Weekly Trinity journal. [volume] (Weaverville, Calif.) 1857-1972, 1878-10-05
A BATTLE SCENE.
The Death of YoumE Henry Clay.

1t was near the setting of the sun
when the men of Palo Alto, Resaca de Ia
Palma and Monterey saw the clouds
come down on the charge of Buena Wis.
Ia, that splendid scene, worthy Of the
days of Washington, closed the day IN
glory.
Do you behold that dark ravine, deep
sunken between those precipitous banks 2
Here no sunlight comes, for the walls OF
rock wrap up the pass in eternal twilight.
Withered trees grow between masses OF
granite, and scattered stone make the
bed of the ravine uncertain and difficult
for the tread.
Hark That cry, that rushes like a
mountain torrent bursting its barriers,
and quick as the lightning flashes from
darkness, the dismal valley is bathed ils
battle light. From its northern extremi-
ty n confused band of Mexicans, an army
in itself, come yelling along the pass,
treading one another DOWN Ms they fly ;
their banners, spears, herses and men
tossed together in inextrcable confusion
BY thousands they rush into the shadow
of the pass, their dark faces redeemed
with the heated blaze OF musketry. The
cavens of the ravine send back the roar
OF the panic, and the grey walls are
washed with their blood.
But the little band who pursues this
amry--w who are they? You may see IN
their firm, heroic ranks the volun.eer COS
tune of Illinois aud Kentucky. AT
their head, urging his men with shouts,
rides the gallant Mckee by his side
young Henry Clay, that broad forehead
which reminds you OF his father, bathed
in the glare, a his sword quivers on high
ere it falls to kill. There, too, II wild fig
ure, red with his own blood and the
blood Of his Mexican foes, his uniform
rent in tatters, his shou lders striking ter
rihIe blows With ni- good swotd-Haid din,
OF Ilinois-came gaIlan.ly forward.
The small but iron band hurl the Mex
icSns nom the heights in the ravine, and
follow up the ch"se Tar down into the
eternal twilight Of that mountain pass.
Look ! As their mu>Eetry streams into
blaze, you would think that ceaseless
sheet Of lightning bathed these rocks in
flames
Over the Mexcans, men and horses
hurried back il bad disorder, She Ameri
cans dash on their way, never needing
the overwhelming numbers oi their foes,
never heedng the palptating forms be-
meath their feet, with bayonet and .wold
they press steadi ly on, their well known
banner ever streaming overhead.
The howl Of the dying war-horse
hark Does it not chill your blood to
hear it? The horrible cry of the wound
ed man, with the horses hoof upon hi
mouth, tramplug hi, iace 30 n hideous
wreck does it not sicken your soul to
hear it?
A hundred yards or more into the pass
the Americans had penetrated, when
suddenly young Mexican, rushing buck
opens their ranks, raises the ia Hen nag ol
Ahhansc and dashrs to death
To see him, young and beardless, n
very boy, rush with his countrv's flag
with barred breast upon that line Of sharp
steel-it was sight to stir towards into
manhood, and it shot into Mex icnn
hearts like an -lcctric fame.
Even in thrir pauic stricken disorder
they rallied by hundreds, they gra,ped
arms and rolled into one long wave Of
lancrs and bayonets upon the foe. Woe
to the brave men of Illinois and Ken
tucky Locked in that deadly pass, a
wall of inf1riaad Mexicans between
them and that wall Of rocks, above their
hcnds, through every aperture among the
cliif7, the olaze of muskets pouring a
shower Of bullets in their taces-whan-
ever they turned the long and deadly
lance pointed ut their throats-ii was II
moment to think once OF homeland die
Those who survived that fearful mo-
ment tell with shuddering triumph he
deeds of three heroes Mckee, Hardin
and Clay.
Mckee, you see yonder with his shat
tered sword dripping with blood, he en-
deayors to ward of those deadly hnces,
and fights on his knees wher he can
stand no longer, and then the conbstants
close over him, and you see him no
more.
Hardin arose from a heap Of slaughter
ed dead, his face streaming from is hid
eou, lance wounds, and waved Mexi-
lean flag in triumph, as his life blood
rushes in torrent over his muscular
form. Then hinging his captured nag to
brother soldier, "Give it to her rs a
memorial of Buena Vita ! My wife :"
1t was bis last words. Upon his barred
breast the fury Of ten lances, and the
horses hoofs tramped him into the heap
Of the dead
But most sad, and yet most glorious Of
all, was to see the death OF the second
Henry Clay.
You should have seen him, with his
back against yonder rock, his sword
grasped firmly as the consciousness that
he bore name that must not die ingor-
iously, seemed to lll his every vein, and
dart deadly fire from his eyes.
At that time he looked like the old
man. For his brow, high aud retrealing
with the blood clottcd hair waving back
from the outline, WIS swollen in every
vein rs though his soul sAone from it ere
it fed forever. Lips set, brows knit.
hands frm-a circle Of men lighting
around him, he dashed into the Mexioans
until his sword was wet, and his arms
a. y