The smoke was thick and stifling, the saltpetre fumes filling the throat and lungs, until breathing was difficult. The dense bank of vapor enveloping the ship also rendered it almost impossible to aim with any accuracy. We of Number Eight gun were early impressed with this fact, and "Hay," the second captain, exclaimed during a lull: "It's that fellow in charge of Number Six. He won't give us any show. Just look how he's working his crew. Did you ever see the beat of it?" The captain of Number Six, a broker of considerable note in New York, a member of the Calumet Club, and the son of a distinguished captain in the Confederate navy, was fighting his gun with savage energy. Under his direction, and inspired by a running fire of comments from him, the different members of Number Six crew were literally pouring a hail of steel upon the batteries. The firing was so rapid, in fact, that it kept our port completely filled with smoke, much to our sorrow. Notwithstanding that fact, "Hay," the second captain of Number Eight, did such marvellous shooting, that word presently came from Captain Brownson on the bridge, publicly commending him. We were correspondingly elated, and worked all the harder. It was not until we had been firing some time that we began to take particular note of our surroundings. At first the novelty of the situation and a state of excitement, natural under the circumstances, kept us absorbed in our duties, but when it became apparent that the engagement was to be a matter of hours--and also that the Spaniards did not aim very well--we commenced to look about. One of the first things to strike me personally, and it was rather humorous, was the appearance of "Stump," the second loader. Orders had early been given to avoid exposing ourselves to the enemy's fire as much as possible. "Stump," than whom no more daring and aggressive man could be found on board, thought it wise to obey, so he crouched behind the gun-mount and compressed himself so as to be out of range. From this position he had only to reach out one hand to train the gun, which was his special duty. Meanwhile, he continually urged "Hay" to keep on firing. "Doesn't make any difference whether you can see or not," he exclaimed. "Shoot anyway. Give it to the beggars! That's the ticket, old chap. Now another. Whoop! did you see that land? Ah-h-h! we are the people." As the novelty of the scene gradually wore off we began to enjoy it hugely. We pumped away at the guns, commenting freely on the enemy's marksmanship. We felt more like a party watching a fireworks display than the crew of a warship engaged in bombarding a number of forts. The two lines were steaming back and forth in front of the batteries, firing as the guns would bear. At first, Morro Castle and the smaller forts maintained a spirited fire, but finally their response to our fusillade slackened considerably, and it became evident that they had been driven from their guns.