"As I came down, a lancer dashed at me with lance in rest. With my sabre
I parried his thrust, only receiving a slight flesh-wound from its point
in the arm, which felt at the time like the prick of a pin. The lancer
turned and fled; at that moment a ball passed through my horse on the
left side and shattered my right side. The shot killed the horse
instantly, and he fell upon my left leg, fastening me by his weight to
the earth. There I lay, right in the midst of the action, where carnage
was riding riot, and every moment the shot, from our own and the Mexican
guns, tearing up the earth around me. I tried to raise my horse so as to
extricate my leg but I had already grown so weak with my wound that I
was unable, and from the mere attempt, I fell back exhausted. To add to
my horror, a horse, who was careering about, riderless, within a few
yards of me, received a wound, and he commenced struggling and rearing
with pain. Two or three times, he came near falling on me, but at
length, with a scream of agony and a bound, he fell dead--his body
touching my own fallen steed. What I had been in momentary dread of now
occurred--my wounded limb, which was lying across the horse, received
another ball in the ankle.

"I now felt disposed to give up; and, exhausted through pain and
excitement, a film gathered over my eyes, which I thought was the
precursor of dissolution. From this hopeless state I was aroused by a
wounded Mexican, calling out to me, '_Bueno Americano,_' and turning my
eyes toward the spot, I saw that he was holding a certificate and
calling to me. The tide of action now rolled away from me and hope again
sprung up. The Mexican uniforms began to disappear from the chapparal,
and squadrons of our troops passed in sight, apparently in pursuit.
While I was thus nursing the prospect of escape, I beheld, not far from
me, a villainous-looking ranchero, armed with an American sergeant's
short sword, dispatching a wounded American soldier, whose body he