bowered in blossoms and fragrance, crowned a hill gently even pensively shaded by silvery old olives, was lovelier yet, and afforded the noblest views. Here the brilliant sunrise, first lighting up the distant white volcanoes that propped the sky, and then stooping to brighten the near-by villas of the city merchants, ushered in gorgeously the perfect day. After noon black, jagged clouds could be seen gathering quickly in the soft and luminous blue; the edge of one would melt into a slender gray shadow, dripping to the earth; and in a few moments the grandest artillery of the heavens would be at work. Then sometimes a rainbow followed; the sunset was fair; the moon rose clear and full; and the white houses, massive towers and brilliant porcelain domes of the city appeared to be afloat in a magical radiance toned with slumber and with dreams. "Heaven help those at home," wrote a soldier, "who think they know what moonlight is!"[1]
Amid experiences like these it seemed hard, almost impossible, to contemplate war and bloodshed., But the troops felt thoroughly angered by what they looked upon as Mexican treachery first in pretending to negotiate, and then in violating the armistice; and they quickly nerved themselves, not without satisfaction, for the coming struggle. All realized that only triumph could save them now from destruction.[2]
