"Battalion, forward—quick time—march!"
The drums tapped quick time. Now the Second Brigade was well out in the lava, its line of battle resembling a great flock of goats. The Fourth Infantry was next, at the same side of the road but below, hurrying through the boggy cornfield. The remainder of the First Brigade stretched across the road and was forging straight on.
"Bang! Bang! Bangity-bang-bang-bang-g-g-g!"
The Second Brigade was in action—perhaps driving the Mexican skirmishers. Hannibal was there with the Eighth. The firing increased to battle din; cheers echoed, smoke drifted, and in the corn the Fourth Infantry could see little except the green stalks and the mud and the ditches that had been cut.
"Trail arms! Double time—march!"
How they hustled, almost dead with the ten and more miles marched already, and with stomachs curiously empty again. Beating the double, Jerry and the other drummers had hard work to hold their places. They and the fifers formed two ranks behind the left center company; this was the field music position in order of battle.
"Battalion, ready! Stoop, men!"
The musket locks clicked. Close before, between the stalks of corn, breastworks could be seen, the muzzles of cannon staring blackly. The Mexicans were reserving their fire here; but out to the left the firing had grown fiercer and was traveling on toward San Antonio. Farther in the north other firing swelled louder and louder. But here! Why didn't the Mexican breastworks open? Any-
