floated over the halls of the Montezumas. It was the triumphant
ending of one of the most brilliant and striking campaigns of modern
history.

The American army, as compared with the hosts of Mexico, had been but
a handful. The small force which had left Vera Cruz on the march to
the capital had lost considerably by battle and disease. Many
detachments had been posted _en route_ to hold the line of
communications, and for garrison duty in places taken from the enemy.
The army had thus dwindled until, after the battles of Churubusco and
Chapultepec, _fewer than six thousand men_ were left to enter and hold
the capital.

The invasion had been remarkable in all its particulars. The obstacles
which had to be overcome seemed insurmountable. There were walled
cities to be taken, fortified mountain passes to be carried by storm,
and frowning castles with cannon on the battlements to be assaulted by
regiments whose valor and impetuosity were their only protection and
warrant of victory. Yet the campaign was never seriously impeded. No
foot of ground once taken from the Mexicans was yielded by false
tactics or lost by battle.

The army which accomplished this marvel, penetrating a far-distant and
densely peopled country, held by a proud race, claiming to be the
descendants of Cortes and the Spanish heroes of the sixteenth
century, and denouncing at the outset the American soldiers as
"barbarians of the North," was, in large part, an army of
volunteers--a citizen soldiery--which had risen from the States of the
Union and marched to the Mexican border under the Union flag.