men, leaping from the damp grass and buckling their muddy belts, found the white walls of the hacienda, the church towers of neighboring villages, the dark woods on the hillsides, and the distant, snowy peaks all aglow under a splendid sun. Never, perhaps, did soldiers feel more like having an adventure. Santa Anna had just marched from Huamantla to conceal his force at El Final, leaving behind him with no scouts or outposts his six guns, a very small guard for them and a party of irregulars; but a spy reported to the Americans that he was at Huamantla, and Lane moved off to attack him. First rode four mounted companies, and at their head a rather short, slender, spare, slouchy man, with reddish hair, a small reddish beard, mild blue eyes and a quiet, kindly manner, whom nobody would have picked out as a fearless, indomitable fighter, the scourge of the guerillas, but in fact he was Captain Walker; and then marched Lane with five guns and some 1800 men.[1]
When about three miles from their destination, Walker and his 200 cavalry, seeing a party of Mexican horse approach the town, dashed ahead. Entering Huamantla they formed in fours, and then with a yell, a flash of sabres and a thunder of hoofs they swept through to the plaza. The Mexicans had, time to get four of the guns away, but the others were captured^ and most of the American troopers, concluding their work had been finished, scattered to drink, loot or hunt for cannon and ammunition. But now Santa Anna, who had observed Lane's movement from a church tower near El Final, appeared with his full command. They were a beautiful sight galloping horses, red and green uniforms, brilliant pennons and a billowy sea of flashing lance points; but they were enemies, and the Americans accepted their challenge. 14 "Take it cool, my boys, but run like the devil!" cried Lane. Every nerve was taxed. Blood gushed from nostrils. The Mexicans, lashing their steeds into foam, reached the goal first, however, and the American troopers found themselves attacked on all sides. Walker was shot from a house, and soon expired; but he lived long enough to give a final order: "Don't surrender boys; the infantry will soon be here." And so they were "with a shout and a bound," said one of them. The tide was quickly turned, and giving up the town, "Peg-Leg," as the soldiers loved to call Santa Anna, passed
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