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. "I think this will tell the tale," whispered Bill Breakstone. "Look how steady our lads are! Veteran regulars could not bear themselves better in the face of five to one." Nearer and nearer came the lancers. Something in the aspect of the steady troops that awaited the shock must have daunted them, because already on that day they had shown themselves brave men more than once. The hoofbeats ceased, their line stopped and wavered, and at that instant the American rifles fired, pouring forth a stream of lead, a deadly volley. Phil saw the blaze from a long line of muzzles, the puff of rifle smoke, and then as it lifted he tried to shut his eyes but could not. The whole front of the Mexican column was destroyed. Men and horses lay in a heap, and other riderless horses galloped wildly over the plateau. The second line of the lancers stood for a moment, but when the cannon, following up the rifles, hurled shot and shell among them, they, too, broke and fled, while the bullets from the reloaded rifles pelted them and drove them to greater speed. A shout arose from the scanty ranks of the defense. Another critical moment had passed, and for the first time fortune shifted to the American side. Now the defenders followed up their advantage. They pressed forward, pushing the Mexicans before them, attacking them on two sides and driving them against the base of the mountain. The whole battle now surged back toward the direction whence Santa Anna had come. The scanty division of the Americans, after so long a defense, a defense that seemed again and again to be hopeless, massed themselves anew and attacked the Mexican army with redoubled vigor. Phil felt the song of victory singing in his ears, the blood leaped in his veins, and a great new store of strength came from somewhere, as he, with Breakstone and Arenberg yet on either side of him, marched forward now, not backward.