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question, what has happened? All throw the fault on Santa Anna. 'Tis said he throws the fault on Valencia, accusing him of disobedience of orders.
* * The only news we have at present is, that it appears that we intend to defend the capital, and that we expect every moment that the enemy will begin to bombard it. If this should happen, you can figure to yourself how much would be suffered by this beautiful city and its inhabitants—and in the end we shall have to suffer the humiliation of witnessing the entrance of our conquerors, for I do not perceive the smallest hopes of a triumph. We have no artillery—we have no troops—we have nothing. Our army ran at the first. We suffered yesterday a complete defeat, and still talk about making resistance! I do not disapprove of it, for it is necessary to defend the capital at its last entrenchments, because the national decorum requires it; but I repeat that it is useless.
This is the situation at present of the Mexicans, I had better say of those that unhappily are Mexicans. It is not difficult to see the future; a nation of eight millions of souls domineered over by twenty thousand vandals. If at any time we have deserved compassion among nations, we now merit opprobrium. I am a Mexican, and if God does not deprive me of life, I shall have to outlive this humiliation, and witness tomorrow—perhaps to-morrow itself—the destruction of one half of the capital and the occupation by our conquerors; and not to be permitted to fight for its defence for fear of another ignominy! This is a most desperate situation! It is three years the 11th of the present month since I entered public life, and I have suffered all that you are aware of, but I did not know what it was to suffer till now. Who can doubt that this is a chastisement from Heaven! It is rare that the Host is exhibited, but on the fight of the 19th, and until 9 o'clock at night, the Divine Host was shown in the church of Mexico.—The temples were full of Mexicans, praying to God for a triumph of our arms. The day following, from 7 a. m. to 9 p. m., it was entirely a different spectacle: the streets were full of soldiers, bathed in blood, who were continually rending the air with their cries and lamentations, mingled with words of insolence for their bad fortune, as they crawled to their doors or the hospitals. Carts might be seen, with litters, carrying the severely wounded who could not travel on foot, and from their beds of anguish was heard the most heart-rendering complaints, which were mingled with the shrieks of women who like demented people straggled about the streets without any particular object, lamenting the fate of their friends, of whose fate they were ignorant. The church steeples and most
