From a spectacular point of view I am inclined to believe that Kiralfy would have regarded us with scorn and derision, though Jack Falstaff might have been better pleased.  We were gaunt, bronzed, and dishevelled, unshaven, dirty, and tattered.  Toes protruded from shoes, our hats were full of holes, our trousers hardly deserved the name, and we limped disgracefully.  It was the popular impression in Puerto Rico that every American soldier was a full-fledged millionaire, but even they expressed some disappointment at our evident disregard for the external superfluities of elegance.  But, when you stop to consider it, we did not go to the Antilles to make love to the pretty girls.  We were quite sufficiently clothed and fed to march through tropical underbrush, take several cities, and put our more gaudily equipped enemies to ignominious flight.  And that is what we were there for.

[Illustration:  The Military Hospital, Mayaguez.]

In the early part of the afternoon we went into camp about a mile and a half outside the city lines, and the main body remained here until August 13.  The camping-ground was a bad one, lying as it did in a bowl formed by a circle of low hills; and it was soaked and spongy to a degree approaching absolute swampiness.  As we were not allowed to go into the city, we grudgingly sat still, and chanted our misery to the unresponsive wilderness, getting our feet wet and gathering the frolicsome malaria germ by way of interlude.

On the evening of our arrival a transport steamed into the bay, having on board the First Kentucky Volunteers, who for some weeks afterward were quartered in the town, doing provost duty and breaking hearts.  Later on we came to know them well; and, when they marched away to Ponce, we missed them sadly.  They had lots of money, and they spent it freely.  We of the regular brigade had not been paid for three months.

* * * * *

Mayaguez is a darling little city on the western coast of Puerto Rico,—­a place of lattices, balconies, and walled-in gardens ablaze with blossoms.  Behind it lies a semicircle of green hills, and before it is the laughing sea.  Columbus touched here in one of his earlier voyages, and historical associations have been accumulating ever since.

It is the third largest town on the island, having a population of 25,000, the majority of whom are white.  The harbor is next best to that at San Juan,—­102 miles distant,—­and is an open roadstead formed by two projecting capes.  It is a seaport of considerable commerce, and exports sugar, coffee, oranges, pineapples, and cocoanuts in large quantities,—­principally, with the exception of coffee, to the United States.  Of industry not much can be said, save that there are three manufactories of chocolate, solely for local consumption.  The climate is excellent, the temperature never exceeding 90 deg.  F.

[Illustration:  Part of the Village of Maricao.]