The wheels were now down to the hub, and
the wagon ceased to move. The driver cracked his whip again and again,
and the oxen threw their full weight into the effort. The wheels slowly
rose from their sticky bed, but then something cracked with a report
like a pistol shot. The Panther groaned aloud, because he knew what had
happened.
The axle of the wagon had broken, and it was useless. They distributed
the ammunition, including the cannon balls, which they put in sacks, as
well as they could, among the horsemen, and went on. They did not
complain, but every one knew that it was a heavy blow. In two more hours
they came to the banks of the muddy San Antonio, and stared in dismay at
the swollen current. It was evident at once to everybody that the
passage would be most difficult for the cannon, which, like the
ammunition wagon, were drawn by oxen.
The river was running deep, with muddy banks, and a muddy bottom, and,
taking the lightest of the guns, they tried first to get it across. Many
of the men waded neck deep into the water and strove at the wheels. But
the stream went completely over the cannon, which also sank deeper and
deeper in the oozy bottom. It then became an effort to save the gun.
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