A Wholesale Capture.
In a few minutes our greetings were over. Twing moved on, taking with him his squadron of mounted men. I had made up my mind to take the opposite road—the “back track”. I was now in command of a force—my own—and I felt keenly the necessity of doing something to redeem my late folly. Clayley was as anxious as myself.
“You do not need them any longer?” said I to Ripley, a gallant young fellow, who commanded the howitzer.
“No, Captain; I have thirty artillerists here. It is strange if we can’t keep the piece and manage it against ten times that number of such heroes as we have seen over yonder.” And he pointed to the flying enemy on the other side of the barranca.
“What say you to going with us?”
“I should like it well; but duty, my dear H.—duty! I must stay by the gun.”
“Good-bye, then, comrade! We have no time to lose—farewell!”
“Good-bye; and if you’re whipped, fall back on me. I’ll keep the piece here until you return, and there’ll be a good load of grape ready for anybody that may be in pursuit of you.”
The company had by this time formed on the flank of the howitzer, and at the words “Forward!—quick time!” started briskly across the hills.
In a few minutes we had reached the point where the road trended for some distance along the brow of the precipice. Here we halted a moment; and taking Lincoln and Raoul, I crawled forward to our former point of observation.