Lewisburg chronicle. [volume] (Lewisburg, Pa.) 1850-1859, 1851-09-10

looked around me in the direction of these
doleful cries; to the right, to the left, be-
hind, like autumn leaves in gust, were
falling the men who had "broken cover
with me- Dragging two of the wounded,
we gained the shelter of adobe wall few
yards to the left, which intercepted small
shot, but which was riddled by cannon.
"Victimized this time!" thought but
my hope did not fail and there in momen-
tary chance of being torn to pieces, as the
round shot ploughed through, were Joined
by little Hoffman. He was gallant little
soldier, of birth and breeding, who had
received an appointment to the regiment
but few months before.
"Hot work, isn't it! Z" said he.
"Rather."
"I wish the members Of Congress we're
here for about ten minutes, to deliberate
on army pay-they'd give us fifteen dol
lars day and found, don't you think SO! p
"Any price to run for it." said l, "I'll
be bound"
Poor little fellow with the humorous
smile upon his face, and the words scarcely
through his parted lips, his throat and
collar-bone were torn out by cannen-ball,
which came through the adobe, and ike
/ lightning he went to the earth. l looked
at the scathed and ruined frame; 1 turned
him over and over, and seeing that life
was extinct, said to my only remaining
man, perkins, you see that stone house:"
eyes, sir"
And away we went, little to the left
and rear, Letueen the balls, as the old wo-
man escaped the rain. 1t was marveuously
like retreat!
There, te my great joy, I found large
portion of my regiment and old Strange,
my servant, yelled out, with his hands
clasped very theatrically-
"Thank God. there's my officer. Oh
thought you was kilt''
Wax melts no more easily in the fire,
than did men at Churubusco!
At length an entrance to the work,
where the fire was Stacker, was found and
forced by the third infantry and first ar
tillery, and the "Convent of Churubusco'
had fallen: it belonged that day to the
church militant but not triumphant,
Meanwhile, as all the world knows Worth
had carried the bridge-head, and the cause
way to Mexico was swarming with the
panic-stricken fugitives.
The yard of the convent, when We had
time to contemplate it, presented one Of
those battle scenes to which description is
entirely inadequate. In one of the bas.
tions an ammunition box had blown up,
and scattered the human frame anatomi-
cally around mules Wore lying with their
entrails streaming out of large shot-holes
artillery horses, dressed with scarlet trim
mings, were flying loose hither and thither,
with streaming names and distended nos
trils, snorting at the smoke and the noise
and the dead and dying were in every pos
siblc posture of agony. gazed for few
moments, and my heart sank as l thought
upon the misery caused by that battle:
through the electric chain of ten thousand
relationships, far and near, native and for
eign, shock of grief was passing-its eff
fects no human heart can conceive.
Not long after l entered the yard, a
scene occurred of singular interest.
"Is that you, Tom?' cried one of our
men to Mexican, with leer like that of
the Artful Dodger when they caught Oil
yer. ais that you, ye--?"
"What in the world is he talking En-
glish to a Greaser for?" thought I.
What was my astonishment, when the
person thus interrogated, hanging down
his head, said in a low tone, Ycs'-and
then barring his breast, he added I" Kill
me, l want to die" He was deserter
from our regiment, and one of the cele-
brated San Ratricios, who had done us
more damage than all the rest of the Mex
leans put together.
"NO!' shouted an officer, in a voice
of thunder; "don't you touch him: let
him alone-we'll save him for something
better"
"We'll hang you, you internal dog"
chimed in another. "Tic him up to that
tree"-and in few moments, Tom was
bound fast with his back to the tree, saved
from the death of battle for darker fate.
Ten days after, the army had the satisfac-
ton of seeing him, among others, white
capped aud dangling at San Angel, expi-
ating an incapable crime. Life is no rec
ompense for the mortal sin of desertion
a foul and pestilent memory, even, cannot
clear the score.
Once more the field was still. The ech-
oes, tired of doing "double duty" that