contest. The men had but ten rounds of ammunition, which was soon
expended, and we were compelled to retire beneath the bank of the
river until more was supplied.

This incident developed a strange, and to me a very sad, trait of
human nature,--other illustrations of which I have observed
repeatedly since,--an unusual disposition to witticisms in the most
solemn circumstances, when it might be supposed that even the most
hardened would reflect upon the fearful fate sure to seize upon
some of them. One of the captains of our regiment, J.L. Saffarrens,
ran into the river waist-deep, in his desire for safety, when one of
his men called out, "Captain, dear, are ye off for Memphis? If ye
are, tell the ould woman the last ye saw ov me I was fighting, while
ye were runnin' away."

The gallant captain received a ball in the face, while stuck in the
mud into which he had sunk, and was taken to Memphis with the
wounded next day; but I never learned that he delivered the message
to the "_ould woman_." A curious little Irishman in our company,
nick-named "Dublin Tricks," who was extremely awkward, and scarcely
knew one end of his gun from the other, furnished the occasion of
another outburst of laughter, just when the bullets were flying like
hail around us. In his haste or ignorance, he did what is often done
in the excitement of rapid firing by older soldiers: he rammed down
his first cartridge without biting off the end, hence the gun did
not go off. He went through the motions, putting in another load
and snapping his lock, with the same result, and so on for several
minutes. Finally, he thought of a remedy, and sitting down, he
patiently picked some priming into the tube. This time the gun and
Dublin both went off. He picked himself up slowly, and called out in