To Cuba 47 



quired the name of "The Dude." One unlucky and 

 simple-minded cowpuncher, who had never been east 

 of the great plains in his life, unwarily boasted that 

 he had an aunt in New York, and ever afterward 

 went by the name of "Metropolitan Bill." A huge 

 red-headed Irishman was named "Sheeny Solo- 

 mon." A young Jew who developed into one of the 

 best fighters in the regiment accepted, with entire 

 equanimity, the name of "Pork-chop." We had 

 quite a number of professional gamblers, who, I am 

 bound to say, usually made good soldiers. One, 

 who was almost abnormally quiet and gentle, was 

 called "Hell Roarer"; while another, who in point 

 of language and deportment was his exact antithesis, 

 was christened "Prayerful James." 



While the officers and men were learning their 

 duties, and learning to know one another, Colonel 

 Wood was straining- every nerve to get our equip- 

 ments an effort which was complicated by the 

 tendency of the Ordnance Bureau to send whatever 

 we really needed by freight instead of express. 

 Finally, just as the last rifles, revolvers, and saddles 

 came, we were ordered by wire at once to proceed 

 by train to Tampa. 



Instantly, all was joyful excitement. We had 

 enjoyed San Antonio, and were glad that our regi- 

 ment had been organized in the city where the 

 Alamo commemorates the death fight of Crockett, 



