Lieutenant Dickinson and his cannon and cannoneers were in the centre. The cavalry, fifty in number, were placed at front, to cover the cannon――Ernest and Jim sticking together, touching knees in the fog. On either side of the cannon were the infantry, in two columns; and skirmishers mounted and unmounted extended on the flanks to right and left. The Reverend Mr. Smith rode before, with Colonel Moore and staff.
“Looks like we were going to surprise ’em,” whispered Jim, as the march proceeded almost in silence, for even the cannon wheels were muffled by the damp ground.
“Must be getting near to Williams’s melon patch,” whispered back Ernest.
That was a musket, sounding dully in the dense white mist. Some of the skirmishers had run into a Mexican picket.
Not far ahead lilted the high notes of a trumpet. The Mexican camp! Back from Colonel Moore raced an aide, shouting orders; and the company officers galloped to carry them out.
“Column, by the right flank! March!” bawled Ernest’s commander.
“Hooray!” cheered Jim, as bending in their saddles they all swerved and raced across the front. “Get out of the way of that cannon, you!”
They were formed again on the extreme end of the line at the right of a company of the infantry. The cannon properly stayed in the centre, where it belonged; and the other company of infantry were on the left of line. Here at the right, in company front, the cavalry and infantry, advancing together, made quite a sight――as far as they could be seen.
The muskets of the Mexican pickets and the rifles and shot-guns of the Texas skirmishers were still answering one another; but it was all a waste of powder, and soon the firing ceased.
Colonel Moore had ordered a halt, until the fog lifted. Duke stood with ears pricked, as if he wondered what all this commotion was about.
“Shake up your priming, boy,” cautioned Jim, to Ernest, as they sat carefully covering their rifle pans with their coats. “She’s thinning.”
And so “she”――the fog――was: slowly drifting away, and more and more revealing the country around. Ernest nervously wiped his flint with his damp fingers, and clapped his hand against the lock plate to shake the priming in case that it was caked.
Now could be made out the ghostly forms of trees, and other objects; and a low order was issued “to move forward at a walk.” The whole line moved. The Mexican pickets began to fire, again; and on the left some of the volunteers in the ranks shot back at them.