 | CHAPTER XXVII.
ON THE FIELD OF PALO ALTO. Clara Moreland, or, Adventures in the far
South-west |  |
27. CHAPTER XXVII.
ON THE FIELD OF PALO ALTO.
The day following our arrival at Point Isabel, was one
of general bustle in the Camp. The report of Walker,
that the enemy was encamped in great numbers between
Point Isabel and the River Fort, as it was at this time
called, led every one to anticipate a general battle on the
return of Taylor, which he had decided on, and for which
he was now making active preparations.
In a brief conversation we held with Captain Walker,
Walter and I offered our services for the approaching
engagement, but told him for the present we did not wish
to enlist for any definite term of service. He replied that
it was unusual to accept volunteers on such conditions;
that it was necessary for all new recruits to go through a
certain routine of discipline before being brought into
action; but concluded by saying that the present was an
emergency—that he was short of men—that all who could
and would serve against the enemy were needed—and that
if we felt disposed to take part in the approaching contest,
we might remain in his corps.
The next day, the seventh of May, General Taylor
issued marching orders; and at three o'clock in the afternoon
the whole army, a little over two thousand in number,
was put in motion, with a large train of provisions and
munitions of war. We proceeded some five or six miles
on the road to Matamoras, and encamped for the night!
Alas! the last night preceding the awful night of death
which many a poor fellow, then buoyant with hope and
glorious anticipations, was ever destined to see. The
morrow! the eventful morrow!
Before the break of day the Rangers were in their
saddles, and we set out in advance of the main army to
reconnoitre the position of the enemy. When we reached
what had been his main camp, we found it deserted. This
looked as if he were not intending to give us battle; and
returning, Walker made his report to General Taylor.
A little after sunrise the army and train were put in
motion, while we again set off in advance, being detailed as
scouts. Before noon we came in sight of the enemy,
whose whole force was drawn up directly across the road,
and whose lines, extending some mile and a half, gave him
a very formidable appearance. On making this discovery,
we turned back, met our General, and reported accordingly.
About noon the two armies came in sight of each other.
Taylor's forces were at this time upon a wide, level plain,
and near a pond of clear, cold water. In front was a row
of dwarfish trees, which the Mexicans denominated Palo
Alto; and beyond these, the bright uniforms of the foe
could be faintly discerned, their polished arms glittering
and flashing in the clear sunlight. Here our considerate
General ordered a halt, and permitted his men, one half at
a time, to fill their canteens at the pond—after which he
permitted them to rest an hour.
This proceeding, trifling though it may seem, I have no
troops had marched twelve miles, under a burning sun, had
suffered much for want of water, and were greatly fatigued;
and had they been brought into action immediately on
coming in sight of the enemy, I do not think they could
have withstood, for hours, a fresh, vigorous foe of treble
their numbers.
As soon as the men had sufficiently rested, the columns
were formed, and the order to march was given; and with
slow, firm, martial trend, the whole force moved, with the
precision of a drill, over the soft, matted grass of the
prairie, which gave back no sound.
These were the awful moments to try the nerves of the
bravest. Slowly, but surely, they were approaching an
overwhelming foe, and knew that in a few minutes, at the
farthest, the terrible carnage of battle would begin, and
that Death, riding on the iron hail of belching cannons,
would be busy in their midst. Now they had time to
think—to reflect—to see, as it were, the danger upon
which they were advancing; and if their cheeks paled,
their hearts beat faster, and they felt that their limbs were
growing too weak to support them, it was no proof that
they lacked courage, but only showed how nature instinctively
shrinks from inactively meeting the grim King of
Terrors. To perform daring and valorous feats amid the
smoke and carnage and roar of battle, is nothing; but to
march slowly, deliberately, up to the death-dealing engines
of war, while a breathless silence prevails, which, when
next broken, may be the signal of your transit to another
world, will try the nerves of the hero of a hundred battles.
When about seven hundred yards divided us from the
advance of the Mexicans, they opened a heavy fire from
their batteries on the right. The moment they did so,
General Taylor spurred his charger along his van, gave
to be firm, and prove themselves true descendants of the
heroes of other fields. At the same time the artillery received
instructions to return the enemy's fire; and then all
minor sounds were drowned in the roar of these mighty
engines of death. The battle had truly begun.
It is not my intention to describe the fierce engagements
of the eighth and ninth of May—the battles of
Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma. Other pens, abler
than mine, have already done justice to the gallant spirits
who there fought, and bled, and won immortal renown in
two of the most brilliant victories on record; and to these
vivid descriptions I must refer all who may be curious beyond
my personal adventures.
When the action began, the Texas Rangers, with a
squadron of dragoons, occupied an advanced position on
the right; but soon after we fell back, and took a position
on the extreme right, where we awaited further orders.
We were not long kept idle. A body of lancers made a
demonstration as if to outflank us and seize our batteries;
perceiving which, Walker gave the command:
“Forward! charge!”
Away we flew, the earth trembling under us; and soon
friends and foes were mingled in fierce and bloody action;
and groans, shouts, curses, the clash of steel and report of
fire-arms, made a horrid din.
From this moment we knew no rest. Charge on charge
was continually made, in different directions, on different
parties, till, I believe, ere the day was won, the Rangers
passed over every portion of the field. I saw no flinching;
all strove to be first upon the foe; and valiantly did we all
do our duty. But none could outdo our gallant Captain.
He was every where foremost; and when I saw the activity
he displayed, the power and rapidity of his blows, his
daring, and his unequalled skill in horsemanship—while his
rushing to battle, and his eyes, lately so cold and dull,
flashed and burned with fierce enthusiasm—I no longer
wondered that his name was a word of terror to his foes.
The sun was drawing near the verge of the horizon,
and yet the battle was raging as fiercely as ever, and none
could say on whose banner victory would yet perch. Side
by side Walter and I had charged and fought unharmed,
while many a saddle of our gallant corps had been vacated,
and more than one horse and rider had falled to rise no
more. We were at this moment pausing on the left wing
of our army, striving to get a view of the enemy's manœuvers
through the sulphurous smoke, that, cloud-like, rose to
the very heavens, and from out which came the loud thunders
of artillery, the sharp rattle of musketry, and shouts,
and shrieks, and groans, and all the concomitant sounds of
bloody strife. Suddenly Walker turned in his saddle, and
pointing to a small body of horsemen, barely seen manœuvering
on the enemy's right, cried:
“Yonder is Romano Falcon and his accursed band
of Guerrillas. We must annihilate them! Forward!
charge!”
As he spoke, he buried the rowels in his own high
mettled steed, we followed his example, and the next moment
the earth seemed flying under us. Away, away we
sped; and in less time than it has taken me to record the
fact, we were bearing down, with the force of a thundering
avalanche, straight upon the foe. He saw us just in time to
meet us in full career; and we came together with a terrible
shock; and balls whizzed, steel clashed, and men like demons
strove in the struggle of death.
Suddenly I felt my horse sinking under me, and I made
a hasty effort to leap from his back. But my foot became
entangled in the stirrup; and ere I could extricate myself,
the animal fell, with a death-groan, and rolled heavily upon
for sensitive nature to bear, and instantly the dark night
of unconsciousness closed around me.
When I next opened my eyes, the shades of coming
night were stealing over the earth, and objects at a distance
were fast growing dim and indistinct. The sounds
of strife had ceased—the smoke of battle was clearing
away—but who were the victors? I now felt the most
excruciating pain in my leg, on which the fallen beast still
lay; and this pain, darting up into my body, seemed at
intervals as if it would again deprive me of my senses. I
made an effort to extricate myself; but oh! pen and
tongue are inadequate to describe the terrible agony it
caused me! and I soon fell back exhausted, uttering a
deep, heavy groan.
My groan had an echo; and on turning my head, I
perceived near me a dark human object. After two or
three more groans from this object, it uttered words that
thrilled me:
“Water! water! give me water or I die?”
It was the voice that thrilled—so like—could it be? I
shuddered, but kept my eyes riveted upon the human
mass.
Presently it began to move—seemed to roll together
like a ball—then slowly rose to an upright posture and
staggered toward me.
By the waning light I now had a fair view of that face.
I knew it. Ghastly, bloody, with rolling eyes and livid
lips, I failed not to recognise it. Great God of Justice!
Thy hand was here in awful retribution! My blood
seemed to curdle in my veins, as I gazed upon that face,
already working in the convulsions of death.
It was the face of Willard Warncliff.
“We meet strangely!” said I.
“Ha!” he cried, trying to steady himself and fix his
Yes! yes!—ha! ha! ha!—it is you!” he cried, with a
wild, unearthly laugh, while his contorted features assumed
a demoniac expression. “It is you, Henry Walton!
Enough! we meet thus; but not to part; death claims us
both.”
He drew a knife as he spoke, and, with a howl of
mingled rage and pain, made a lunge toward me. But
death had too firm a hold upon him—nature was too much
exhausted—and he fell heavily to the earth—his head
within two feet of me. At first I thought him dead; but
presently he gave a groan, raised his face, and turned its
ghastly visage full upon me. Oh! that look! that awful
look! I shall never forget it—would to Heaven I could!
His strength, what little remained, was now failing fast—
he saw and knew I was beyond his feeble reach—and
slowly grinding his teeth together, he hissed out between
them:
“You triumph yet!”
Then grasping convulsively the matted grass, he slowly
sunk down to the earth, gave one long, gurgling gasp, and
expired. Thus did I witness the death of my rival and
foe; but oh! the sensations I then and there experienced
none may know.
I now made another effort to extricate myself; but finding
I could not, and the pain excessive, I lay back upon
the earth, and for the next hour suffered, both physically
and mentally, more than words can describe. It had now
become quite dark; no living soul was apparently near
me; and the thought that I might thus be left to pass the
night, filled me with horror.
At length I heard voices, and, by the gleam of a torch,
beheld some half-a-dozen figures approaching me. Whether
they might prove friends or foes, I could not tell; but I
was in a condition to feel that any change could not be for
to them for help. Instantly they quickened their pace,
and came up to me on a run; and judge of my delight,
when in the foremost I recognized my valued friend,
Walter Moreland!
“Alive!” he fairly shouted: “alive! thank God, Walton,
we find you alive! I was fearful you had fallen to
rise no more.”
“And we are victorious, then?” said I.
“We have won the field to-day, my friend—a glorious
victory—but what will be our fate to-morrow none can say.”
Walter had seen me fall, heard my shriek, and, the battle
over, had come in quest of me, believing he should find only
my cold remains; his joy therefore may be imagined. On
removing the carcass of the horse from my leg, it was
found to be broken above the knee—but I had sustained
no other serious injury. The men raised me carefully, and
bore me away; but ere they did so, I pointed to the
corpse of Warncliff, and said to Walter:
“Look there!”
He turned over the dead body, and by the light of the
torch recognized the features.
“Tis well!” he said, with compressed lips; and then
turned away with a slight shudder of disgust.
I was carried to the train, which was parked, and placed
among the other wounded, to wait my turn, for the surgeons
were all busy. I will not describe that night of horrors.
It is enough to say that I suffered as much in sympathy
for the poor fellows every now and then brought in
—(and whose shrieks and groans, under the knife or saw
of the men of science, made my heart ache)—as for myself.
In my turn my wants were attended to—my broken limb
was set and splintered—and though at another time I
might have thought my hurt a great misfortune, yet when
I looked upon the bleeding, mangled and dying beings who
spared such awful affliction as theirs.
Notwithstanding I repeatedly urged Walter to leave me,
and try to get some rest, to be prepared for the eventful
morrow, he remained up with me a great portion of the
night; but toward morning he took his leave, and our
parting was a sad one.
The next day the wounded, myself among the number,
were sent back to Point Isabel, where we remained in
anxious suspense, listening to the booming cannon, which
told that another fearful battle was raging. Oh! how
tediously and anxiously passed the hours, till the welcome
news came that another brilliant victory had been won,
and that the enemy, totally routed, had returned to Matamoras.
Then the shouts of enthusiastic joy that went up,
seemed to infuse new life into even the dying—for more
than one eye, already glazing in death, was seen to brighten
at the glorious intelligence.
| CHAPTER XXVII.
ON THE FIELD OF PALO ALTO. Clara Moreland, or, Adventures in the far
South-west | |