feathers, promptly and well. I have seen far more excitement displayed on an ordinary drill-ground at home, in the piping times of peace.
A sudden appearance of the flag just after the trumpets had sounded "cease firing" brought moisture to the eyes of many a toughened veteran; but even then, with victory still glowing in our grasp, there was not the ghost of a cheer. We were simply more tired and hungry than usual, and until matters had been straightened out for the night had no time for sentiment. And, when we finally went into camp on the very field where we had just ceased fighting, we found our chief interest centred in hot coffee, crisp hard-tack, and comfortable blankets. We had begun to realize that we might have lain stiffer and starker that night but for the whim of chance, and were silent with the clacking tongue.
​ "Eleventh of August" Street.