"Between here and Puebla—about five miles out—lancers, sir."
Away ran Lieutenant McClellan.
"Golly!" blurted Tom, who had been listening with his mouth open. He, too, ran, and Jerry after. They got to the corral just in time. All the town had seemed to be excited, the pickets were firing alarm shots, the long rolls were beating for artillery and infantry, officers and men were hustling, and in the corral the Fourth Infantry was falling in, helter skelter, the soldiers wrestling into their trousers and jackets and shoes, buckling on their belts and cartridge boxes, seizing their muskets.
An aide spurred through the corral gate.
"Colonel Garland! Oh, Colonel Garland! The general directs that you take four companies of the Fourth, unite with the Second Artillery, and commanding in person, march out upon the Puebla road until in touch with the enemy or he has been dispersed."
Captain Nichols, the adjutant, rapidly called the companies: A, B, E. I. Company B was into it! Jerry sprang to his place. Drummer and fifer stuck to their company on detached duty like this.
"Company B, by the right flank! Right face! Company, forward—march!" Captain Gore bawled.
In double file (two ranks formation) Company A marched out through the corral gate.
"By platoon, into line! Quick—march! Guide right."
The other companies were close before and behind. The Second Artillery, serving as infantry, was double-quicking from the plaza, under Major
