It seemed as though the Spanish regarded the balloon as an evil agent of some kind, and as though every gun, both great and small, was playing on it.  I made several trips under it following the Colonel, who repeatedly rode up and down the stream, and I would have been fully satisfied to have allowed my mind even to wander back to the gaily lighted ball rooms and festivals left behind only a few months before.

While on the last trip under the balloon a large naval shell exploded, knocking the Colonel’s hat off, crippling his horse, and injuring the rider slightly in the arm and side, all of course, in addition to a good sand bath.  I then joined the regiment, some rods beyond, then under cover.  In crouching down behind a clump of brush, heard some one groan; on looking around, saw Private Marshall struggling in the river wounded.  Immediately rushing to his assistance another of those troublesome shells passed so close as to cause me to feel the heat.  It did not stop the effort, however, and the wounded man was placed in safety.

The regiment remained in the road only a few moments when it was ordered to take position behind the river bank some yards above the balloon for protection; while moving to that position, and while there, suffered much loss.  Why we did not lose heavier may be attributed to the fact that the enemy’s musket fire was a trifle high, and their shells timed from one-half to one second too long, caused them to explode beyond, instead of in front, where the shells would have certainly secured the Dons’ maximum results, as, after the balloon was cut down, you could scarcely hold your hand up without getting it hit.  During the battle, one trooper fell upon a good-sized snake and crushed it to death, and another trooper allowed one of these poisonous reptiles to crawl over him while dodging a volley from the Spanish Mausers.

The shrapnel and canister shells, with their exceedingly mournful and groaning sound, seemed to have a more terrifying effect than the swift Mauser bullet, which always rendered the same salutation, “Bi-Yi.”  The midern shrapnel shell is better known as the man-killing projectile, and may be regarded as the most dangerous of all projectiles designed for taking human life.  It is a shell filled with 200 or 300 bullets, and having a bursting charge, which is ignited by a time fuse, only sufficient to break the base and release the bullets, which then move forward with the velocity it had the time of bursting.  Each piece is capable of dealing death to any living thing in its path.  In practice firing, it is known where, by one shot, 152 hits were made by a single shrapnel.  In another, 215 hits are recorded.  Imagine then, the havoc of a well-directed shrapnel upon a group of men such as is here represented.  Capron’s battery at El Caney cut down 16 cavalrymen with one shell.

After a delay of about 30 minutes, during part of the time, the writer, assisted by Sergeant Smith and Mr. T.A.  Baldwin, cut all the wire fences possible.  Mr. Baldwin was dangerously wounded while so engaged just before the general advance.