My excuse must be that it was the only battle--pitched or other--at
which I have ever assisted, also that my position in the Blanco forces
was a very humble one. Altogether I am not overproud of my soldiering
performances; still, as I did no worse than Frederick the Great of
Prussia, who ran away from his first battle, I do not consider that
I need blush furiously. My companions took our defeat with the usual
Oriental resignation. "You see," said one in explanation of his mental
attitude, "there must always be one side defeated in every fight, for
had we gained the day, then the Colorados would have lost." There was
in this remark a sound practical philosophy; it could not be
controverted, it burdened our brains with no new thing, and it made
us all very cheerful. For myself, I did not care very much, but could
not help thinking a great deal of Dolores, who would now have a fresh
grief to increase her pain.
For a distance of three or four miles we rode at a fast gallop, on the
slopes of the Cuchilla paused to breathe our horses, and, dismounting,
stood for some time gazing back over the wide landscape spread out
before us. At our backs rose the giant green and brown walls of the
sierras, the range stretching away on either hand in violet and deep
blue masses. At our feet lay the billowy green and yellow plain, vast
as ocean, and channelled by innumerable streams, while one black patch
on a slope far away showed us that our foes were camping on the very
spot where they had overcome us.
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