Our brigade commander, General Theodore Schwan—­silent, upright, tall, and spare—­was regarded with affection and respect by every one who came into personal contact with him, officer and man alike.  He was shrewd, clever, and distinguished, but never too busy or elevated to listen to the humblest soldier from the ranks, and from first to last a gentleman.  Of his staff it is the highest praise to say that they were in every way worthy of their chief.  Bluff Captain Davison, gruff Captain Hutcheson, studious Major Root, saturnine Major Egan, wounded Lieutenant Byron, patient Lieutenant Poore, dashing Captain Elkins, and courteous Lieutenant Summerlin, I salute you all in the most military manner of the soldier dismounted!  You were my friends in need, you lent me money, you gave me fatherly counsel and passes of freedom to the shimmering tropic dawn—­and I shall not forget.

At the head of the Eleventh Infantry was Colonel I.D.  DeRussy, who, with his ministerial drawl and dry wit, was a sharp contrast to his blunt, impetuous, and fiery second in command, Lieutenant-Colonel Burke.  But, so far as I am aware, perpetual harmony reigned between them; and both were beloved by their men.  The battalion of artillery was commanded by Captain Frank Thorp of Light Battery “D,” my own outfit.  He was best known in the ranks as “Side-wheeler,” from a peculiarity of gait, and, though well on in years, was at all times gallant, courageous, and capable.  A stiff disciplinarian, he kept his guardhouse well filled from week to week; but he was as quick to reward as punish, when warranted by circumstances.  It is worthy of note that although he took each day enough medicine to lay an ordinary man on his back, or in an early grave, yet he was well and fit from start to finish.

Captain Macomb of the Fifth Cavalry is not an easy man to describe in cold ink.  Handsome, stalwart, and grave; black-haired, black-eyed, a scarf of yellow knotted at his throat,—­he was Custer without the vanity or Lancelot devoid a Guinevere.

[Illustration:  The Public Fountain in Aguadilla, a Favorite Rendezvous for Runaway Lovers.]

When he clattered through the many quaint little towns abutting on our line of march, he was followed by a billow of sighs from behind the half-closed lattices, though I dare say he knew nothing about it; for indeed he was no heart-breaker, but a true soldier.  I recommend him to either Rudyard Kipling or Richard Harding Davis.

Said General Miles, in a letter of instruction to General Schwan under date of August 6, 1898:—­

“You will drive out or capture all Spanish troops in the western portion of Puerto Rico.  You will take all necessary precautions and exercise great care against being surprised or ambushed by the enemy, and will make the movement as rapidly as possible, at the same time exercising your best judgment in the care of your command, to accomplish the object of your expedition.”