That is always so after a battle. Those who read the lists of the killed and wounded expect to find the names of other people’s friends there, and not the names of those from whom they were hoping to hear an account of the victory.
“Felicia,” said the señora, “your father and mother are in their room. Do not go there just now. You must not go out again, Señor Carfora. You have been running too many risks. Talk with me for awhile.”
Whether or not he had been in any danger, it had been impossible for Ned to remain in the house during an entire week of military thunder storm, and he had ventured out almost recklessly. There had, indeed, been so much confusion that little attention had generally been paid to him, and he had even gone out through the gates to use his telescope upon the distant clouds of smoke and the movements of marching men. He had seen, therefore, the steady, irresistible advances of the American troops, and he had almost understood that to General Scott the capture of the city was merely a matter of mathematical calculation, like an example in arithmetic.
He went into the parlor with Señora Paez and Felicia, and there they sat, almost in silence, until long after their usual bedtime, but the sound of guns had ceased, for the siege of Mexico was ended.
It was during that night that General Santa Anna, with nearly all that was left of his army, marched silently out of the city, and the last remnants of his political power passed from him as the American troops began to march in, the next morning. Of all the negotiations between the remaining Mexican authorities and General Scott, Ned Crawford knew nothing, but there was disorder everywhere, and it would have been more perilous than ever for a fellow like him to have been caught in the streets by any of the reckless, angry men who swarmed among them. On the evening of the 14th of September, nevertheless, he was standing in the Paez piazza with Señorita Felicia, and he saw a column of soldiers coming up the street.
“Señorita!” he suddenly exclaimed. “Look! Our flag! Our men! Hurrah! Those are the colors of the Seventh! It is my own regiment, and if there isn’t Lieutenant Grant himself!”
“Do not go!” she said. “Do not leave me!” but she was too late, for he had darted away, and in a moment more he was greeted with:
“Hullo, Ned! I’m glad you didn’t make out to get killed. I knew you couldn’t get out, and I’d about given you up. Is that where you live?”
“It’s the house I told you of,” said Ned. “They are the best kind of people—”
“Go back there, then,” commanded the lieutenant. “Your father is out among the hospitals just now, taking care of the wounded, but I want to know where to send him. I’ll see you again. I must go on to my post.”