“There they come! They are going to march right in! But what I want, most of all, is to see the general himself. There he is!”

Telescope in hand, Ned Crawford was standing on the parapet, near one of the southerly gates of Vera Cruz, watching the triumphant entrance of the American army. He could hardly have told whether he was more glad to see them come, or because the siege and the bombardment were over. He was already familiar with the various troops of Mexico, and he knew that some of them, but not many, could perform their military evolutions in pretty good style. The one thing which struck him most forcibly now, however, as his glass was aimed here and there over the approaching columns and lines, was that at no point was there a flaw or a defect in the orderly movements of the American soldiers. With admirable drill and under perfect management, they swung forward across the broad level between their earthwork batteries and the badly shattered wall of the captured city. Compared with them, the garrison which had surrendered was, for the greater part, only a little better than an ill-provided, half-armed, undisciplined mob. Wealth, arms, civilization, scientific generalship, had all been on the side of the great republic of the North, and there had been no doubt, from the beginning, as to what the result must be. The one important seaport of Mexico, with all its foreign commerce, was now under the control of the United States, and could not be taken from them.

Ned saw one of the advancing lines melt beautifully into the shape of a long column, and file through the gate near him. Then followed a section of field artillery and a small detachment of cavalry. All these were to be admired, of course, but his eyes watched them only for a moment, for just behind the horsemen came an exceedingly brilliant cavalcade, in front of which rode the remarkable man whom Ned was most anxious to see.

Beyond a doubt, General Winfield Scott had many severe critics and not a few personal enemies. By these, he was said to be arrogant, blunt in manners, opinionated, and also a military martinet with terribly unvolunteer ideas relating to the rigid discipline required for success in war. He had seen, however, a deal of hard service in the war of 1812 and otherwise, and his military record was without a flaw. There were good judges, both in America and Europe, who believed and declared that for the management of a difficult campaign he had no superior among the generals then living. He was now actually called upon to prove that he could perform apparent impossibilities under very trying circumstances and with somewhat limited resources. Physically, he was a large, fine-looking man, and he was even excessively particular concerning the fit and elegance of his parade uniform. He was therefore looking his best when he rode in to take possession of Vera Cruz.

Ned went down a ladder as soon as he could, after breathlessly staring at the great commander, but he did not succeed in witnessing the formalities of the surrender, whatever they were. The crowds in his way were too much for him, but not long after General Scott and his staff disappeared through the portal of the building which had been the headquarters of poor General Morales, Ned worked his way through a throng of downcast Mexicans toward a young officer who appeared to be in command of about a half company of infantry. From the excitement of the moment and from a good many months of daily custom, he spoke to the lieutenant in Mexican Spanish, in a recklessly eager manner and without touching his hat.

“What on earth do you want?” was the curt and gruff reply. “I’m only Lieutenant Grant. You’ll have to see somebody else, whatever it is. You had better go and speak to one of the staff.”

If Ned had really been a young Mexican, speaking no tongue but his own, he might not have understood that perfectly. As it was, however, he at once broke out with energy into a language to which he had for some time been unaccustomed. Even now, nevertheless, he forgot to touch his hat.

“Well, Mr. Grant,” he said, “I’ve been all over the country. I’ve been in the city of Mexico and among their troops, and I believe I know a lot of things that I ought to report to General Scott, or somebody.”

It was a patriotic idea which had been growing in his mind all that morning, and it had driven out of him every ounce of bashfulness.

“You have, have you?” said Grant. “I declare. Seems to me you speak English pretty well for a greaser—almost like a born American. I guess the general’s willing to hear almost anything. But you will have to see some member of the staff. Hullo! I say! Captain Lee! Here’s a kind of spy. I think you’d better hear him. I can’t leave my post.”

“Spy?” exclaimed Ned. “No, I’m not any such thing, but my name is Edward Crawford, and I’m from New York. I got stuck in Mexico and I couldn’t get out. I’ve been all around everywhere. Things are mixed—”

“Grant,” said Captain Lee, “he may have something worth while. I’ll take him in to see Schuyler Hamilton. Let the captain pump him.”

Captain Robert E. Lee was not exactly off duty at that hour, for he and other engineer officers had been ordered to make a survey of the fortifications, but he was there to receive instructions and he could take Ned in with him. He was a taller, handsomer fellow than Grant, and he was all of three times as polite in his treatment of Ned. Perhaps, however, Grant’s first manners had been damaged by being addressed in such a style, in Spanish, by an excited young Mexican.

In went Ned and Lee, and there was no difficulty in obtaining an interview with Captain Hamilton. Ned had never heard of him before, but he was now aware, from Captain Lee, that he was a descendant of General Philip Schuyler and General Alexander Hamilton of the Revolutionary War. Ned thought of SeÑora Tassara’s great ancestors for a moment, and then he did not really care a cent for pedigree. He even startled Hamilton himself by the energy and rapidity with which he told what he knew of the condition of things throughout the country, the movements of Santa Anna, and the political plots and conspiracies. Hamilton was a slender, graceful young man, handsomer than even Lee, and with piercing black eyes.

“Lee,” he said, “the cub is a genuine curiosity. I can’t imagine how on earth he learned so much. He isn’t a fool, by any means. General Scott will be at liberty in a few minutes, and Crawford must see him.”

“All right,” said Lee. “I have my instructions now, and I’ll leave him with you. They say the old castle’s badly knocked in pieces.”

If, as Lee intimated, the fortress of San Juan de Ulua was just then in bad condition, so was Ned when he heard what they were going to do with him. He had supposed that his errand had been completely done to the sharp-eyed staff officer, but now they threatened to bring him before the general, whom he considered the most tremendous man on the earth. It was a little too much, but he drew a long breath and stood as straight as a ramrod, looking very red indeed. In three minutes more he was brought face to face with the commander-in-chief of the armies of the United States, and he felt as if he had been surrounded and compelled to surrender. Captain Hamilton reported the matter in the fewest words possible, but all the while the general had been watching Ned, looking right through him, and in a moment Ned found himself feeling perfectly easy. If General Scott had been his uncle, he could not have spoken to him in a kinder or more carelessly familiar way. He questioned him about all his experiences, and an acute listener might have gathered that he paid more attention to Ned’s political information than to anything of a strictly military nature.

“Hamilton,” he slowly remarked, at last, “General Taylor did an exceedingly good thing for us down here, after all. The battle of Buena Vista was our own battle. Santa Anna will not be able to raise another army like the one that was so roughly handled up there. If it had been here, in good shape, we would have had ten times as much trouble in taking Vera Cruz. Santa Anna’s power is already half broken.”

“Perhaps a little more,” suggested Hamilton.

“Perhaps,” said the general, “but our patriotic young friend here has made a valuable report. Ah, McClellan! You and Beauregard are to make the inspection of the castle with Captain Lee. Take Crawford back to Grant, as you go. He may serve with the Seventh as an unenlisted man. Let him have his orders, Hamilton. He is a brave fellow.”

Out went Ned with a pair of as yet undistinguished officers, both of whom were to be heard of again in after time, and it did not occur to the very much elated “scout,” as he now considered himself, to correct General Scott’s apparent idea that Lieutenant Ulysses S. Grant was a particular friend and guardian of his.

“Now, if this isn’t bully!” he thought. “I’ve been on the Mexican side all the while till now. I’ve been kind of part of the garrison of Vera Cruz, but I’ve been praised by General Scott, for all that. I wonder what our folks at home would say to it!”

It was a grand thing to think of, and Ned felt as proud as if he had been promoted for storming an enemy’s entrenchments.

There was another experience of an entirely unexpected character just before him, however. Hardly had McClellan and Beauregard turned him over to Grant, and while the latter was inspecting the order written by Captain Hamilton, Ned was suddenly shaken from head to foot. Not that anybody, Mexican or American, was actually handling him roughly, but that a hoarse, eager voice at his right ear exclaimed:

“Edward! My son! Is this you? Are you a prisoner?”

“No, Mister,” responded Grant, before Ned could gather his wits to utter a word. “He isn’t a prisoner, but I’m ordered to stick him into the outside of the Seventh somewhere. Is he your son?”

“He is, lieutenant,” said Mr. Crawford. “And, oh, how glad I am!”

“Father!” Ned had shouted, as a pair of strong arms went around him. “How did you happen to be here?”

“I came on one of our own supply-ships,” said Mr. Crawford. “I’ll tell you all about it by and by. I had all but given up hearing anything of you, and we sail for New York to-morrow. Lieutenant, I haven’t seen him for more’n a year. I want a good long talk.”

“Of course you do!” said Grant, heartily. “Take him along, and let him report at the camp of the Seventh to-morrow morning. You may go now, my young greaser, but you’d better get on another rig than that before you come.”

“He will do that,” said Mr. Crawford. “Come along, Ned. Let’s go where we can be by ourselves. I want to hear your whole yarn, from beginning to end, and I’ve all sorts of things to tell you.”

“Father,” said Ned, “I know just the place. We’ll go and get supper at old Anita’s, and we can talk all the way. Hurrah! How’s mother?”

All the most important home news followed quickly after that, and Ned felt that the capture of Vera Cruz was more important than ever.

“I am going to let you stay here, though,” said his father. “You can learn more than in any other way that I know of.”

“That’s what I want,” said Ned. “And now I shall be in our army.”

The father and son were not walking very fast, but they could talk rapidly, and they had a great many things to say. They had some things to see, as well, for everywhere, as they went, they encountered detachments of United States soldiers patrolling the city, restoring order and setting things to rights. That they were doing so appeared to be a tremendous surprise to large numbers of the inhabitants, who had almost been expecting to be ruthlessly plundered, if not murdered outright, by these cruel barbarians from the awful republic of the North. Not all of them were panic-stricken in this way, however, for when the house of old Anita was reached, she was standing in the doorway, and she greeted them loudly with:

“O SeÑor Carfora! I knew all the while that you were a gringo. I am so glad that we have surrendered! Santa Maria Gloriosa! Praise all the saints! We shall have no more cannonading! We shall have plenty to eat!”

“That is just what we want, Anita,” replied Ned. “This is my father. He has come to see me, and you must give him some dinner. Then I will tell you all about General Scott and the American soldiers.”

She had neighbors with her, as usual, and some of them had become accustomed to regarding Ned as a kind of newsboy. They were now also prepared to thank a large number of religious personages that he was a genuine gringo, and on good terms with the conquering invaders, who were henceforth to have the control of affairs in Vera Cruz.

It was late that night when Ned said good-by to his father, and it was like pulling teeth to let him go, but there was no help for it, as the sailing of the supply-ship could not be delayed. Ned was once more alone in Mexico, and it took all his enthusiasm for his expected army life to reconcile him to the situation. Perhaps there was not a great deal of sound sleeping done, in the hammock that swung in the little room in the Tassara mansion, but at an early hour next morning he was on his way to hunt up the camp of the Seventh Infantry and the tent of Lieutenant Grant. This was accomplished without much difficulty, and almost immediately Ned made a discovery. His probable coming had, of course, been reported to the colonel commanding the regiment, and that officer’s common-sense remark was:

“Unenlisted orderly, eh? Yankee boy that can speak Spanish, and that knows every corner of this miserable city? Just what we want. I’m glad old Fuss and Feathers sent him to us. He is the greatest general in the world. Send your scout right here to me. I’ve errands for him.”

Therefore, the next chapter in Ned’s Mexican experiences was that he found himself sent out, soldierlike, upon a long list of duties, for which he was peculiarly well prepared by knowing where to find streets and houses which were as yet unknown to the rank and file of the gallant Seventh. The men, on their part, soon came to regard him as a soldier boy, like themselves, and he had a fine opportunity for learning, from day to day, the processes by which General Scott was organizing his force for his intended march across the sierra, on the road he had selected for reaching the city of Mexico. It was soon to be plainly understood that, whenever that army should march, it would do so as a sort of human machine, ready to perform any military work which its commander might require of it.