"Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!" The First Division quickened pace, so eager the men were to get into the fight.
"Form company! First platoon—right oblique—quick—march!" And—"Left into line, wheel!" the adjutant shouted.
"To the left, into line—quick—march!" shouted Captain Gore to Company B.
The men obeyed at a run. The division was forming line of battle.
"Forward—center guide—quick time—march!"
The drums tapped briskly. They had crossed the head of the ravine, they began to scramble up the slope, at last, in the wake of the Second Division stormers. The brush and rocks were reddened, strewn with knapsacks, and dotted with dead and wounded; the climb was very steep. A perfect pandemonium raged above. Bullets and grape-shot were whistling overhead. The men gripped their muskets and peered and panted. Huzzah! But what's the cheering for? For General Scott! Here he stood, as large as life, in his full uniform, gazing through his glass up the hill, marking the progress of the charge. He looked as cool and confident as if watching a parade.
"Huzzah for Old Fuss and Feathers! Huzzah! Huzzah!"
Company B passed close to him. He waved encouragingly.
"On, my brave boys!" he said.
Next there were breastworks, bloodied and trampled. The Mexicans had already been driven out of these. Scrambling inside, Jerry almost stepped upon
