travois or litters of blankets slung between poles, the ends of which
dragged along the ground. The hill was open, and exposed to weather
and the enemy's view. Although San Diego and Commodore Stockton were
only thirty miles distant (yet far out of sight beyond the high, brushy
hills), the camp was completely cut off by the nimble riders of Captain
Pico, and without doubt reinforcements for him were spurring in.

Altogether, General Kearny was in a fix: a fix both mortifying and
perilous. He himself had been lanced twice, and was not a young man.

Commodore Stockton must be notified, to send relief of men, ambulances
and food, at once. After the battle, and before the siege, the scout
Alexander Godey and three other trappers had set out on foot, using
their best skill, to take the word to San Diego; but they had been
captured by the Pico videttes, and nobody upon the hill knew whether
the Stockton relief was coming. A second try should be made.

With the General Kearny dragoons there was the famous Kit Carson. He
had been met by the general at the Rio Grande River in New Mexico south
of Santa Fe, and had turned back to act as guide to California. He was
a veteran on the long trail: had been traveling mountains and deserts
for over twenty years, or ever since he was sixteen.

There was a greenhorn, much younger than he, but just as brave:
Acting-Lieutenant Edward Fitzgerald Beale of the navy, aged twenty-four
and commissioned midshipman only sixteen months ago. He came of a
stanch navy family; his grandfather and his father had been navy
officers before him; the spirit of service to his country was in his
blood.

The boyish Lieutenant Beale had joined the Kearny column before the
battle, with the little force that brought dispatches to the general
from San Diego. He was a sailor; had not been trained in scouting upon
land; but that made no difference, for when this afternoon General
Kearny called a council, to discuss means again of reaching Commodore
Stockton, the first scout volunteer was Lieutenant Beale.

He said that he had come out; he thought that he could find his way
back. He offered himself and his Indian boy servant, who would be able
to guide him. The boy was a native of this country, and knew the
trails.

Kit Carson heard, and lost no time in volunteering also. That was
good. Everybody had confidence in the bravery of young Lieutenant
Beale, but felt more dependence upon the training of