Up rushed Smith's own brigade on the left, driving a
party of Mexicans before them, and charging with the bayonet straight at
Torrejon's cavalry, which was drawn up in order of battle. Defeat was
marked on their faces. Valencia was nowhere to be found. Salas strove
vainly to rouse his men to defend themselves with energy; Torrejon's
horse, smitten with panic, broke and fled at the advance of our
infantry. Riley hurled the Mexicans from their camp after a struggle of
a quarter of an hour; and as they rushed down the ravine, their own
cavalry rode over them, trampling down more men than the bayonet and
ball had laid low. On the right, as they fled, Cadwallader's brigade
poured in a destructive volley; and Shields, throwing his party across
the road, obstructed their retreat and compelled the fugitives to yield
themselves prisoners of war. The only fight of any moment had taken
place within the camp. There, for a few minutes, the Mexicans had fought
desperately; two of our regimental colors had been shot down, but
finally Anglo-Saxon bone and sinew had triumphed.
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