The American battery opened at a range of only two hundred yards, and the balls and shells tore through the Mexican lines, but the Mexicans are no cowards, and they were well led that day. Their ranks closed up, and they marched past the fallen, their flags still flying, coming with steady step toward the plateau. Now their own artillery opened, and their numerous guns swept the plateau with a perfect hurricane of shot and shell. The volunteers began to fall fast. The Mexican gunners were doing deadly work, and the Kentuckians where Phil stood raised their rifles again.
"Fire, Phil! Fire as fast as you can reload and pull trigger. It's now or never!"
Phil again did as he was bid, and the others did the same, but this was a far more formidable attack than the one that they had driven back earlier. The Mexicans never ceased to come. The fire from their cannon grew heavier and more deadly, and the lancers were already charging upon the front lines, thrusting with their long weapons. It was only inborn courage and tenacity that saved them now. Phil saw the glittering squadrons wheeling down upon them.
"Kneel and fire as they come close," shouted Middleton, "and receive them on the bayonet!"
It seemed to Phil that the lances were almost in their faces before they fired. He saw the foam on the nostrils of the horses, their great, bloodshot eyes, and their necks wet with sweat. He saw the faces of the riders wet, too, with sweat, but glowing with triumph, and he saw them, also, brandishing the long lances with the glittering steel shafts. Then the rifles crashed so close together that they were blended in one volley, and the lancers who did not fall reeled. But they quickly came on again to ride directly upon a hedge of bayonets which hurled them back. Once more the triumphant shout of the Kentuckians rose, but it was quickly followed by a groan. At different points the volunteers from another state, daunted by their great losses and the overwhelming numbers that continually pressed upon them, were giving way. Their retreat became a panic, and the helpful battery was left uncovered. The brave O'Brien was compelled to unlimber and retreat with his guns. The flying regiment ran into another that was coming up and carried it along in its panic of the moment.
Phil and his comrades had full cause for the groan that they uttered. The day seemed lost. The column of Lombardini was on the southern edge of the plateau and was pressing forward in masses that seemed irresistible. The lancers had recovered themselves and were slaying the fugitives, while the Mexican cannon also hailed shot and shell upon them.
Burning tears rose to Phil's eyes--he could not help it, he was only a boy--and he turned appealingly to the faithful Breakstone.
"Shall we, too, have to retreat?" he shouted.
"Not yet! Not yet, I hope!" Breakstone shouted back. "No, we don't retreat at all! See the brave Illinois boys turning the current!"
An entire Illinois regiment had thrown itself in the path of pursuers and pursued, and two fresh cannon began to cut through the Mexican masses. The fugitives were protected and saved from wholesale slaughter, but Bill Breakstone claimed too much. It was impossible for a single regiment and two guns to withstand so many thousands crowded at that point, and the Illinois lads did retreat. But they retreated slowly and in perfect order, sending volley after volley into the advancing masses. Nor did they go far. They halted soon in a good position and stood there, firing steadily into the Mexican columns. Yet they seemed lost. The Mexicans in vast numbers were pouring down upon the plateau, and the Illinois men were now attacked in the flank as well as in the front.