Then came the deadly conflict, foot to foot and hand to hand,
For at every nook and corner our foemen made a stand;
From the barricades which swept the streets, from the roofs above our head,
And the windows at our sides, descended showers of iron and lead;
And the crash of tumbling timbers, and the clash of steel, that day,
With the death-cries of the dying, rent the skies of Monterey.
That night the conflict ceased, and the crimson morning sun
Beheld the city in our hands—the bloody battle won.
Next day our conquered foes marched out, and slowly over the plain
Moved from our sight in silence—a sad, disheartened train;