his plans; and officers and men are confident that his plans will be thoroughly sound.” With this military lecture, Lieutenant Grant strode away. Pompey chuckled. “Hi yi! Nebber did heah Lieutenant Grant talk so much at onct. Didn’t say nuffin’ much, neither.” At noon the fire from the city had ceased. There were rumors that the Mexican general wished to surrender. About two o’clock the American batteries ceased, also. Cheers spread from the advance trenches back to the camps. A white flag had been borne from the city to General Scott’s headquarters. “A truce! A truce! They’ve surrendered!” Out on the front the soldiers could be seen scrambling from the trenches and cheering; and the officers of the batteries stood upon the sandbags to examine the walls at leisure with their glasses. The truce, however, did not last long. The Mexican flag went back. The general officers, who had been called into council with General Scott, returned to their divisions; and one of them――a burly short-necked, red-faced, lion-looking man who was General David Twiggs of the Second Division of Regulars, said, in plain hearing as he rode: “Humph! My boys will have to take that place with the bayonet yet.” The mortar batteries opened again. It was reported that General Scott and Commodore Perry (Commodore Conner had gone home) of the navy had agreed upon an assault of the city to-morrow, March 26, by soldiers and sailors both. The mortars fired all night, in slow fashion, as if for reminder. The city forts and the castle answered scarcely at all. Evidently the time for the assault was ripe. About midnight another norther came; the worst norther to date. In the morning half the tents were flat, everything and everybody were covered with sand, and the trenches and the city could not be seen through the sand cloud. “We gwine to attack, jest the same,” Pompey proclaimed. “We cain’t see the enemy; enemy can’t see us. Fust t’ing dey know, dar we’ll be. Wind cain’t stop bagonets. No, suh! Oof! Don’t believe I laike dis country, nohow. If Gin’ral Scott don’t take us away, I’se gwine back to Virginny. Yaller feber’s done arriv. Dey’s got it yonduh in Very Cruz, already. Mebbe we don’t want dat Very Cruz. I ain’t pinin’ to stay ’round hyar. Nigger don’t stand no show ’gin yaller feber. Dey say dar’s a big passel ob Mexican sojers collectin’ in back country to capture us when yaller feber an’ dese no’thers gets done with us. So if Gin’ral Scott don’t quit foolin’ an’ mahch away, I’se gwine by myself.” Soon after breakfast, or about eight o’clock, the firing stopped once more; another white flag had been taken in to General Scott. This time it proved to be in earnest, for the batteries did not reopen during the day, nor during the night. The surrender was set for the morning of the twenty-ninth, at ten o’clock sharp.