As yet not one of the American vessels had been reached by a shell, nor had the forts suffered any perceptible damage.

The fleet, roaring and thundering, was swinging back and forth through the great semicircle, the smoke from the guns was banking along the beach, and from Morro Castle and its attending batteries came sharp, defiant answers to the interminable volleys fired by our squadron.
"It's a good thing Uncle Sam's shot locker is pretty capacious," remarked Flagg, as we shoved another cartridge into the yawning breech of our five-inch gun.

"If we haven't fired over three hundred rounds since seven o'clock I can't count." "It'll be double that before we get through," grunted "Long Tommy," as we stepped back from the loaded gun.

"Steady, there.

Stand by!" A motion to "Hay," who held the firing lanyard, and almost instantly came the sharp, vicious report of the breechloader.