JERRY'S STORY.
"It wor a Sunday night, young genl'men, the 21st of September, and powerful hot. We had been fightin' like mad, wi' not a moment's rest, all day, an' now at last wor under the canwas, they of us as wor left alive, a tryin' to sleep. The skeeters buzzed aroun' wonderful thick, and the groun' aneath our feet wor like red-hot tin plates, wi' the sun burnin' an blisterin' down. At last my mate Bill says, says he, 'Jerry, my mate, hang me ef I can stan' this any longer. Let you an' me get up an' see ef it be cooler out-o'-doors.'
"I wor tired enough wi' the day's fight, an' worrited, too, wi' a wound in my shoulder; but the tent wor no better nor the open field, an' we got up an' went out. Thar wor no moon, but the sky was wonderful full o' stars, so we could see how we wor stannin' wi' our feet among the bodies o' the poor fellows as had fired their last shot that day. It wor a sight, young genl'men, what would make sich as you sick an' faint to look on; but sogers must larn not to min' it; an' we stood thar, not thinkin' how awful it wor, and yet still an' quiet, too.
"'Ah, Jerry,' says Bill—he wor a young lad, an' brought up by a pious mother, I allow—'I dunnot like this fightin' on the Sabba' day. The Lord will not bless our arms, I'm afeard, if we go agin His will so.'
"I laughed—more shame to me—an' said, 'I'm a sight older nor you, mate, an' I've seed a sight o' wictories got on a Sunday. The better the day, the better the deed, I reckon.'
"'Well, I don't know,' he says; 'mebbe things is allers mixed in time o' war, an' right an' wrong change sides a' purpose to suit them as wants battle an' tumult to be ragin'; but it don't go wi' my grain, noways.'
"I hadn't experienced a change o' heart then, as I did arterward, bless the Lord! an' I hardly unnerstood what he said. While we wor a stannin' there, all to onct too dark figgers kim a creepin' over the field to'ard the Major's tent. 'Look thar, Jerry,' whispered Bill, kind o' startin' like, 'thar's some of them rascally Mexicans.' I looked at 'em wi'out sayin' a wured, an' then I went back to the tent fur my six-shooter—Bill arter me;—fur ef it ain't the dooty o' every Christian to extarminate them warmints o' Mexicans, I'll be drummed out of the army to-morrer.
"Wall, young genl'men—we tuck our pistols, and slow and quiet we moved to whar we seed the two Greasers, as they call 'em. On they kim, creepin' to'ard my Major's tent, an' at las' one o' 'em raised the canwas a bit. Bill levelled his rewolver in a wink, an' fired. You shud ha' seed how they tuck to their heels! yelling all the way, till wun o' em' dropped. The other didn't stop, but just pulled ahead. I fired arter him wi'out touching him; but the noise woke the Major, an' when he hearn wot the matter wor, he ordered the alarm to be sounded an' the men turned out. 'It's a 'buscade to catch us,' he says, 'an' I'm fur being fust on the field.'
"Bill an' I buckled on our cartridge boxes, caught up our muskets, an' were soon in the ranks. On we marched, stiddy an' swift, to the enemy's fortifications; an' wen we were six hundred yards distant, kim the command, 'Double quick.' The sky hed clouded up all of a suddent, an' we couldn't see well where we wor, but thar was suthin' afore us like a low, black wall. As we kim nearer, it moved kind o' cautious like, an' when we wor within musket range, wi' a roar like ten thousand divils, they charged forred! Thar wor the flash and crack o' powder, and the ring! ping! o' the bullets, as we power'd our shot on them an' they on us; but not another soun'; cr-r-r-ack went the muskets on every side agin, an' the rascals wor driven back a minnit. 'Charge bayonets!' shouted the Major, wen he seed that. Thar wos a pause; a rush forred; we wor met by the innimy half way; an' then I hearn the awfullest o' created soun's—a man's scream. I looked roun', an' there wos Bill, lying on his face, struck through an' through. Thar wos no time to see to him then, fur the men wor fur ahead o' me, an' I hed to run an' jine the rest.
"We hed a sharp, quick skirmish o' it—for ef thar is a cowardly critter on the created airth it's a Greaser—an' in less nor half an' hour wor beatin' back to quarters. When all wor quiet agin, I left my tent, an' away to look fur Bill. I sarched an' sarched till my heart were almost broke, an at last I cried out, 'Oh Bill, my mate, whar be you?' an' I hearn a fibble v'ice say, 'Here I be, Jerry!'