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 cheer.  We were simply more tired and hungry than usual, and until matters had been straightened out for the night had no time for sentiment.  And, when we finally went into camp on the very field where we had just ceased fighting, we found our chief interest centred in hot coffee, crisp hard-tack, and comfortable blankets.  We had begun to realize that we might have lain stiffer and starker that night but for the whim of chance, and were silent with the clacking tongue.

* * * * *

Hormigueros, the village which gave its name to this engagement, is a place of about 3,000 inhabitants, whose houses cluster about the base of the mountain crowned by the Sanctuary of Montserrate.  This church is visited by an endless stream of pilgrims, and many wild legends are told concerning it.

[Illustration:  “Eleventh of August” Street.]

CHAPTER VII

The Occupation of Mayaguez

We enter the city in triumph—­An enthusiastic reception—­A pretty girl and the star-spangled banner—­Other memorable incidents—­Our rags and tatters—­A description of Mayaguez—­We pitch our tents in a swamp—­The First Kentucky Volunteers.