The French army, which fell back upon Orizaba, was in a critical
position. Its communications with the coast had been interrupted by the
Liberal guerrillas, and it was completely cut off from the seaport and
from France. The bridges were destroyed; the convoys of provisions were
attacked and burned; anxiety was felt by the commissariat with regard to
supplies. The garrisons left by the French on the way had been driven
back and hemmed in in the unhealthful region, where the French regiments
were fairly melting away, and no courier was permitted to bring news
from the seat of war to the French fleet and to the garrison of Vera
Cruz.

The rainy season was near at hand when communication was restored by the
arrival at Vera Cruz of General Felix Douay, who landed with
reinforcements on May 16.

The five days that we spent in Vera Cruz were anxious days for those who
had assumed the responsibility of our little party. Never was there a
worse time to travel over a road which at best was unsafe, and yet we
could not remain where we were without danger.

I was not allowed to move out of the house and all I saw of the town was
from the balcony whence, in the cool of the evening, I looked down upon
the dull street. Every now and then a passing stretcher supporting a
covered human form would remind us that we were in a plague-stricken
city, and make us eager to start upon our way.

At last arrangements were completed, terms were made with a small
guerrilla band whose chief undertook to see us safely through to Mexico,
and on May 27 we began our journey.