Sensation of being wounded.

When asked what the sensation was at the time of being wounded he replied: 

My leg felt as if it had been struck by some heavy body.  It felt paralyzed, and then I fell to the ground.  There was no great pain experienced at the time, but fifteen minutes later the pain was very great.

A very touching incident happened during the fight.  Captain McClintock was struck in the left leg, two Mauser bullets entering his leg just above the ankle.  A private who had been sick for some days, seeing Captain McClintock lying on the field, crawled up to him, and lying beside the captain between the latter and the firing line, said:  “Never mind, Captain, I am between you and the firing line.  They can’t hurt you now.”

Ed Culver, a Cherokee Indian, showed himself particularly brave during the fight.  He was alongside of Hamilton Fish when the latter was shot.  When Fish was hit he said:  “I am wounded.”  Culver called back:  “And I am killed.”

Culver was shot through the left lung, the ball coming out of the muscles of the back.  He believed he was dying, but said if he was to die he would do the Spaniards as much damage as possible before leaving this world.  He continued to fire, and sent forty-five bullets at the enemy before being taken away.  At first, after receiving his wound, he was in a dazed condition, but after he recovered somewhat he shot straight.

Hamilton Fish died a few minutes after receiving his wound.  I passed him just after he was shot, and directed some of the skirmishers where to move.  He thought I was speaking to him, and, raising himself on his elbow, said:  “I am wounded; I am wounded!” and died a few minutes after that.

We thought at first that the Spaniards were using explosive bullets, but we found they were merely brass-covered bullets.

A detailed description of the Santiago fight is told by the Gloucester crew, which was first to sight Cervera’s fleet as it steamed out of the harbor on the morning of Sunday, July 3.  Ensign Sawyer’s letter reads: 

Last evening we went into Guantanamo and saw the camp where our marines had so gallantly held their own.  The Marblehead, with McCalla, was there, also the New York, the Iowa and that hero of the battle, the Oregon.  The Gloucester also was there.

The greatest desire naturally possessed us to hear the details of the wonderful battle in which the Cape Verde fleet was destroyed.  The Gloucester’s story, though we had but a few moments, was most interesting so far as we have heard.  She was lying closest to the entrance, and had just finished Sunday morning inspection when the lookout hailed:  “They’re coming out!”

Order of the exit.