The Surrender of Santiago
For two days we had been at the headquarters of the Second Brigade (General McKibben‘s), so blissfully contented because at last we had a real wooden and tiled roof over our heads that even the tarantulas--Archibald shook two of them from his blanket in one night--had no terrors for us.
The headquarters were in an abandoned country seat, a little six-roomed villa, all on one floor, called the Hacienda San Pablo. To the left of us along the crest of hills, in a mighty crescent that reached almost to the sea, lay the army, panting from the effort of the first, second and third days of the month, resting on its arms, its eyes to its sights, Maxim, Hotchkiss and Krag-Jorgenson held ready, alert, watchful, straining in the leash, waiting the expiration of the last truce that had now been on for twenty-four hours.
That night we sat up very late on the porch of the hacienda, singing "The Spanish Cavalier"--if you will recollect the words, singularly appropri

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