verdure everywhere, dripping, flowing, spurting, tumbling in every hue and shade of green, with a dark, velvety mist in the gorges that became clear sapphire when the sun touched it, and here and there a cascade letting fall its crystal thread from a mossy crag.[1]
Then came the rich Orizaba valley, hemmed in with jungles, and winding off between sombre, precipitous mountains until lost in the dreamy distance; and above it the sparkling snows of the vast peak sent down a torrent of gray glacier water, that leaped into mid-air, and then, gathering itself below, wound on through splendid, odorous trees full of parrots, canaries and mocking-birds, hurried past fragrant orange groves and still more fragrant blossoms, poured through the arches of a noble old bridge, and buried itself in the woods. But the Americans did not forget their orders. Both cities were occupied without resistance, and both were garrisoned; and the guerillas now found their proceedings considerably hampered.[2]
The final military operations of Scott seemed thus rather tame, as was natural; but Polk executed one that could be termed startling, if not exactly brilliant. His principal assistants were Pillow, Worth and Duncan; and in different ways each had excellent qualifications for the work. Pillow was not "The Lie Incarnate," as Trist believed, nor even "a perfect ass," as many thought; but vanity, ambition, lack of probity, and a gift for dark and cunning methods characterized him. His instincts and talents, indeed, were those of the criminal lawyer who minds nothing about his case except the verdict. When the President's brother shot a man down in the street at Nashville, Pillow got him off. With reference to his work in helping bring about Polk's nomination at Baltimore he wrote, "The fatal blow was given, but it was not seen nor known what produced such a result — nor where the blow came from." "I feel as boyant as the air," he said in December, 1846, when great dissatisfaction with Taylor prevailed at Washington, because I know "that I have done the work. . . . I have paid him in full" for his treatment of me. And one could seldom get a finger on Pillow's back, when he was not wriggling actively toward some object of selfish desire.[3]
Without a particle of real military ability or success to his credit, he now stood second in our army, and hence logically
