I was not alone in the disregard of romantic possibilities. Later in the
afternoon I saw a wounded private propped up against a fence, and bleeding
copiously from a bullet-hole that extended through both cheeks. His eyes
were closed, and he was making queer noises in his throat. As I happened to
be idle at the instant, I stepped to his side, and inquired compassionately
if I could do anything for him. He opened his eyes with a jerk, spat forth
a couple of teeth, and replied: "If you'll tell me how the beginning of
'Sweet Marie' goes, I'll give you a piece of my face for a souvenir. I've
been trying to get that blame tune straight for the last fifteen minutes,
but keep getting off my trolley." And he laughed a ghastly laugh. I stared
at him in amazement, and then, seeing that he was not delirious, strode
moodily away. What that man ought to have said was, "How goes the fight?"
or "A drop of water, for God's sake"; but it is the painful truth that he
didn't.

[Illustration: Wooden Dock at Mayaguez. In the Offing can be seen the
German Man-of-war "Geier."]

A striking feature of the engagement was the thoroughly matter-of-fact
manner in which both officers and men went about their work. There was no
strutting, no posing, no shirking, but an evident intention on the part
of all concerned, from General Schwan down, to do whatever had to be done
without unnecessary fuss and feathers, promptly and well. I have seen far
more excitement displayed on an ordinary drill-ground at home, in the
piping times of peace.

A sudden appearance of the flag just after the trumpets had sounded "cease
firing" brought moisture to the eyes of many a toughened veteran; but even
then, with victory still glowing in our grasp, there was not the ghost of a