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 Lieutenant Grant passed along the line of company fires.

"Parade the men for inspection at eight o'clock, sergeant," he instructed, "in light marching order, with cartridge boxes filled and two days' rations."

"For the love o' Hiven, left'nant," the sergeant pleaded at salute, "tell me: Do we be takin' Chapultepec?"

"The First Division has orders to support the Pillow assaulting column on the west. The Quitman division, supported by the General Smith brigade of the Second, will assault on the south."

"Support, ye say, left'nant? But we get into it, don't we, sorr? They won't l'ave out the ould First Division?"

"We haven't been left out of anything lately, as I notice," Lieutenant Grant grimly replied.

The sergeant reseated himself.

"To-morrow, lads," he said. "We've wan or two good fights raymainin' in our packs, I guiss. Enough to shame those daysarters wid, I'm thinkin'. You've heard they've been put through—a part o' thim—already?"

"When?"

"Two days since, back at San Angel in the Second Division camp. Sixteen of 'em hanged, an' nine dishonorably dismissed by order o' Gin'ral Scott, wid a big 'D' branded on their cheeks. The rist'll be attinded to soon, now. But sure, boys, I'd rather be amongst those who be hanged than amongst the traitorous livin', condemned to hear the sound o' the guns o' Chapultepec firin' on brave men bearin' the flag o' my country."