loss during the two days amounted to only thirty officers and 387 men, of whom sixty-four were killed.[1]
Next morning the Americans advanced again. For the two last miles below Jalapa the highway ran between continuous hedges loaded with blossoms and vocal with the songs of birds, while bougainvillea flamed here and there on a cabin or tree-top in a conflagration of purple, and the air was laden with delicious perfumes; and when the town was descried from an eminence, it seemed like a delicate mosaic set in a massive frame of rich emerald. Friends had been left behind forever, but grief was offset by the joy of surviving; and after dressing ranks the troops began to enter Jalapa at about 9 o'clock with bayonets fixed, colors flying and bands playing. Some of the girls could not help laughing at the unkempt appearance and nondescript costumes of the terrible and victorious Yankees; but the people, who lined the streets, appeared neither hostile nor afraid, and the bells rang out a welcome.[2] The soldiers for their part soon felt they had reached Eden, and they were none the less content on hearing of the dull saffron haze which now hung over Vera Cruz — a visible token that "King Death in his Yellow Robe" had once more set up his throne there; while Scott himself, wishing to tranquillize the army and favorably impress the public, proceeded to hide the errors of his subordinates with reports that misled the public. As for the future he cheerfully announced, "Mexico has no longer an army." Apparently the United States had a very substantial one; but surprises were soon to occur.[3]
