Captain Gore and Lieutenant Grant, of Company B, were well ahead of the skirmishers. Bullets droned in, glancing among the arches. On the west side of the San Cosme road, where it met the road from the west, there stood a house in a large yard enclosed by a wall. The wall skirted both roads. Now Lieutenant Grant had daringly darted across to the south end of the yard, scurried along the wall to the southwest corner, and turning it, disappeared.
He came running back to the road; must have called for volunteers. The skirmishers of the Fourth fired briskly at the red caps upon the nearest roof-tops. Under cover of the firing a dozen men bolted to the lieutenant; at a trail arms they all followed along the wall again and turned the outside corner. A company of the Second Artillery sprang out of a ditch there and joined them.
In about ten minutes there was a volley from the road beyond the one house and the battery. The Mexicans upon the roofs overlooking leaped off and scampered for positions eastward. The battery was evacuated in a jiffy. The Lieutenant Grant squad and the Second Artillery company appeared in the rear of the battery; by rushes among the arches of the aqueduct they pursued the Mexicans.
With a yell the Fourth charged to the support. Huzzah! More roofs were being emptied. The road east to the city gate opened. On, men! On! Third Sergeant Bloss forged to the fore with the regimental colors. The men tore after, Jerry and nimble little Tommy Jones footing with the fastest. It was a go-as-you-please, for the field music and all. Look out! Look out! Another battery—and ready for action, too. A blast of grape whistled down the road, rattled against the arches in which the men sought cover. Steady, men! Watch sharp. He’s up to mischief this time.
“Bang!” A cry arose. Bloss was flat! The grape had met him when, bearing the colors, with the color guard he had made a dash for shelter of a vacant house across the road. The tattered blue and gold banner of the Fourth was in the dust. Out charged the Mexican infantry, yelling like Indians, to capture the flag. That would be a trophy indeed. In charged the nearest men of the Fourth to rescue it. Bullets flew, hissing and spattering.
Jerry thought of nothing but the flag. Somehow, there he was, clutching at it in the hurly-burly—helped by Tommy Jones, was dragging it aside, while bullets sang in his ears and bayonets clashed over him. And entirely out of breath he was safely behind an arch, and delivering the flag to Captain Gore!
“You’ll get mention for this, sir,” the captain panted. “The regiment would have been eternally disgraced.” He ran for the mêlée again.
“Are you hurt, Tommy?” Jerry gasped. With a word and a slap on the shoulder Corporal Finerty had taken the flag to carry it.
“No,” said Tommy. “And you saved the honor of the regiment. You were there first.”