“Friends!  Brothers!  Citizens!  General Santa Anna is within a mile of us with fifteen hundred men.  The hour that is to decide the question of Texian liberty is now arrived.  What say you?  Do we attack?”

“We do!” exclaimed the men with one voice, cheerfully and decidedly.

In the most perfect stillness, we arrived within two hundred paces of the enemy’s camp.  The reveillee of the sleeping Mexicans was the discharge of our two field-pieces loaded with canister.  Rushing on to within twenty-five paces of the entrenchment, we gave them a deadly volley from our rifles, and then, throwing away the latter, bounded up the breastworks, a pistol in each hand.  The Mexicans, scared and stupefied by this sudden attack, were running about in the wildest confusion, seeking their arms, and not knowing which way to turn.  After firing our pistols, we threw them away as we had done our rifles, and, drawing our bowie-knives, fell, with a shout, upon the masses of the terrified foe.  It was more like the boarding of a ship than any land fight I had ever seen or imagined.

My station was on the right of the line, where the breastwork, ending in a redoubt, was steep and high.  I made two attempts to climb up, but both times slipped back.  On the third trial I nearly gained the summit; but was again slipping down, when a hand seized me by the collar, and pulled me up on the bank.  In the darkness and confusion I did not distinguish the face of the man who rendered me this assistance.  I only saw the glitter of a bayonet which a Mexican thrust into his shoulder, at the very moment he was helping me up.  He neither flinched nor let go his hold of me till I was fairly on my feet; then, turning slowly round, he levelled a pistol at the soldier, who, at that very moment, was struck down by the Alcalde.

“No thanks to ye, squire!” exclaimed the man, in a voice which made me start, even at that moment of excitement and bustle.  I looked at the speaker, but could only see his back, for he had already plunged into the thick of the fight, and was engaged with a party of Mexicans, who defended themselves desperately.  He fought like a man more anxious to be killed than to kill, striking furiously right and left, but never guarding a blow, though the Alcalde, who was by his side, warded off several which were aimed at him.

By this time my men had scrambled up after me.  I looked round to see where our help was most wanted, and was about to lead them forward, when I heard the voice of the Alcalde.

“Are you badly hurt, Bob?” said he in an anxious tone.

I glanced at the spot whence the voice came.  There lay Bob Rock, covered with blood, and apparently insensible.  The Alcalde was supporting his head on his arm.  Before I had time to give a second look I was hurried forward with the rest towards the centre of the camp, where the fight was at the hottest.