"Pierce, my dear fellow," said he,--and that epithet of familiar kindness
and friendship, upon the battle-field, was the highest of military
commendation from such a man,--"you are badly injured; you are not fit to
be in your saddle." "Yes, general, I am," replied Pierce, "in a case
like this." "You cannot touch your foot to the stirrup," said Scott.
"One of them I can," answered Pierce. The general looked again at
Pierce's almost disabled figure, and seemed on the point of taking his
irrevocable resolution. "You are rash, General Pierce," said he; "we
shall lose you, and we cannot spare you. It is my duty to order you back
to St. Augustine." "For God's sake, general," exclaimed Pierce, "don't
say that! This is the last great battle, and I must lead my brigade!"
The commander-in-chief made no further remonstrance, but gave the order
for Pierce to advance with his brigade.
The way lay through thick standing corn, and over marshy ground
intersected with ditches, which were filled, or partially so, with water.
Over some of the narrower of these Pierce leaped his horse. When the
brigade had advanced about a mile, however, it found itself impeded by a
ditch ten or twelve feet wide, and six or eight feet deep.
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