Sergeant Milton gives the following account of an incident which befel
him at the Battle of Resaca de la Palma.
"At Palo Alto," says he, "I took my rank in the troop as second
sergeant, and while upon the field my horse was wounded in the jaw by a
grape-shot, which disabled him for service. While he was plunging in
agony I dismounted, and the quick eye of Captain May observed me as I
alighted from my horse. He inquired if I was hurt. I answered no--that
my horse was the sufferer. I am glad it is not yourself,' replied he;
'there is another,' (pointing at the same time to a steed without a
rider, which was standing with dilated eye, gazing at the strife,)
'mount him,' I approached the horse, and he stood still until I put my
hand upon the rein and patted his neck, when he rubbed his head
alongside of me, as if pleased that some human being was about to become
his companion in the affray.
"On the second day, at Resaca de la Palma, our troop stood anxiously
waiting for the signal to be given, and never had I looked upon men on
whose countenances were more clearly expressed a fixed determination to
win. The lips of some were pale with excitement, and their eyes wore
that fixed expression which betokens mischief; others, with shut teeth,
would quietly laugh, and catch a tighter grip of the rein, or seat
themselves with care and firmness in the saddle, while quiet words of
confidence and encouragement were passed from each to his neighbor. All
at once Captain May rode to the front of his troop--every rein and sabre
was tightly grasped. Raising himself and pointing at the battery, he
shouted, 'Men, _follow_!' There was now a clattering of hoofs and a
rattling of sabre sheaths--the fire of the enemy's guns was partly drawn
by Lieutenant Ridgely, and the next moment we were sweeping like the
wind up the ravine. I was in a squad of about nine men, who were
separated by a shower of grape from the battery, and we were in advance,
May leading. He turned his horse opposite the breastwork, in front of
the guns, and with another shout 'to follow,' leaped over them. Several
of the horses did follow, but mine, being new and not well trained,
refused; two others balked, and their riders started down the ravine to
turn the breastwork where the rest of the troop had entered. I made
another attempt to clear the guns with my horse, turning him
around--feeling all the time secure at thinking the guns discharged--I
put his head toward them and gave him spur, but he again balked; so
turning his head down the ravine, I too started to ride round the
breastwork.
"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
robbed--the next he came to was a Mexican, whom he served the same way,
and thus I looked on while he murderously slew four. I drew an
undischarged pistol from my holsters, and laying myself along my horse's
neck, watched him, expecting to be the next victim; but something
frightened him from his vulture-like business, and he fled in another
direction. I need not say that had he visited me I should have taken one
more shot at the enemy, and would have died content, had I succeeded in
making such an assassin bite the dust. Two hours after, I had the
pleasure of shaking some of my comrades by the hand, who were picking up
the wounded. They lifted my Mexican friend, too, and I am pleased to say
he, as well as myself, live to fight over again the sanguine fray of
_Resaca de la Palma."_