We kept
along the highway until we began to approach the town, and then turned
aside into a by-lane crossing to the left. The by-lane was interrupted
at one place by a deep pool of water, through which the detachment
plunging, half-leg deep, some of the weak-legged stumbled and fell,
getting their cartridge-boxes under, and spoiling their ammunition.
At the end of this lane we came into another highway running toward San
Jorge, along which we advanced rapidly. After a while we came to a halt,
and a party was sent off; then forward again, a corner turned, and
another halt,--when I heard General Walker asking some one, in composed
voice, "Does he know exactly where we are?" Whilst we stood there, a
sudden and hot rattle of musketry began from the front, and we again
advanced swiftly, by scattered _adobes_, turning corners, and came in
full view of a barricade some distance ahead spitting flashes of fire
crosswise into the right-hand side of the street. We crossed over from
left to right, and halted behind an _adobe_. On our right hand stood
a grove of small trees, through which the assailants had probably
advanced, and in which, just ahead, hot work was now going on
loudly,--with Minie-balls, grape-shot, shouts, outcries, and blood
enough doubtless.
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