Phil knew nothing of the conflict at Buena Vista itself until the day was done, because he was soon in the very thickest of it again himself. He and his comrades stood among the decimated squares on the plateau, where the battle had shifted for a moment, and where the smoke was rising. Looking over the field, littered with men and horses, it seemed that half of his countrymen had fallen. Everywhere lay the dead, and the wounded crawled painfully to the rear. Yet the unhurt could give little aid to the hurt, because the Mexican battle front seemed as massive and formidable as ever.
"Load, Phil, load!" whispered Bill Breakstone. "See, they're coming again!"
Masses of lancers were gathering anew on the plateau, among them many of Torrejon's men, who had come back from the other side of the mountain, and the lifting smoke enabled Phil and his comrades to see them clearly. The defenders--they were not many now--were more closely packed. The men of the West and South were mingled together, but with desperate energy the officers soon drew them out in a line facing the lancers. Sherman with his cannon also joined them. In the shifting fortunes of the day, another critical moment came. If the charge of the lancers passed over their line, the Americans were beaten.
The battle elsewhere sank and died for the time. All looked toward the two forces on the plateau, the heavy squadrons of cavalry advancing, and the thin line of infantry silent and waiting. The Mexican bugles ceased to sound, and the firing stopped. Phil and the men with him in the front rank knelt again. Arenberg, as usual, was on one side of him, and Breakstone on the other. Middleton was not far away. Phil glanced up and down the American line and, as he saw how few they were, his heart, after a period of high courage, sank like a plummet in a pool. It did not seem possible to stop the horsemen. Then his courage rose again. They had done a half dozen wonders that day, they could do another half dozen.
It was one of the most vivid moments of Phil's life, fairly burnt into his soul. The smoke, lifting higher and higher, disclosed more and more of the field, with its dead and dying everywhere. The mountains were coming out of the mists and vapors, and showing their bare crags and peaks. There was no sound but the hoofbeats of the horsemen and an occasional cry from the wounded, but Phil did not even hear these. There was to him only an awful and ominous silence, as the heavy columns drew nearer and nearer and he saw the menacing faces and ready weapons. The blood quivered in his veins, but he did not give back. Nor did the others, most of whom were boys not much older than he.