- linans, the Georgians and the Alabamans and most
of the Tennessee horse, remained in Vera Cruz.
The column of cavalry, artillery and infantry stretched long. The canteens and the tin cups clinked, the heavy shoes clumped, the dragoon horses clattered, the artillery and the wagons rumbled, and the dust rose in a white cloud.
Trudge, trudge, trudge, with the bands and the fifes and drums playing marching tunes—"Yankee Doodle," "Will You Come to the Bower" (the Texas battle song of independence, that), "Turkey in the Straw," "Hail, Columbia!", and so on, and the men marching at will. The dragoons and General Worth and staff headed the column, the guns of Colonel Duncan's flying battery came next, the sturdy infantry and the artillery serving as infantry followed, the wagon train toiled in the rear. And midway Jerry, clad in an old cut-down pair of army trousers, and an old army shirt, with a ragged straw hat on his crown and no shoes on his feet, ambled beside Company B, keeping as close to Lieutenant Grant as he dared. Pompey was somewhere, probably stealing a ride in one of the wagons.
The road was a poor road for one called "National," the main road to the capital. It was ankle deep in sand. Soon the soldiers were sweating and panting. When a halt was made about three miles out, at a stream, they began to overhaul their knapsacks and haversacks, and throw things away. Presently the route was strewn with stuff, although the wise ones hung to their blankets and great-coats and rations, if nothing else.
Trudge, trudge, clinkity-clink, all that day, and
