We have been having the devil of a fine time of it, shooting Spaniards, and being “stormed at by shot and shell.” When I caught up with Theodore, the day of his famous charge, (having been held in the reserve line until tired of being pelted at from a distance) “T” was revelling in victory. He had just “doubled up” a Spanish officer like a jack-rabbit, as he retreated from a block house.... That same evening, having reached the most advanced crest possible, with about 300 men, and having the whole Spanish Army firing at us from their entrenchments around the city, the summit of our ambition was almost reached. Theodore moved about in the midst of shrapnel explosions like Shadrach, Meschach & Sons in the midst of the fiery furnace, unharmed by the vicious Mauser balls or by the buzzing exploding bullets of the Irregulars.... Theodore preferred to stand up or walk about snuffing the fragrant air of combat. I really believe firmly now, that they cannot kill him. It looks, too, somewhat as if they would not get a chance for a spell, for our lines are around the Spanish Dog’s throat, and he will be smothered by our fire in a moment should the fight open once more. It would seem a shame now to have to damage them any more, for they say the streets are full of wounded and spent balls shower among them.... Theodore has sure made his mark on the Spaniard,--and the Rough Riders [the regiment had already ceased to be called the First Volunteer Cavalry, and was never again known as anything but the Rough Riders] will _remain_--pitching bronchos and all, afoot or on horseback!... The “bob whites” whistle all around these plantations, and transport one straight back to Sagamore Hill on a summer’s day. The mountains here are glorious; the valleys, a dream of drooping palms, and dark, cool, shaded mangroves clustered; soft bamboo waves near the creeks and smiling ridges, once all under cultivation. My brother himself, in a letter dated from Santiago, July 19, 1898, writes: “Darling Corinne:--‘Triumph tasted’!--for that, one will readily pay as heavy a price as we have paid; but it is bitter to think that part of the price was due to the mismanagement of those in authority. The misery has been fearful. Today, out of my four hundred odd men in camp, one hundred and twenty-three are under the doctor’s care. The rest of the six hundred with whom I landed are dead or in the rear hospitals. I cannot explain the breakdown of the transportation service, the commissariat, or the hospital service.”