To better see the shooting the "Kid" climbed upon the after wheel-house roof.

The shells from the gunboat and the forts were dropping all around, fore and aft, port and starboard; they whistled through the rigging, and exploded in every direction, sending their fragments in a veritable hail of metal on all sides.
The fact that the "Yankee" had so far escaped injury aroused in the "Kid's" breast a feeling of the utmost contempt for the Spanish gunners.
Coolly standing upon his feet, he assumed the pose of a baseball player, and holding a capstan bar in his hands, called out tauntingly: "Here, you dagoes, give me a low ball, will you?
Put 'em over the plate!" As a shell would fly past with a shriek, he would strike at it, shouting at the same time: "Put 'em over the plate, I say.

Do you expect me to walk up to the fo'c's'le to get a rap at 'em?
Hi, there! wake up!" Then as a shot fell short, he laughed: "Look at that drop, will you?
Do you think I'm going to dive for it ?" A moment later a shell flew past so close that the windage almost staggered him, but the daring lad only cried banteringly: "That's more like it.

One more a little closer and I'll show you a home run worth seeing." And so it went until he was espied from the bridge and peremptorily ordered down.
In the meantime, while this little episode was in progress, we on the gun deck were laboring without cessation.

A dozen shots had been fired from Number Eight alone, when suddenly another fort secured the range, and began a deadly fusillade.
The situation was becoming extremely serious!.