the roofs of the houses along the road gushed smoke. The figures of the Mexican defenders, lying flat or crouching, or stealing from point to point, could be plainly seen amidst smoke spume.
Up the street there were the Voltigeurs, supporting the howitzers and springing from arch to arch. Duncan's battery, posted farther back but gradually coming nearer, was responding hotly to the Mexican battery. In the yards of the houses the skirmishers of the Fourth, and of the Second and Third Artillery, darted hither thither, picking off the Mexican sharp-*shooters before them; every now and then the burrowing squads burst out in a new spot.
Across the street the Clarke brigade was doing the same work. A second howitzer had been mounted upon a high roof over there, in rivalry with Lieutenant Grant's howitzer. It, too, was dropping shells into the enemy.
And yonder, a mile and a half or two miles in the southeast at the Belen gate, the other battle was being waged, where the General Quitman column appeared to have gained a foothold.
The sun was touching the western horizon. The ammunition for the little howitzer was almost spent. But a great cheer arose from below. They gazed quickly. Drawn by galloping horses, the gunners astride and lashing, or sitting upon the caisson, a six-pounder from Duncan's battery was charging down the road for the abandoned breastworks.
The city gate spouted flame and smoke afresh. Every Mexican musket, as seemed, was brought to bear upon the bounding, thundering gun. Would the gun make it—would it—would it? The two lead
