"Why not? Resign your commission, and remain here. You know our regiment is to be disbanded; you can not do better."
"Ah! my dear fellow, that is not the thing that hinders me."
"What then?"
"Should I marry her, and remain, our lives would not be safe one moment after the army had marched. Papers containing threats and ribald jests have from time to time been thrust under the door of her house—to the effect that, should she marry 'el official Americano'—so they are worded—both she and her father will be murdered. You know the feeling that is abroad in regard to those who have shown us hospitality."
"Why not take her with you, then?"
"Her father, he would suffer."
"Take him, too."
"That I proposed, but he will not consent. He fears the confiscation of his property, which is considerable. I would not care for that, though my own fortune, as you know, would be small enough to support us. But the old man will go on no terms, and she will not leave him."
The old man's fears in regard to the confiscation were not without good foundation. There was a party in Mexico, while we occupied the city, that had advocated "annexation"—that is, the annexing of the whole country to the United States. This party consisted chiefly of pure Spaniards, "ricos" of the republic, who wanted a government of stability and order. In the houses of these many of our officers visited, receiving those elegant hospitalities that were in general denied us by Mexicans of a more patriotic stamp. Our friends were termed "Ayankeeados," and were hated by the populace. But they were "marked" in still higher quarters. Several members of the government, then sitting at Queretaro—among others a noted minister—had written to their agents in the city to note down all those who, by word or act, might show kindness to the American army. Even those ladies who should present themselves at the theatre were to be among the number of the proscribed.
In addition to the Ayankeeados were many families—perhaps not otherwise predisposed to favor us—who by accident had admitted us within their circle—such accident as that which had opened the house and heart of Rafaela to my friend L——. These, too, were under "compromisa" with the rabble. My comrade's case was undoubtedly what he had termed it—a dilemma.