“Says she to me, ‘Joe Bowers,
You are the man to win;
Here’s a kiss to bind the bargain,’
And she hove a dozen in....”
... Bivouacked under the black-lipped howitzers of Tampico’s sullen heights.... Dismal fens ... where fever exhaled its dread gray breath thick over swamp and lagoon ... above, the vast ægis of the firmament, 329wrought in a diamond dust of stars ... a sickly, jaundiced, moon tilted drunkenly.... Through ooze and fetid slime the Americans crept stealthily out of the reeds; and on, over cypress roots, silently in the silent night; on, up the hill under the low walls of Fort Iturbide. Gently and fleeting as a dark beauty’s sigh in old Castile, they were come in canister range.
“Steady, men,” their leader whispered.
“Unto death,” came the low-breathed response.
[No such words were uttered, as Daniel knew perfectly well, but he knew that they should be–in the telling.].... A sharp cry ... fearful alarums from the crest of the hill ... next a belching fury of grape.... But Tall Mose was happier for it. The seal was off his lips at last, and out thundered his stentorian war-song:
“O Sally! dearest Sally!
O Sally! for your sake....”
... still upward, until the cannon fumes broke as a dun-colored wave over pennant and plume ... and grimy troops fell as spring blossoms in a balmy south breeze.... Dying as they loved to die, game to the last ... they stumbled back to the river, which swept over the gallant stranger slain....
“... It’s enough to make me swear!–
That Sally had a baby,
And the baby had red hair....”
... Then piercing and wildly plaintive, the clarions rang out, clamoring for victory and væ victis... and Din Driscoll’s hoarse voice.... “We are the last of the race, let us be the best as well.”... “Back at ’em, fellows!” Bledsoe bellows.... And the parson murmurs, “He prays best who fights best, both great and small” ... his soft voice tremulous enough for Glory, his superb 330 trigger finger disturbing enough for Chaos.... At last, the supreme command “like volley’d lightning”–“Give ’em the revolver. Charge!”...
Not until the story is told shall ... for over the battered masonry, in through the splintered doors, felling shadowy foes on every hand.... When well within-side ... the prowess of each unto himself ... tempest of pistol cracking ... bleeding deathfully ... ah, the killing is fast and desperate ... and not a candle over the pitiless fray.... Huddled together for a brief last stand, the Cossacks ... panic, flight.... The fort is taken!