it had to be done. First the "cursed Riflemen," as the Mexicans named them, were diverted to the left, where the Mexican Sixth Infantry could be seen approaching; the bugles sounded; and then the Third and the Seventh Infantry, supported by the First Artillery, dashed down the slope of La Atalaya. Here and in the valley they were swept by a deadly shower of bullets, canister and grape, and the front melted like snowflakes; but, as fearless Captain Roberts of the Rifles put it, "When dangers thickened and death talked more familiarly face to face, the men seemed to rise above every terror." The contest at the palisade breastwork was hard, and the Mexicans dared even to cross bayonets with Americans; but they finally gave way. Here a little time was taken for rest, and then forward pressed the troops, helping themselves up the slope, over craggy rocks and loose stones, and through the chaparral by catching at bushes and trees. The screen of woods and the steepness of the incline protected them now.[1]
Very different proved the cleared part of the hill, where small trees, bushes and thorny cactus lay spread with tops pointing down. Here progress was slow and concealment impossible. But with deliberate fearlessness the men plodded firmly on, firing at will, strong in that mutual confidence which gives a charge its force. They "seem to despise death," cried the Mexicans in astonishment. Here and there one was struck down; here and there, breathless and exhausted, one dropped; but no flinching could be seen. Like the wave of fire in a burning prairie, the line moved steadily up. "Charge, charge!" shouted the officers; and the men yelled and cheered, yelled and cheered, yelled and cheered till sometimes it seemed as if even the trees were cheering, till sometimes the roar of the guns could not be heard; and Harney — red-headed, tempestuous Harney of the steel-blue eyes — at last in his element, led them as they deserved to be led. Superbly tall, his athletic figure needed no plume; the sword in his long arm waved them on; like the keen edge of a billow rushing upon the shore his calm, shrill voice rode the tumult.[2]
Just below the crest a pause for breath; and then the blue stripe was up and over. At the breastwork the fighting was sharp, for Santa Anna had sent up two more regiments; but soon Vázquez fell; with pistols, bayonets and clubbed muskets
