ng the tents: the
teamster, the camp-guard, the invalid soldier.

"Look! look!"

I followed the direction indicated. Against the long ridge that rose
over the camp a dark-blue line could be traced--a line of uniformed men,
glistening as they moved with the sparkle of ten thousand bayonets. It
wound along the hill like a bristling snake, and, heading towards El
Telegrafo, disappeared for a moment behind the ridge.

A gun from the globe-shaped hill--and then another! another! another!--a
roll of musketry!--drums--bugles--shouts--cheering!

"The battle's begun!"

"We are too late!"

We were still eight miles from the scene of action. We checked up, and
sat chafing in our saddles.

And now the roll of musketry became incessant, and we could hear the
crack! crack! of the American rifles. And bombs hurtled and rockets
hissed through the air.

The round hill was shrouded in a cloud of sulphur, and through the smoke
we could see small parties creeping up from rock to rock, from bush to
bush, firing as they went. We could see some tumbling back under the
leaden hail that was poured upon them from above.

And then a strong band debouched from the woods below, and strained
upwards, daring all danger. Up, up!--and bayonets were crossed, and
sabres glistened and grew red, and wild cries filled the air. And then
came a cheer, long, loud, and exulting, and under the thinning smoke
thousands were seen rushing down the steep, and flinging themselves into
the woods.

We knew not as yet which party it was that were thus flying. We looked
at the tower in breathless suspense. The cloud was around its base,
where musketry was still rolling, sending its deadly missiles after the
fugitives below.

"Look! look!" cried a voice: "the Mexican flag--it is down! _See_!
`_the star-spangled banner_!'"

The American standard was slowly unfolding itself over the blue smoke,
and we could easily distinguish the stripes, and the dark square in the
corner with its silvery stars; and, as if with one voice, our troops
broke into a wild "Hurrah!"

In less time than you have taken in reading this account of it the
battle of Cerro Gordo was lost and won.

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

AN ODD WAY OF ESCAPING FROM A BATTLE-FIELD.

We sat on our horses, facing the globe-shaped summit of El Telegrafo,
and watching our flag as it swung out from the tower.

"Look yonder! what is that?" cried an officer, pointing across the
barranca.

All