An instant later we heared a crying, screaming, terror-stricken mass of humanity breaking through the bamboo on the farther side of the road. We halted. There they went, over dykes and ditches. All organization had fled with the winds in their wild efforts to escape the next shot from our artillery. Now we were safe, and sauntered lazily back to the company, giving our hearts an opportunity to resume a normal state of affairs. When we reached our lines we found that a recruit battery of light artillery had come out from the city that morning for target-practice. An experienced non-commissioned officer fired the first shot, which hit the sugar warehouse, the target. A recruit gunner fired the second, which, falling short, saved our lives. They knew nothing of the presence of the Filipinos or of my little reconnoitering party. The next day our native spies reported that Aguinaldo and his body-guard had come down from Angeles early the morning before, but had immediately returned. I laughed when I heard this report, for I knew the circumstances. The dapper little officer in khaki was Aguinaldo, and this is the story of how I saw him.--_Sunday Globe-Democrat_. WHAT THE WOUNDED SAY AND DO. An American Officer's True Stories of our Latest War.--Brave Men who Meet Death as Heroes Should. No two men behave alike when hit in battle. There is just as much difference in their actions as there is in the behavior of the members of a volunteer fire brigade at a country-town conflagration. The look of the mortally wounded is nearly always the same. There is always that deathly pallor that creeps over the face, and that fixed stare--horrible look of resignation--that tells so plainly that all is over with the unfortunate soldier. A few instances will serve to give a general idea of how the victims of the messengers of death receive them.