private about certain things.”
Many of the surrounding listeners smiled at that. A few turned their backs discreetly, knowing the general’s reputation with the ladies. But several gentlemen remained in a semi-circle around Santa Anna and Christina, observing them unashamedly. One of them, the smiling thin-faced man whom Santa Anna had been originally talking with, even interjected himself into their conversation.
“I believe, Señora, that the general covets your silver,” he said in lazy, British-accented Spanish.
Santa Anna’s smile froze. His black eyes slanted toward the Englishman. “Señor, you must not anticipate me.”
“But I have no silver, Señor,” Christina said, hoping to avert Santa Anna’s predictable anger at the interruption. “My husband’s lone mine was used up years ago.”
“Oh? That’s not what I had understood, but then I may of course be mistaken.”
Santa Anna spoke rather coldly. “I believe I see the British Ambassador just arriving, Señor. You must take him my felicitations.”
Once he was gone, Santa Anna’s sullen expression brightened. “Diplomats!” He waved a hand insouciantly in the air. “Of course, we hope to have England on our side in the coming conflict.”
That statement brought forth clamorous questions from nearby listeners about the war with America, which led Santa Anna to assume a posture of extreme dignity - possible as much through his impressive braid-laden military costume as well as his solemn expression - and reply, “My friends, my friends! Be assured that the Yanqui invaders will be swiftly and brutally driven from the hallowed soil of Mexico!”
“Viva Mexico!” someone shouted.
“Viva Santa Anna!”
But one of the other generals came forward and asked, frowning, “How will you accomplish such a feat, Señor, when there is not money for war? How will you arm the troops and feed them?”
Santa Anna stiffened. “Who needs money when the very heart of the Mexican is pure gold? We are rich, amigos, rich in spirit in loyalty, in hearts filled with patriotism. Will any true Mexican stand idly by and allow his country to be overrun by savage Norté Americanos? No! Never! We will fight, fight to the death. We will die to the last man rather than become the slaves of the enemy!”
Some cheers greeted this speech, yet the response was mixed, for this was no audience of simple-minded peasants, to be swayed by oratory. But a mainstream feeling of optimism seemed to brighten the atmosphere, expanding throughout the house as Santa Anna’s words were circulated and passed on. Everyone present knew that despite the general’s propensity for grandiosity, his specialty was in performing the feat of raising and equipping soldiers on nothing but his own will. He had done it before; he would do it again!
Then came a quiet British-accented voice from somewhere behind Christina. “Is it true that the Norté Americanos allowed you through the blockade on some secret promise?”
Santa Anna scowled, and just as swiftly smiled again. “That is a terrible rumor, no doubt begun by them.” He was obviously attempting to spot the man who had spoken. “The Yanquis respect me completely and are fully aware of the consequences to be expected on my return. In fact,” he improvised, still unable to discover the man, “I recently uncovered the truth to a plot contrived by Gringo fanatics to assassinate me in Havana.”
“How fortunate that you were permitted to leave,” Christina murmured. “How fortunate for Mexico.”
His glance turned to her. “You are quite right, cousin. It seems the Yanquis are convinced that only I, as Commander-in-Chief of our armies, can foil their conquering plans. Would that my countrymen believed the same!”
Various soothing affirmations of support came from several gentlemen present. Santa Anna’s calculating gaze gave up the search for his unknown critic and, for the moment, forsook his audience to return fully to
Many of the surrounding listeners smiled at that. A few turned their backs discreetly, knowing the general’s reputation with the ladies. But several gentlemen remained in a semi-circle around Santa Anna and Christina, observing them unashamedly. One of them, the smiling thin-faced man whom Santa Anna had been originally talking with, even interjected himself into their conversation.
“I believe, Señora, that the general covets your silver,” he said in lazy, British-accented Spanish.
Santa Anna’s smile froze. His black eyes slanted toward the Englishman. “Señor, you must not anticipate me.”
“But I have no silver, Señor,” Christina said, hoping to avert Santa Anna’s predictable anger at the interruption. “My husband’s lone mine was used up years ago.”
“Oh? That’s not what I had understood, but then I may of course be mistaken.”
Santa Anna spoke rather coldly. “I believe I see the British Ambassador just arriving, Señor. You must take him my felicitations.”
Once he was gone, Santa Anna’s sullen expression brightened. “Diplomats!” He waved a hand insouciantly in the air. “Of course, we hope to have England on our side in the coming conflict.”
That statement brought forth clamorous questions from nearby listeners about the war with America, which led Santa Anna to assume a posture of extreme dignity - possible as much through his impressive braid-laden military costume as well as his solemn expression - and reply, “My friends, my friends! Be assured that the Yanqui invaders will be swiftly and brutally driven from the hallowed soil of Mexico!”
“Viva Mexico!” someone shouted.
“Viva Santa Anna!”
But one of the other generals came forward and asked, frowning, “How will you accomplish such a feat, Señor, when there is not money for war? How will you arm the troops and feed them?”
Santa Anna stiffened. “Who needs money when the very heart of the Mexican is pure gold? We are rich, amigos, rich in spirit in loyalty, in hearts filled with patriotism. Will any true Mexican stand idly by and allow his country to be overrun by savage Norté Americanos? No! Never! We will fight, fight to the death. We will die to the last man rather than become the slaves of the enemy!”
Some cheers greeted this speech, yet the response was mixed, for this was no audience of simple-minded peasants, to be swayed by oratory. But a mainstream feeling of optimism seemed to brighten the atmosphere, expanding throughout the house as Santa Anna’s words were circulated and passed on. Everyone present knew that despite the general’s propensity for grandiosity, his specialty was in performing the feat of raising and equipping soldiers on nothing but his own will. He had done it before; he would do it again!
Then came a quiet British-accented voice from somewhere behind Christina. “Is it true that the Norté Americanos allowed you through the blockade on some secret promise?”
Santa Anna scowled, and just as swiftly smiled again. “That is a terrible rumor, no doubt begun by them.” He was obviously attempting to spot the man who had spoken. “The Yanquis respect me completely and are fully aware of the consequences to be expected on my return. In fact,” he improvised, still unable to discover the man, “I recently uncovered the truth to a plot contrived by Gringo fanatics to assassinate me in Havana.”
“How fortunate that you were permitted to leave,” Christina murmured. “How fortunate for Mexico.”
His glance turned to her. “You are quite right, cousin. It seems the Yanquis are convinced that only I, as Commander-in-Chief of our armies, can foil their conquering plans. Would that my countrymen believed the same!”
Various soothing affirmations of support came from several gentlemen present. Santa Anna’s calculating gaze gave up the search for his unknown critic and, for the moment, forsook his audience to return fully to
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