As it grew late, the wagons began to jolt past, removing the wounded to Rivas.  Some were drunk and merry in spite of their wounds; and their laughter and drunken sport made strange concert with the cries and curses of the others.  I remember one man going by on foot, with a small cut on the brow, from which blood was flowing copiously.  He said the wound was a mere scratch,—­too slight to have sent him out of the fight, had not the blood run down into his eyes and blinded him, preventing his aim.  Yet this small affair brought his death shortly afterwards.  The surgeons at Rivas gave him no care,—­not so much as to wash his wound, or have him wash it; and the climate is so malignant to strangers, that the smallest cut, with the best care, heals only after long hesitation.

At length night came on, and our men drew off,—­foiled at every attempt, having sustained great loss, and, apparently, made little impression on the enemy.  They lay on their arms, however, in the outskirts, expecting to renew the attack during the night; and, to assist at this, a party of rangers had orders to leave their horses in quarters, and march on foot to join the others.  Quitting our horses with regret, we walked to San Jorge, where the foot lay, awaiting the hour of attack.  We found them stomach-qualmed with hunger, weary of fighting, thoroughly disheartened, and provoked against their officers.  One told how an officer, whose duty it was to lead the charge, took shelter behind an orange-tree no bigger than his wrist, and shouted, “Go on, men! go on!” when he should have been saying, “Come on!” and how another, become stupid with aguardiente, had tried to force his men to a barricade, when their cartridge-boxes were empty, and their unbayonetted arms useless.  There seemed also to have been slackness among the men; and some were lamenting, that the First Rifles were not what they used to be;—­anciently they only wanted to see the greasers; to-day they were found taking to the bushes.  They all agreed that no great number of the enemy had been killed,—­whilst the filibusters, they doubted, must have lost nearly one-third of their men and many of their best officers;—­among the number I recollect Major Dusenbury, highly praised.

There was one affair, however, over which they crowed and took fierce satisfaction.  They told it thus:—­A detached party, of about thirty of them, were seated on the roadside drinking aguardiente, preparatory to advancing.  On one side was a cactus-hedge, and a grove of plantain a little in front.  Whilst they sat here deeply absorbed in the aguardiente, a considerable party of the enemy got amongst the plantain-trees, and fired a hundred muskets into them at the distance of a few rods.  Strange to say, the greasers were so nervous at finding no barricade between them, or were such contemptible marksmen, that not a shot took serious effect; only the demijohn of aguardiente was shivered into a thousand