Altsheler Joseph Alexander
The Quest of the Four: A Story of the Comanches and Buena Vista

Phil, Breakstone, and Arenberg had left their horsesin the rear, and at this moment Middleton appeared alsodismounted.

"Stay with the Kentuckians there," he said, pointingto the ravine. "They will need every man. You can becavalrymen later if the chance comes."

The three at once fell into line with Grayson and theothers who had welcomed them to their camp, and theysaw the truth of Middleton's words. Ampudia hadaccumulated a great force on the ridge above the plateau, during the night, and now they were coming down inheavy masses upon the thin lines of the Kentuckians.

"It's not just five to one. It's eight to one,"muttered Bill Breakstone, as he looked at the long and deepcolumns which they were so soon to meet.

Phil felt his muscles quivering again, while a redlight danced before his eyes. But it was not fear. Thetime for that had passed. The Kentuckians in the frontrank kneeled down, with their hands on the triggers oftheir rifles. Clouds of dust and smoke floated over themand stung their eyes, and the deepening roar of the battleswelled from right and left. Phil knew that this greatforce of Mexicans was coming forward to crush them inorder that another large division might pass along theplateau and flank the American army. He was goodenough soldier to know that if they succeeded the trapwould indeed close down so firmly upon the defendersthat they could not burst from it.

The boy never took his eyes from the advancingMexican column. He saw, or thought he saw, the dark faces, the glowing eyes, and he was quite sure that he heard theheavy tread of the approaching thousands. Some onegave the order to fire, and, with a mechanical impulse, hepulled the trigger. All the Kentuckians fired together, aiming with their usual coolness and precision, and thefront rank of the Mexican advance was blown away.The Mexicans wavered, the Americans reloaded and firedagain with the same deadly precision, and then fromtheir right came the flash of cannon fire, sending theshells and heavy balls into the thick ranks of Ampudia'smen. The hesitation of the Mexicans turned into retreat, and, hurrying back, they sought refuge along the slopesof the mountains, while the Kentuckians uttered aderisive shout.

"Draw an extra breath or two, Phil," said Bill Breakstone,"because you won't have another chance for sometime. We've driven back the flank, but the main armyof the Mexicans will be on us in a few minutes."

Phil did as he was bid. He was glad to see thoseMexicans gone from their front, and, for the moment atleast, he felt the thrill of victory. Yet, while there wasrest for him, at that instant the battle was going on allabout him. He seemed to hear somewhere the distantnotes of a band playing, cheering the soldiers on to death.Now and then came the call of a bugle, shrill and piercing, and the rifles crashed incessantly. The air quiveredwith the roar of the cannon, and the echoes came rollingback from the gorges.

Now that he was really in the great battle, Phil feltan abnormal calmness. His heart ceased to beat so fast, and his blood cooled a little. He saw that the main armyof the Mexicans was advancing in three columns. Two ofthese columns, one under Lombardini, and the otherunder Pacheco, came straight toward the little plateau bythe side of the pass, upon which most of the Americanarmy now stood. The front of each column was a massof lancers, and rumbling batteries of twelve-pounderscame behind. The third column advanced toward thepass.

It was now about nine o'clock in the morning. GeneralTaylor had not yet arrived from Saltillo, but GeneralWool, his second, had thrown the whole American forcein a line across the plateau and the pass, where, less thanforty-five hundred in number, it awaited the full impactof twenty thousand Mexican troops. The moment wasmore than critical. It was terrible. It required stouthearts among the young volunteers, not trained regularsat all, as they watched the Mexican masses heave forward.Lucky it was for them that they had been born in newcountries, where every boy, as a matter of course, learnedthe use of the rifle. And it was lucky, too, that thebattery of O'Brien, a most daring and skillful officer, wason their flank to help them.

"Have you drawn those easy breaths yet, Phil?"asked Breakstone.

"Yes."

"Good, because the chance is gone now. Hark, therego our cannon! Look, how the balls are smashing intothem!"

The American battery opened at a range of only twohundred yards, and the balls and shells tore through theMexican lines, but the Mexicans are no cowards, and theywere well led that day. Their ranks closed up, and theymarched past the fallen, their flags still flying, comingwith steady step toward the plateau. Now their ownartillery opened, and their numerous guns swept the plateauwith a perfect hurricane of shot and shell. The volunteersbegan to fall fast. The Mexican gunners were doingdeadly work, and the Kentuckians where Phil stood raisedtheir rifles again.

"Fire, Phil! Fire as fast as you can reload and pulltrigger. It's now or never!"

Phil again did as he was bid, and the others did thesame, but this was a far more formidable attack than theone that they had driven back earlier. The Mexicansnever ceased to come. The fire from their cannon grewheavier and more deadly, and the lancers were alreadycharging upon the front lines, thrusting with their longweapons. It was only inborn courage and tenacity thatsaved them now. Phil saw the glittering squadronswheeling down upon them.

"Kneel and fire as they come close," shouted Middleton,"and receive them on the bayonet!"

It seemed to Phil that the lances were almost in theirfaces before they fired. He saw the foam on the nostrilsof the horses, their great, bloodshot eyes, and their neckswet with sweat. He saw the faces of the riders wet, too, with sweat, but glowing with triumph, and he saw them, also, brandishing the long lances with the glittering steelshafts. Then the rifles crashed so close together that theywere blended in one volley, and the lancers who did notfall reeled. But they quickly came on again to ridedirectly upon a hedge of bayonets which hurled themback. Once more the triumphant shout of the Kentuckiansrose, but it was quickly followed by a groan. Atdifferent points the volunteers from another state, dauntedby their great losses and the overwhelming numbers thatcontinually pressed upon them, were giving way. Theirretreat became a panic, and the helpful battery was leftuncovered. The brave O'Brien was compelled to unlimberand retreat with his guns. The flying regiment raninto another that was coming up and carried it along inits panic of the moment.

Phil and his comrades had full cause for the groanthat they uttered. The day seemed lost. The column ofLombardini was on the southern edge of the plateau andwas pressing forward in masses that seemed irresistible.The lancers had recovered themselves and were slayingthe fugitives, while the Mexican cannon also hailed shotand shell upon them.

Burning tears rose to Phil's eyes-he could not helpit, he was only a boy-and he turned appealingly to thefaithful Breakstone.

"Shall we, too, have to retreat?" he shouted.

"Not yet! Not yet, I hope!" Breakstone shoutedback. "No, we don't retreat at all! See the braveIllinois boys turning the current!"

An entire Illinois regiment had thrown itself in thepath of pursuers and pursued, and two fresh cannon beganto cut through the Mexican masses. The fugitives wereprotected and saved from wholesale slaughter, but BillBreakstone claimed too much. It was impossible for asingle regiment and two guns to withstand so manythousands crowded at that point, and the Illinois lads didretreat. But they retreated slowly and in perfect order, sending volley after volley into the advancing masses.Nor did they go far. They halted soon in a good positionand stood there, firing steadily into the Mexican columns.Yet they seemed lost. The Mexicans in vast numberswere pouring down upon the plateau, and the Illinoismen were now attacked in the flank as well as in thefront.

"Time for us to be doing something," said Breakstone, and at that moment the order came. The Kentuckians, also, retreated, turning, as fast as they reloaded,to fire a volley, aiming particularly at the lancers, whoseweapons were so terrible at close quarters. Phil lookedmore than once through all the fire and smoke for deArmijo, but he didn't see him until the battle was a fullhour old. Then it was only a passing glimpse, and heknew that his shot had missed-he had fired withoutremorse, as he now regarded de Armijo as so much venom.After the single shot the columns of smoke floated inbetween, and he saw him no more.

Phil knew that the battle was at a most critical stage, that it was even worse, that all the chances now favoredthe Mexicans. An inexperienced boy even could notdoubt it. The charge of the lancers had driven back asmall detachment of mounted volunteers, the Americanriflemen posted on the slopes of the mountain were forcedout of their positions, and the great columns of infantrywere still pressing on the left, cutting their way to therear of the army.

It seemed to Phil that they were completelysurrounded, and, in fact, they nearly were, but the men ofIllinois and Kentucky redoubled their efforts. Thebarrels of their rifles grew hot with so much firing. Themingled reek of dust and sweat, of smoke and burnedgunpowder, stung their nostrils and filled their eyes, halfblinding them. The shell and grape and bullets of theMexicans now reached the Kentuckians, too. Phil, asthe smoke lifted now and then, saw many a comrade godown. He, Arenberg, and Breakstone were all woundedslightly, though they were not conscious then of theirhurts.

Worse came. The great enclosing circle of theMexicans drove them into a mass. The regiment that hadbroken in panic could not yet be rallied, although theirofficers strove like brave men to get them back in line, and, like brave men, died trying. Phil saw officersfalling all around him, although Middleton was still erect, sword in hand, encouraging the men to fight on.

"It can't be that we are beaten! It can't be!" criedthe boy in despair.

"No," said Breakstone, "it's not a beating, but it'sa darned fine imitation. Come on, boys! Come on, allof you! We'll drive them back yet!"

Phil felt some one strike against him in the smoke.It was Dick Grayson, of Paris.

"Looks hot, Phil!" said that ingenuous youth. Therewas a tremendous discharge of artillery, and Graysonwent down. But he promptly sprang up.

"It is hot," he shouted, "hotter than I thought. ButI'm not hurt. It was only the wind from a cannon-ball.Look out, here come the lancers again, and our rifles areunloaded!"

The long glittering line of lancers appeared throughthe smoke, and Phil thought that their day was done. Itseemed to him that he could not resist any more, but, atthat moment a mighty crash of artillery came from thepass. The third column of Mexicans had just comewithin range of Washington's guns, and the gunners, restrained hitherto, were pouring shot and shell, grapeand canister, as fast as they could fire, into the Mexicanmass. The column was hurled back by the sudden andterrific impact, and, breaking, it fled in a panic. TheMexicans on the plateau were affected by the flight oftheir comrades, and they, too, lancers and all, wavered.The Illinois troops came pouring back. With them weremore Kentuckians and Bragg's battery, and then Sherman'sbattery, too. Never were cannon better served thanwere the American guns on that day. When the gunsbegan to thunder in front of them and between them andthe enemy, the fugitives were rallied and were broughtback into the battle.

Both batteries were now cutting down the Mexicans atthe foot of the mountain, but Breakstone, cool as always, pointed to the columns of Ampudia's infantry, whichwere still pressing hard on the flank, seeking to reach therear of the American army.

"If they get there we are lost," he said.

"There is dust behind us now," exclaimed Phil."See that column of it coming fast!"

"Good God, can they have got there already!" criedBreakstone, despair breaking at last through his armor ofcourage.

The cloud of dust rose like a tower and came fast.Then a shout of joy burst from the Americans. Throughthat cloud of dust showed the red face and white hair ofOld Rough and Ready, their commander, returning fromSaltillo, and with him were Davis's Mississippians andMay's mounted men. Wool galloped forward to meethis chief, who rode upon the plateau and looked at thewhole wide curve of the battle as much as the dust andsmoke would allow.

"The battle is lost," said Wool.

"That is for me to say," said Taylor.

Yet it seemed that Wool, a brave and resolute leader, was right. A great percentage of the American army wasalready killed or wounded. Many of its best officers hadfallen, and everywhere the Mexicans continually pressedforward in columns that grew heavier and heavier. SantaAnna worthily proved that day that, whatever he mayhave been otherwise he possessed devouring energy, greatcourage, and a spark of military genius. And thegenerals around him, Lombardini, Pacheco, Villamil,Torrejon, Ampudia, Minon, Juvera, Andrade, and the restwere full of the Latin fire which has triumphed more thanonce over the cold courage and order of the North.

The crisis was visible to every one. Ampudia andhis infantry passing to the rear of the American armymust be stopped. Davis gathered his Mississippians andhurled them upon Ampudia's men, who outnumberedthem five to one. They fired, then rushed down one slopeof a ravine that separated them from the enemy, and upthe other slope directly into the ranks of the Mexicans; firing another volley almost face to face. So great wastheir impact that the head of the Mexican column wasshattered, and the whole of it was driven back. Ampudia'smen, by regiments, sought shelter along the slopesof the mountain.

The battle was saved for the moment, but for themoment only. Few battles have swung in the balance oftenerthan this combat at Buena Vista, when it seemed as ifthe weight of a hair might decide it.

"We can breathe again, Phil," cried Breakstone."They haven't flanked us there, but I don't think we'llhave time for more than two breaths."

The battle, just in front of them, paused for aninstant or two, but it went on with undiminished furyelsewhere. While Phil let his heated rifle cool, he watchedthis terrible conflict at the mouth of the grim pass, acombat that swung to and fro and that refused to bedecided in favor of either. But, as he rested, all hiscourage came back anew. The little army, the boyvolunteers, had already achieved the impossible. For hoursthey had held off the best of the Mexican troops, five totheir one. More than once they had been near to theverge, but nobody could say that they had been beaten.

Phil's feeling of awe came again, as he looked at thegreat stage picture, set with all the terrible effects ofreality. The smoke rose always, banking up against thesides of the mountain, but dotted with red and pinkspots, the flame from the rifles of the sharpshooters wholurked among the crags. From the mouth of the passcame a steady roaring where the cannon of Washingtonwere fired so fast. The smoke banked up there, too, butit was split continually by the flash of the great guns.Out of the smoke came the unbroken crash of rifles, resembling, but on a much larger scale, the ripping of aheavy cloth. Now and then both sides shouted andcheered.

Bill Breakstone was a shrewd judge of a battle thatday. The crisis had passed, but in a few minutes a newcrisis came. For in their rear began another fierceconflict. Torrejon's splendid brigade of lancers made its wayaround the mountain and fell upon the small force ofArkansas and Kentucky volunteers under Yell andMarshall at the hacienda of Buena Vista. Yell was killedalmost instantly, many other men went down, but thevolunteers held fast. Some, their horses slain orwounded, reached the roofs of houses, and with their longrifles emptied saddle after saddle among the lancers. Itwas a confused and terrible struggle, but, in an instantor two, American dragoons came to the rescue. Thelancers gave way and fled, bearing with them their leader, the brave Torrejon, who was wounded badly. Again thearmy was saved by courage and quick action. If Torrejonand his men had been able to hold Buena Vista, theAmerican force would have been destroyed.

Phil knew nothing of the conflict at Buena Vista itselfuntil the day was done, because he was soon in the verythickest of it again himself. He and his comrades stoodamong the decimated squares on the plateau, where thebattle had shifted for a moment, and where the smokewas rising. Looking over the field, littered with menand horses, it seemed that half of his countrymen hadfallen. Everywhere lay the dead, and the woundedcrawled painfully to the rear. Yet the unhurt could givelittle aid to the hurt, because the Mexican battle frontseemed as massive and formidable as ever.

"Load, Phil, load!" whispered Bill Breakstone."See, they're coming again!"

Masses of lancers were gathering anew on the plateau, among them many of Torrejon's men, who had come backfrom the other side of the mountain, and the liftingsmoke enabled Phil and his comrades to see them clearly.The defenders-they were not many now-were moreclosely packed. The men of the West and South weremingled together, but with desperate energy the officerssoon drew them out in a line facing the lancers.Sherman with his cannon also joined them. In the shiftingfortunes of the day, another critical moment came. Ifthe charge of the lancers passed over their line, theAmericans were beaten.

The battle elsewhere sank and died for the time.All looked toward the two forces on the plateau, the heavysquadrons of cavalry advancing, and the thin line ofinfantry silent and waiting. The Mexican bugles ceasedto sound, and the firing stopped. Phil and the men withhim in the front rank knelt again. Arenberg, as usual, wason one side of him, and Breakstone on the other.Middleton was not far away. Phil glanced up and down theAmerican line and, as he saw how few they were, hisheart, after a period of high courage, sank like aplummet in a pool. It did not seem possible to stop thehorsemen. Then his courage rose again. They had donea half dozen wonders that day, they could do another halfdozen.

It was one of the most vivid moments of Phil's life, fairly burnt into his soul. The smoke, lifting higherand higher, disclosed more and more of the field, with itsdead and dying everywhere. The mountains were comingout of the mists and vapors, and showing their barecrags and peaks. There was no sound but the hoofbeatsof the horsemen and an occasional cry from the wounded, but Phil did not even hear these. There was to him onlyan awful and ominous silence, as the heavy columns drewnearer and nearer and he saw the menacing faces andready weapons. The blood quivered in his veins, but hedid not give back. Nor did the others, most of whomwere boys not much older than he.

"I think this will tell the tale," whispered BillBreakstone. "Look how steady our lads are! Veteranregulars could not bear themselves better in the face offive to one."

Nearer and nearer came the lancers. Something inthe aspect of the steady troops that awaited the shockmust have daunted them, because already on that daythey had shown themselves brave men more than once.The hoofbeats ceased, their line stopped and wavered, and at that instant the American rifles fired, pouringforth a stream of lead, a deadly volley.

Phil saw the blaze from a long line of muzzles, thepuff of rifle smoke, and then as it lifted he tried to shuthis eyes but could not. The whole front of the Mexicancolumn was destroyed. Men and horses lay in a heap, and other riderless horses galloped wildly over the plateau.The second line of the lancers stood for a moment, butwhen the cannon, following up the rifles, hurled shot andshell among them, they, too, broke and fled, while thebullets from the reloaded rifles pelted them and drovethem to greater speed.

A shout arose from the scanty ranks of the defense.Another critical moment had passed, and for the firsttime fortune shifted to the American side. Now thedefenders followed up their advantage. They pressedforward, pushing the Mexicans before them, attackingthem on two sides and driving them against the base ofthe mountain.

The whole battle now surged back toward the directionwhence Santa Anna had come. The scanty division ofthe Americans, after so long a defense, a defense thatseemed again and again to be hopeless, massed themselvesanew and attacked the Mexican army with redoubledvigor. Phil felt the song of victory singing in his ears, the blood leaped in his veins, and a great new store ofstrength came from somewhere, as he, with Breakstoneand Arenberg yet on either side of him, marched forwardnow, not backward.

The great division of Ampudia which had threatenedto surround the American force was now penned in at thefoot of the mountain. This single division alone greatlyoutnumbered the whole American army, but panic andterror were in its ranks. The Southern and Westernriflemen were advancing on three sides, sending in showers ofbullets that could not miss. Nine cannon, manned bygunners as good as the world could furnish, cut downrank after rank.

Earlier in the day Phil would have thrilled with horrorat the scene before him, but in such a long and furiousbattle his faculties had become blunted. It was nothingto see men fall, dead or wounded. The struggle for lifeat the expense of another's life, the most terrible phase ofwar, had now come. His only conscious thought at thatmoment was to destroy the mass of Mexicans pressedagainst the mountain, and he loaded and fired with a zealand rapidity not inferior to that of anybody.

The Mexican mass seemed to shrink and draw in uponitself. The officers encouraged the men to return theterrible fire that was cutting them down. Some did so, but it was too feeble a reply to check Taylor's advance.Santa Anna, farther down, saw the terrible emergency.Vain, bombastic, and treacherous, he was, nevertheless, agreat general, and now the spark of genius hidden in sucha shell blazed up. In the height of the battle, and withfive thousand of his best men being cut to pieces beforehim, a singular expedient occurred to him. He knew thecharacter of the general opposed to him; he knew thatTaylor was merciful and humane, and suddenly he sentforward a messenger under a white flag. Taylor, amazed, nevertheless received the messenger and ordered the firingon the trapped Mexicans to cease. He was still moreamazed when he read the Mexican commander's note.Santa Anna wished to know in rhetorical phraseologywhat General Taylor wanted. While Taylor was consideringand preparing the reply to so strange a question atsuch a time, and the messenger was riding back with it,Ampudia's whole division escaped from the trap up thebase of the mountain. Then the Mexicans at the otherpoints instantly reopened fire. It was a singular andtreacherous expedient, but it succeeded.

A cry of rage rose from Phil's company, and it wasuttered by others everywhere. The boy had seen theherald under the white flag, and, all the rest, too, hadwondered at the nature of the message he brought. Hedid not yet know what was in Santa Anna's note, but heknew that a successful trick had been played. The bloodin his veins seemed to turn to its hottest. His pulseswere beating the double quick, and he felt relief onlywhen Taylor, enraged at Santa Anna's ruse, ordered theKentucky and Illinois men to pursue Ampudia's fleeingdivision.

Forward they went, scarcely a thousand, because verymany comrades had fallen around them that day, butthey had never been more eager for the charge. Thesmoke thinned out before them and they advanced swiftlywith leveled rifles. They reached the southern edge ofthe plateau, and then they recoiled in horror. SantaAnna had not only saved a division by a trick, but he hadused the same opportunity to draw in his columns andmass the heaviest force that had yet converged upona single point. Ten thousand men appeared over theuneven ground and approached the single thousand. Toface such numbers advancing with great guns was impossible.Again it seemed that the day, after a brilliantsuccess, was lost.

The Americans at once turned and rushed into a gorgefor shelter and defense.

The side of the gorge was so steep that Phil slippedand rolled to the bottom. But he quickly sprang up, unconscious of his bruises. Breakstone and Arenberg, withpale faces, were at his side. The gorge was not as muchof a shelter and defense as it had seemed. It was insteada trap, the worst into which they had come that day.From the cliffs on both sides of the gorge the Mexicanssent down a continuous rain of bullets and shell. SantaAnna, exulting in his success, urged them on and, hisseconds, Ampudia, Pacheco, Lombardini and the others, ran from point to point, encouraging their troops andcrying that the battle was now won.

The Americans fired upward at their enemies, but theywere pressed together in great confusion. Men andofficers went down so fast that it looked to Phil like hayfalling before the scythe. Here fell the brave Colonel Clay, the son of the great Henry Clay, and with him McKeeand Hardin and many other gallant sons of Kentuckyand Illinois.

A great horror seized Phil. Penned in that awfulgorge, with that continuous shower of steel and lead fromabove, he felt as if he were choking. He and othersrushed for the mouth of the gorge, but the wary SantaAnna had closed it with a great body of lancers, who werenow advancing to assist in the complete destruction ofthe Americans.

The defenders reeled back, and Santa Anna, thinkingthe time had come to deliver the final blow, sent theMexican infantry in thousands down the sides of the gorge, where they attacked with the bayonet the few hundredsthat yet fought. Phil was quite sure that no hope wasleft. Before, at every critical moment there had alwaysbeen a slender chance of some kind or other, but now hecould see absolutely none. A million red motes dancedbefore him, and he struck almost blindly with his clubbedrifle at a Mexican who was trying to bayonet him.

But from a point above, not yet taken by the Mexicans, the brave O'Brien and Thomas, as brave, were still firingtheir cannon and sending the shot and shell into theMexican masses, where they were not mingled with theAmericans. But they themselves were exposed to adeadly fire. One by one their gunners fell. They werecompelled to fall back step by step. Not enough menwere left to load and fire the pieces. Soon all thegunners were killed or wounded except O'Brien himself.Presently he, too, was wounded, and the guns weresilent. Now, truly, it seemed that the last moment hadcome!

Phil, when he struck with his clubbed rifle, knew thathe hit something, because the Mexican with the eagerbayonet was no longer there. He saw Breakstone andArenberg yet beside him, both wounded, but both erectand defiant. He saw Grayson a little distance away, stillalive, and farther on a little group of Kentuckians andIllinoisans, fighting to the last. He had an instant'svision of the whole awful gorge, filled with men drivenon by the rage of battle, the dead and wounded strewedall about, the smoke hovering above like a roof, and themasses of Mexicans who completely encircled them nowclosing in for the final blow.

It was all a real panorama, passing in an instant, andthen from above, and at a new point, came the crash ofgreat guns, the shot and shell striking among theMexicans, not among the Americans. Not even at this, thelast crisis, when the battle seemed lost beyond redemption, had fortune, or rather courage and energy, failed.Bragg, coming on a run with his battery, suddenly openedat short range, and with awful effect, into the Mexicanmasses. In another minute Sherman arrived with hisguns, and close behind, coming as fast as breath wouldallow, were infantry with the rifle, and, to make thesurprise complete, Washington's guns suddenly appeared onthe right and began to sweep away the lancers who heldthe mouth of the gorge.

Never had fortune made a quicker and more completechange. The Mexicans who had suddenly trapped theKentuckians and Illinoisans had been entrappedthemselves with equal suddenness.

The fire now rose to the greatest height of the day.They had been fighting on the plateau, in the ravines, onthe slopes, and through the pass for hours. Vastquantities of smoke still hung about and lay like a blanketagainst the side of the mountain. The sun was far downthe western slope.

The Kentucky and Illinois men drew themselves intoa close body near the upper end of the gorge. There theyfired as fast as exhaustion would allow, but salvation wascoming from above, and now they knew it. Closer andcloser crept the American artillery. Heavier and heaviergrew its fire. The riflemen, also, sent in the bullets likehail. Taylor himself, a half dozen bullets through hisclothing, stood on the brink directing the attack. Thegorge where the Mexicans stood was swept by a storm ofdeath. Santa Anna, from the other side, watched indismay. Lancers and infantry alike, unable to stand sucha sleet, rushed for the mouth of the gorge. Few of thelancers, who made the larger target, escaped, and theinfantry suffered almost as much.

The gorge was cleared, and the Americans held theplateau. Everywhere the Mexicans fell back, leaving thewhole field in possession of the little force that had foughtso long and so fiercely to hold it. The Mexican buglesounded again, but now it was the command to retire.The sun dipped down behind the mountains, and theshadows began to gather in the Pass of Angostura. Theimpossible had happened. Mexico's finest army, five toone, led by her greatest general, had broken in vainagainst the farmer lads of the South and West, and thelittle band of regulars. The victory was won over thegreatest odds ever faced by Americans in a pitched battle.