"What are we fighting about, anyway, Hannibal?"
"Fighting about, boy! To whip Mexico, of course. Got to fetch her to time, haven't we? 'Conquer a peace'—that's what General Scott says. The Republic of Texas has come into the United States, and as long as Mexico says she sha'n't, and keeps pestering Americans and won't pay for damages, the only way to get a peace is to conquer it. Besides, Mexico fired first, at the Rio Grande—killed some of the dragoons and captured Lieutenant Thornton and a lot more. Guess we had to fight, after that, didn't we?"
"Mexico says we invaded her."
"Aw, shucks!" Hannibal scoffed. "So do some of the home papers. That's politics. When once the army gets to shooting then talk isn't much use till one side or the other is licked. They all ought to have arranged matters before the fighting started."
Until long after dark they two crouched here, together with other soldiers, watching the bombs. The night was clear and still, except for the smoke and the guns. And when the castle spoke with a thirteen-incher, and that landed, then—Boom!
"Well, I've got to go for tattoo," said Hannibal, with a yawn. "You'd better skip, too, or you won't be let in if you don't have the countersign. After tattoo everybody's supposed to be bunked for the night."
"Maybe I'll see you to-morrow."
"See you in Vera Cruz, boy," Hannibal promised. "Bet you the Eighth will beat the Fourth, if we storm. Sorry you aren't one of us, in the
