Whilst we stood, in rather low spirits, waiting the hour of departure, our captain procured us a calabash of aguardiente, which, thinking upon the desperate work ahead of us and the infinite toil and sleeplessness of the last few weeks, we considered excellent, and not to be spared.  Discomfort in battle is a positive evil, felt, perhaps, by all sons of Adam; and he who will use means to get rid of it and leave himself free to work is no more a coward, so far, than he who takes chloroform to prevent the pain of a tooth-pulling,—­mere positive evil, likewise. Aguardiente will serve a good purpose;—­provided the head be not essentially weak, or too inflammable, it ascends you into the brain, and dries you there, as one hath said, all the nervous, crudy vapors that environ it.  But this captain of ours drank too injudiciously, and, indeed, so obscured himself with his drink, often, that we his men were loath to trust and follow him,—­doubting that he knew where he was about to take us, or for what purpose.  To-night he strapped a large canteen of aguardiente about his neck and wore it into battle,—­and many times, as the danger staggered, we saw him draw courageous spirit through the neck of it, and go on befogged and reassured.  Yet, withal, he was no greater coward than other men,—­indeed, much braver than most,—­had been wounded whilst leading a forlorn hope over a barricade,—­and would, I doubt not, have fought well without aguardiente, had drinking been a mark of cowardice in the army.

At length all was ready, and, with something above three hundred riflemen and infantry, under command of Generals Walker and Sanders, we started out on the San Jorge road some hours after midnight.  We kept along the highway until we began to approach the town, and then turned aside into a by-lane crossing to the left.  The by-lane was interrupted at one place by a deep pool of water, through which the detachment plunging, half-leg deep, some of the weak-legged stumbled and fell, getting their cartridge-boxes under, and spoiling their ammunition.

At the end of this lane we came into another highway running toward San Jorge, along which we advanced rapidly.  After a while we came to a halt, and a party was sent off; then forward again, a corner turned, and another halt,—­when I heard General Walker asking some one, in composed voice, “Does he know exactly where we are?” Whilst we stood there, a sudden and hot rattle of musketry began from the front, and we again advanced swiftly, by scattered adobes, turning corners, and came in full view of a barricade some distance ahead spitting flashes of fire crosswise into the right-hand side of the street.  We crossed over from left to right, and halted behind an adobe.  On our right hand stood a grove of small trees, through which the assailants had probably advanced, and in which, just ahead, hot work was now going on loudly,—­with Minie-balls, grape-shot, shouts, outcries, and blood