On such occasions there is no sleep f’r th’ modhren sojer.  Napolyon wud’ve gone to bed but slumber niver crost me tired eyelids.  ’Twas six o’clock whin we cashed in an’ each wint to th’ mournful jooties iv th’ day, silently but with a heart full iv courage.  At high noon, we fell upon th’ inimy an’ poored out about eighty-five thousan’ dollars worth iv near-slaughter on him.  His guns was choked with cotillyon favors an’ he did not reply at wanst, but whin he did, th’ scene was thruly awful.  Th’ sky was blackened be th’ smoke iv smokeless powdher an’ th’ air was full iv cotton waste fr’m th’ fell injines iv desthruction.  A breeze fr’m shore carried out to me ears th’ wails iv th’ wounded tax payers.  At twelve fifteen, I descried th’ bloodthirsty Higginson—­an’ a good fellow Caleb is at that—­on th’ roof iv his boat.  “Hi-spy,” says he.  “Hi-spy ye’er gran’mother,” says I.  “I’ve had me eye on ye f’r fifteen minyits an’ ye’re a dead man as I can prove be witnesses,” I says.  An’ he fell off th’ roof.  I was sorry to take his life but war knows no mercy.  He was a brave man but foolhardy.  He ought niver to’ve gone again’ me.  He might’ve licked Cervera but he cudden’t lick me.  We captured all th’ men-iv-war, desthroyed most iv th’ cruisers an’ ar-re now usin’ th’ flag-ship f’r a run-about.  Th’ counthry is safe, thanks to a vigylant an’ sleepless army.  I will go up to New York tomorrah to be measured f’r th’ prisintation soord.”

“There it is, Hinnissy.  Who won?  I don’t know.  I can’t tell at this minyit whether I ought to be undher th’ bed larnin’ German f’r th’ time whin a Prooshyan sojer’ll poke me out with his saber, or down at Finucane’s hall callin’ a meetin’ to thank th’ definders iv th’ fireside.  Nobody knows.  It’s a quare game, f’r they tell me afther th’ battles has been fought an’ th’ kilt has gone back to holeystonin’ th’ deck an’ th’ smoke fr’m th’ chafin’ dish has cleared away, th’ decision is up to a good figurer at Wash’nton.  It depinds on him whether we ar-re a free people or whether we wear th’ yoke iv sarvichood an’ bad German hats f’r all time.  He’s th’ officyal scoorer an’ what Higginson thinks was a base hit, he calls a foul an’ what McArthur calls an accipted chanst is an error.  Afther th’ gallant lads in blue an’ gold has got through, a wathry-eyed clerk named Perkins H. Something-or-other, sets down an’ figures out th’ victhry.  Th’ man behind th’ fountain pen is th’ boy.  It’s up to him whether th’ stars an’ sthripes still floats over an onconquered people or whether five pfennigs is th’ price iv a dhrink in New York.  He sets on his high stool an’ says he:  ’Five times eight is twinty-nine, subthract three f’r th’ duchess, a quarther to one o’clock an’ eighty miles fr’m Narragansett pier is two-an’-a-half, plus th’ load-wather-line iv th’ saloon companionway, akel to two-fifths iv th’ differentyal tangent.  Huroo!  Misther Sicrety, ye can go home an’ tell ye’er wife th’ counthry’s safe.’  He has to be a smart man.  A good book-keeper, as th’ pote says, is th’ counthry’s on’y safety.  He mus’ be careful, too, d’ye mind.  Th’ honor iv th’ army an’ the navy is at stake.  Wan or th’ other iv thim has been careless.”