The stormers had retreated, The bloody work was o’er; The feet of the invaders Were soon to leave our shore. We rested on our rifles And talked about the fight, When came a sudden murmur Like fire from left to right; We turned and saw our chieftain, And then, good friend of mine, You should have heard the cheering That rang along the line. For well our men remembered How little, when they came, Had they but native courage, And trust in Jackson’s name; How through the day he labored, How kept the vigils still, Till discipline controlled us— A stronger power than will; And how he hurled us at them Within the evening hour, That red night in December, And made us feel our power. In answer to our shouting Fire lit his eye of grey; Erect, but thin and pallid, He passed upon his bay. Weak from the baffled fever, And shrunken in each limb, The swamps of Alabama Had done their work on him; But spite of that and fasting, And hours of sleepless care, The soul of Andrew Jackson Shone forth in glory there. FOOTNOTES: [1] Creole meant originally the native-born descendant of foreign white parents. It is now applied to the native whites in Louisiana. People outside of that state frequently misapprehend its meaning, and think the word denotes mixed blood. _EL MOLINO DEL REY._ The continually triumphant march of the American troops, under Scott, from Vera Cruz to the City of Mexico, in spite of greater numbers of opposing soldiers, fighting for their own soil, led many to undervalue the courage and endurance of the enemy. There never was a more signal error. The Mexicans fought fiercely and well; they displayed daring and steadiness, though they were not always able to stand before the bayonet, to whose uses they had not been trained. Their signal defeats, occurring after obstinate and bloody resistance, were due to the inefficiency of their general officers. Properly headed the Mexicans would make as fine soldiers as any in the world.