After some delay here, part of us rangers, led by
Colonel Waters, recrossed the street, and advanced, crouching, toward
the barricade spitting flames in front. We crept, double file, along a
palisade of tall cactus which bordered this part of the street, against
whose thorns my neighbor on the right would frequently thrust me, as the
shot nipped him closely,--inconvenient, but without pain, so intense was
the distraction of the moment. We had crept within a few rods of the
barricade, where we had glimpse of faces through embrasures, amidst the
smoke and flame, and our leader, as he afterwards said, had it on his
lips to order the forward rush,--when the party attacking on our right,
behind the trees, gave back, and our own mere handful was checked, and
retraced its steps running. A moment later, and we had gone upon that
high barricade, some score of us, without backers in the street, to
draw on us the enemy's whole fire,--and very likely--unless they had
foolishly fled at our first rush--to be all killed there.
On the retreat, I with some others was ordered out of the ranks to pick
up a wounded officer and carry him off the ground.
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