 | CHAPTER I. Francis Berrian, or, The Mexican patriot |  |
1. CHAPTER I.
De tan grande republica opprimide
Better be
Where the extinguished Spartans still are free,
In the proud charnel of Thermopyle
Byron.
The first night after the junction, I passed in the tent
of my classmate, of whom I have spoken. He gave me
a succinct, but most interesting narrative of his fortunes
since we had separated from each other in the halls of
our alma mater. As the materials, the character, and the
fate of that interesting body of young men, who were now
united with the Mexican patriots, and many of whom at
this moment fill the first offices in Louisiana, have never
yet been given to the public, and as they are henceforward
identified in the same cause with myself, I shall take
leave to digress from the thread of my narrative, to give
you a very brief outline of the rise and progress of this
expedition on Texas, as my classmate gave it to me.
“Among the first adherents of Hidalgo, whose fate has
been mentioned, was Don Jose Bernardo Guttierez,
Bernardo. He was a native of a small town on the banks
of the Rio Grande, in the province of New Santander.
He was originally a silversmith by trade, and by unusual
elegance in his art, he had amassed a handsome
fortune. After the execution of Hidalgo, he was obliged
to fly. He made his way to the United States by land,
and his property was confiscated. His first object, after
his arrival there, was to resuscitate an interest in his cause
in that country. His plan was to obtain the countenance
of the government, enlist volunteers, whose thoughts he
could contrive to turn towards this El Dorado, this region
of gold, and penetrate with them by the way of the Sabine,
into the provincias internas. But the wise and calculating
government of the United States, had not yet
seen the efforts of the Mexicans sufficiently consentaneous
and matured, to give him any public countenance. Mr.
Clay had not yet been heard, alternately in song, and in
thunder, upon this subject. Bernardo returned to Natchitoches,
on the Spanish frontier, without pecuniary means
and without any public demonstrations in his favor. He was
himself still full of hopes, and fired with zeal. Like many
other men, self-denominated patriots, it was difficult to
ascertain which element preponderated in him, revenge,
or a love of liberty, cupidity and ambition, or a desire to
liberate his country. He was destitute alike of genuine
moral, and physical courage, was of limited understanding,
savage in his temperament, and coarse and repulsive in
his manners. But he had great practical adroitness at
intrigue, and that undoubting confidence in his cause,
which is so indispensable in a partizan. This unshrinking
confidence led him still to hope, when others despaired,
and to persevere, when others forsook the cause. Had
character, and as singular in fortune. I can only find time
here to record the last singular incident in his life, by
which he acquired a certain kind of notoriety. It was this
same man, who, after a great diversity of fortunes, was
commander in the province, where the ex-emperor Iturbide
landed from Great Britain, and he presided over
his execution.
A party of gentlemen at Natchitoches, many of whom
now fill the most responsible stations in the country, were
at this time disposed to aid Bernardo in his plans, or at
least to lend their assistance to the fermenting principle of
republicanism in the adjacent Spanish provinces. They
could not expect to succeed to any extent, in an expedition
into that country, unless they could carry with them
the efficacy of a name of some distinguished native of the
country. Such a character was offered in Bernardo.
They selected him, therefore, as the covering of their
battery. He marched at the head of the expedition, just
as the Roman eagles were carried before their legions.
Many gallant and high-minded men, to whom no career
was open in the United States, who disdained oppression,
and under that generous feeling, probably concealed from
themselves dawning ambition, and a cupidity fired with
the prospect of the Mexican mines, united west of the
Sabine. Their avowed object was to aid the Patriot natives
in communicating to this oppressed and beautiful
country, the entire freedom of their own. They chose a
highly respectable young man of their number, and then a
captain in the United States army, their colonel. Their
number was small, but of a character to attach importance
and confidence to their enterprise. As they advanced into
the country, their numbers were increased rapidly by adventurers
already settled in the country, and they generally
ranged themselves under the standard of the American
volunteers. Many respectable Mexicans joined them.
They formally declared the independence of the Spanish
province of Texas, instituted a temporary government,
and pushed on to the first settlement without opposition.
Nacogdoches is the first town in the province, in passing
from the Sabine towards the interior, and is about seventy
miles from that river. I shall always remember the place,
for it has the aspect, though delightfully situated, of being
as lonely, as an isle in the South Sea. Clear and beautiful
streams flow from the hills near the town, uniting in a
small river just below it. At that time, a small body of
royal provincial troops was stationed there, and the place
contained the usual and necessary accompaniments of a
Spanish town, a church, a calabozo, a commandant's
house, and about five hundred inhabitants. The American
volunteers were received by the inhabitants of this
place and vicinity, with open arms. The small detachment
of royal troops joined them, and a large company
of Creoles was organized, under the command of Captain
Samuel Davenport. Immense herds of cattle filled the
vallies of this paradise of shepherds; and supplies of provisions,
especially of meat, were easy and abundant.
The body of troops was now swollen, to something like
the dimensions of an army. They organized a junta for
the provisional government of the province, and moved on
without opposition, and took possession of Labahia del
Espiritu Santo, commonly called by the Americans, La
Baddie. This town stands on the western bank of the
river San Antonio, an elevated site, which commands the
surrounding prairies. It contained a fort of stone, with
stone church made one side of the bastion. Its small
garrison surrendered to us without opposition, and immediately
joined itself to us, and contributed to swell the
forces of the Patriots. The effective force at this time
was considerably numerous, and it was the intention of
Bernardo, or rather of the American commander, to
march immediately to the attack of San Antonio, the capital
of the province.
Before this could be effected, the royal army moved
down in force from San Antonio, for the attack of Labahia.
It was commanded by Don Simon Hererra, and
Salcedo, and was estimated to at fifteen hundred men,
chiefly mounted Creoles of the province. They had
a number of pieces of artillery, which, however, were so
badly managed as to be of little utility to them. Our
troops took post in a large and uncommonly massive building,
which had been erected for the seat of a mission, and
was inhabited by some of the converted Indians. It was
quite surprising, that such a place should have been so
long defended, against such an imposing force, in possession
of a sufficient artillery. But the royal commanders
seem to have been paralyzed. They did not at all want
for courage. But they seemed to have been panic-struck
with the novel aspect of men, that they had seen tame,
subdued, and submissive, and as timid as grasshoppers, all
at once, by this new spirit of republicanism, transformed
into fierce, if not formidable foes. They were evidently
suspicious, too, of the fidelity of the provincials, that were
under them. They were aware, that these men would
naturally participate the same spirit with the rest. The
siege continued, during the whole winter, and was signaized
by many sorties and skirmishes, in which the garrison
royal commanders attempted to get rid of the garrison, by
proposing to let them depart in safety. They even offered
them a supply of provisions, if they would march
away to the frontier. But this handful of brave and determined
men, set all the efforts of the besieging army at
defiance.
At length, either alarmed, or tired out, the Royal troops
drew off from the siege, without striking a blow. The
Americans, without military science, and with no other
resource, than their native gallantry, and the internal consciousness
of the dignity of freemen, had learned heartily
to despise the Royal forces, and in many instances had
shown themselves brave and determined soldiers Soon
after the retreat of the Royal army, the Patriots were reinforced
by a party of Conehatty Indians, and in their turn
moved as assailants against the Royalists. These Indians
are a principal branch of the Creeks, and are settled low
down the Trinity river, towards the gulf, and are considered
an uncommonly brave, manly, and noble race of Indians.
At the distance of eight miles from San Antonio,
the Patriots fell in with the Royal army, which moved out
of town to meet them, having been reinforced with the
regular garrison of the town. They entrenched themselves
on a rising ground, and in an advantageous position,
behind the river Salado. The Patriots, not half their number,
formed, and rushed to the attack, with the most determined
fury, and with terrible effect. They charged
upon the royal battery, carried it, and turned the pieces
against the foe. The Spanish royal officers, too, acted
with great gallantry, but their troops were completely
routed. Major Reuben Ross, of the Patriots, and Colonel
Montero of the royal troops, both of them mounted on
the midst of the battle. Montero was severely wounded,
and the life of Ross was only saved by the intervention of
one of his soldiers, by the name of Owen, who was killed
by the blow, that saved his commander. Immediately on
this defeat, the Royalists took shelter again in San Antonio.
Such had been the state of things, before I arrived at
this place. I arrived here in company with Bernardo, and
a considerable number of adventurous spirits, French,
Spanish, Yankees, and people of all nations. I had become
acquainted with this extraordinary man in Philadelphia.
I imbibed, in common with the rest of my compatriots,
something of his confident spirit. The mines glittered
in prospective. The hope of emancipating an oppressed
people operated as an excitement to more noble feelings.
There was a press already in operation, and it was to pour
the light of liberty upon that vast and beautiful country. I
was fresh from college, and the visions of Plato's republic,
and felt all the sauguine anticipations of a youthful legislator
and emancipator. Many adventurers, seduced by various
motives, joined us from time to time. Bernardo, loaned five
thousand dollars, and I as many hundred, to be repaid on
the day, in which we should possess ourselves of the
mines and the mint of Mexico. We moved to the southwest,
on the course of the Ohio. Here we endured all
that human nature can endure, hunger, want, disaffection
among ourselves, and what was to me the most overwhelming
consideration of all, the discovery, that some of our
party were arrant scoundrels, who knew nothing about
Plato, and cared nothing about freedom; who would steal,
if they should have a chance, from the mint, but who
would never have the courage to seek for its contents in any
and we were, alternately, a spectacle of ridicule and terror
to the people, among whom we were compelled to sojourn,
and near whose habitations we were bound in the
ice. Every language was spoken on board our floating
Babel, and while we talked of subduing and emancipating
empires, most of our rogues would have fled from the
sight of a sheriff. While we were preparing to legislate
for the empire of Montezuma, we were daily quarrelling
among ourselves. Talking flippantly about the mines of
Mexico, we wanted shirts and bread. You can easily
make a fancy sketch of the events, the anecdotes, and the
comforts of the communion of such an assortment of the
apostles of liberty. For my own part, when I laughed at
myself, to find myself with such associates, I said to myself,
`The cause cannot be contaminated by the character and
motives of those, who are with me, nor can my motives
be rendered impure, by co-operating with the impure motives
of others.' In due process of time, and with such
comfort, as we might find, in such company, we arrived,
where you now find us.” Such was the outline of the
narrative of my friend.
With the society of these new and pleasant associates,
our time flew rapidly, and we were again so pleasantly
situated, as to hear the sentiment of Mount Mixtpal reiterated,
`that it was good for us to be here,' and the wish
that no change might alter the present aspect of things.
There was one material difference between this position
and that. Here we were on an open plain, which admitted
of no other defences than intrenchments, and could
be forced to a battle at the choice of the assailants. The
faces of the Misses Benvelt were again pale with terror,
for we determined, in a council of war, to make an
spirit and numbers of our united forces, we sanguinely
calculated upon a successful attack. The royal troops
were commanded by the Conde, Salcedo, and Hererra.
In a week from the time of our junction, we moved up in
view of St. Antonio.
The royal army came out to meet us, and the issue was
a pitched battle. Any one can have a surfeit of descriptions
of scenes of carnage and blood in any page of history.
I do not wish to go into the horrible details of this. It
was a severe and fiercely contested struggle, which lasted
almost through the day. The Royalists had intrenched
themselves, and were defended by a deep ravine. They
had also greatly the advantage of us in horse and artillery.
Twice we rushed upon their front, and twice we were
repelled with great loss. No ways disheartened, the gallant
leaders of the Patriots rushed upon them again, and
in this third attack, we succeeded in pushing them from
the ravine, and in crossing it with our whole force. The
fight was now renewed upon more equal terms, and as it
was the charge that would determine the fortune of the
day, it was the struggle of despair. It was the contest of
man with man, and horse with horse. I had, finally, the
gratification of the first wish of my heart. I met Colonel
Pedro, and I was as well mounted as he was, and he
could not escape me. Not having learned the sword exercise,
I felt that with the sabre I should not meet him on
equal terms. He fired his pistol upon me without effect,
and I discharged mine as his horse's breast. The horse
reared, and in plunging, dismounted his rider. I instantly
dismounted too. I was fortunate enough to turn aside the
blow of his sabre, and to close with him. I threw him to
the ground, put my foot on his breast, and in the fury of
impulse was to cleave his head from his body. Perhaps,
it was the second thought of a more bitter revenge, but it
presented itself to me as the more noble one, to spare him.
I wrenched his sabre from him, as he held up his powerless
arm in the attitude of intreaty. I struck it deep in
the ground, and by a twist broke it, as if it had been
straw, and threw the pieces from me. “Spare me,” said
he, in Spanish, “and I will resign all pretensions to
Martha. She loves you yet.” “Poltron!” answered I,
“we are well met at last. I ought to wash away the remembrance
of your pitiful and malicious persecutions in
your blood. But I would show you the difference between
a man, and a wretch whose blood is too base to stain my
sabre. I have saved you once from motives of humanity.
I now spare you from contempt. I will not owe the favor
of Martha to the circumstance of your resigning it.” Saying
these words, I turned my back upon him. I had
turned from him but a few paces, before I received from
him a carabine shot, which passed through my clothes.
An aim truer by a couple of inches would have rendered it
mortal. He had found the undischarged carabine of a
fallen soldier, and fired upon me in his retreat. I turned
to pursue him, determined now to sacrifice him, but he
was already mixed with the solid columns of the foe, and
pursuit was in vain. It was a long, weary, and bloody
day, but in the end the Royalists retreated, and left us an
undisputed victory.
Nothing now interposed between us and the town, and
we commenced the siege of it with great vigor. On the
third day of the siege, the town surrendered at discretion,
and the royal forces were made prisoners of war. We had
now a scene before us, of which I had read in history, and
of the poet. It was here before me on a small scale. But
all representations were faint, compared with the horrible
reality, of the entrance of an undisciplined soldiery into a
captured city. In an army, composed of such discordant
materials as ours, with so little subordination, and so exasperated
by the very nature of this kind of warfare, it was only
by the greatest exertions, and by making some terrible examples
of our own men, that we saved this town from the
utmost extremes of merciless and wanton cruelty, lust, cupidity,
murder, and burning, that are generally consequent
upon such an event. Our Spanish allies were too much
inclined to cruelty, and to the exercise of all the dreadful
rights of conquest. I felt proud to see how different a
spirit was manifested by my own countrymen. The noble
young men, to whom nature on such occasions assigns the
tone and authority of command, were, as it seemed, almost
endowed with the attribute of omnipresence. Wherever
I went, I saw them sheltering the aged, protecting the
women and children, and performing the noblest offices of
humanity. Wherever an American went, the Spanish
women flew to him, as to an asylum from their own
countrymen.
By the influence of De Benvelt with Morelos and Bernardo,
to my regiment was assigned the guarding of the
palace. Of course the Conde with his household fell
under my control, as prisoners of war; while Salcedo, the
two Hererras, and the other chiefs, were in the keeping
of the other American officers. I had never yet been
called to a task so extremely irksome and awkward,
I might even say, so distressing, as that of my introducing
myself to the Conde, who had taken shelter in the midst
of his household. The carnage had hardly, and with
regiment entered the court-yard of the palace. The servants,
many of whom knew me, crowded about me, called
me by name, fell on their knees before me, and begged
me, crossing themselves por el amor de Dios, to spare
them. At the same time they were eloquent in their attempts
to flatter me, thanking Our Lady of Guadaloupe,
and all the saints, that they had fallen into the hands of
such a good man, who they knew would spare the family for
the sake of their dear young mistress. I sent them away
comforted and assured, and asked one of them to lead me
to the Conde. His clothes were stained with the blood
of the conflict, and the grim sternness of battle was still
on his features. Knowing that he was my prisoner, he
felt himself safe, and his manner was determined, and his
bearing indignantly proud. “And is it even to you, young
man,” said he, “that I am to give up my good sword?
This is a fall indeed!” At the same time he handed me
his sword. “Yours,” he continued, “at this moment is
not exactly the function of a schoolmaster. You have,
indeed, come all this distance to confer freedom upon this
ignorant people. As yet, I think you have gained little
gold, except the proper reward of your lessons, or the
gift of my lady.”
I answered him, “Your Excellency can rail at me now,
as you choose, with impunity. You must be aware of my
character, and that being as you are in my power, you
are safe. You forget that I once refused gold. For the
rest, Sir, so situated, I should have thought you too much
of a soldier, to play off this harmless war of abuse. I
cannot accept your sword, and shall only avail myself of
the present sport of fortune, by using her capricious power
for the protection and comfort of your family. This I
much more, if, submitting to the chances of fortune as a
philosopher, you would let me know how I can be of service
to you?” I bowed slightly to the father confessor,
and with a particular expression of indignation and contempt
to Don Pedro. Two or three other officers, who
had accompanied the Conde to battle as aids, I dismissed,
as belonging to the guard of another portion of our force,
and pointed out some arrangements by which the family
was to be governed, in order to avail themselves of my
protection. The Condesa and her daughter, with countenances
pale, but firm and composed, sat in a recess.
I advanced towards them, and bowed, waiting for them to
address me. Though Doña Martha affected to be calm,
I discovered, by the heaving of her bosom, the painful
efforts which this assumed calmness cost her. The Condesa
returned my bow, observing, that since the cruel
result of this unnatural rebellion had cast them into the
power of the rebels, she was thankful that it was into my
command; that this secured them, she was aware, as far
as my protection could extend, from outrage and insult.
Doña Martha added, that she too could go so far in
thankfulness, that my memory, short as it appeared to
have been, could not but recur to the past; that while she
seemed to be the condescending party, I could not but
have known, how she had suffered from her father, Colonel
Pedro, the father confessor, and others, on the charge of
an ill judged partiality for me. These, if mistakes, were the
mistakes of gratitude, and a desire to discover and countenance
merit under a cloud. The case was now reversed.
The humble are exalted, and the proud brought low.
“But I hope,” she continued, “that my father hereafter
will more readily believe, that the spirit of my forefathers
that I feel very differently towards the triumphant rebel
Colonel, although at this moment we are in his power.
The man in arms against my king, my father, and my
church, though fortune has granted him a momentary triumph,
is to me a very different, and a far less estimable
personage, than the learned, modest, and intrepid youthful
instructor. Alas! so young, and yet so unfortunate! You
have seen me twice a captive.” “To Menko first,” I replied,
“and now to another, and a different kind of savage,
is it, Doña Martha?” She paused a moment for an answer.
The first burst of indignant pride had past. Another
current of feeling succeeded. “Oh, no!” she answered.
“We are not so unjust. Let me not forget what I owe to
the blessed Virgin, and to you. How thankful I am to God
and the saints, that my dear father and mother have fallen
into your hands, and not into the power of those miscreants
that are associated with you!” “I am not less thankful,”
added her mother. “I can easily imagine how differently
this catastrophe would have terminated, had we fallen into
other hands. At least we are all safe in your keeping;
sure of decorous and courteous treatment, and of every
indulgence which our case will admit.”
I moved, as if to retire. The Condesa requested me
to tarry a moment, and, in presence of her honoured husband
and Colonel Pedro, hear a new charge that had
been brought against me. “It may seem,” said she,
“mal à propos for prisoners, to bring a youthful conqueror
to trial before them. But I am confident, that when I
have heard your reply to the charge, it will receive another
and a more favourable construction for you. Don Pedro
charges you with having disgracefully beaten him, after
he was fallen, and then with having fired upon him, after
retire. You may judge his inference, that a man, capable
of such a base use of power, could not be trusted as our
keeper.” “And have you, Sir,” cried I, turning to Don
Pedro, “made this courteous report of me? And is it
possible that this family could have believed it? I would
hardly undertake to vindicate myself in the opinion of any
one, that would listen to such a story. I can hardly bring
myself so far to trample on the fallen, as to refute so base
a falsehood. Were the slanderer in any other place and
condition, I would apply to him the epithets he deserves.
This falsehood has not even the poor merit of ingenuity
and invention. He has only charged upon me the treacherous
and cowardly conduct, which he practised himself.
Hear the case as it was. All laws, human and divine,
would have justified me in putting him to death, when the
issue of a mortal struggle had placed him in my power.
Words passed between him and me, which are improper
to be repeated here. But I sent him away with his life,
and I turned my back on him, in confidence, that for this
time at least, I was secure from his assault. Scarcely
had I turned, before I received a shot from him, and
here,” added I, showing the passage of the ball through
my clothes, “is the evidence of his marksmanship.”
Even the effrontery of Don Pedro seemed to shrink,
under this refutation. He had always seemed to sustain
in the family a character for truth and honor. The father
confessor, who had heard him bring the charge against
me, when they were rejoicing together, that they were my
prisoners, called upon him boldly to vindicate himself from
this falsehood, or forever forfeit all claims to honor and
and regard. He evidently suffered the tortures of a fiend.
He answered, in a faltering voice, “We are all in his power.
for the safety of the family to exasperate such a man, and
bring his persecution and vengeance upon them on my
account.” “In truth,” said I, “Colonel Pedro, you are
well aware on what grounds this family would be sure of
kindness from me, say or do your worst. For you, Sir,
before this, I at least gave you credit for the virtues of
courage and truth. You are below all notice, below contempt,
and if I bore any resentment towards you, the
torture and the guilty confessions of your countenance,
would now evidence all that the deepest revenge could
desire.” “My dear father,” said Martha, “do you not
see all the truth? You heard the charge, and you see
the manner, with which he receives the refutation. Can
it now be, that you could wish to unite my fate with that
of such a man? Holy Virgin! What have I not escaped?
Let me be sacrificed, if such a consummation be necessary;
but I implore you, never to think again of uniting
me with dishonor.” “Daughter,” said the Conde, sternly,
“desist! I am wretched enough already. You will
not drive me mad, I trust, by espousing the cause of rebellion
in my presence. This is neither the time nor the
place, for either the trial or justification of Colonel Pedro.
He has at least fought bravely for his king and country.
You cannot wish to dishonor the gray hairs of your father
by recurring again to the defence and eulogy of our
conqueror in his presence.” “I perceive,” said I, slightly
bowing to the Conde, “that my presence is disagreeable,
and I relieve you of it. You shall find me watching to be
of service to you, and of this course of things you can
say and think as you choose. My business shall be to act
for the preservation of you all, and yours shall be to put
your own construction upon that conduct.” I stationed
with the family, and his native shrewdness,
would be able to anticipate their wants, and ward off their
dangers.
I selected my head quarters in a house, opposite to that,
where dwelt my prisoner. In the adjoining one were the
head quarters of Morelos and Bernardo. De Benvelt's
family were under the same roof with me. After the first
tumults of the occupation of the town were over, the
Americans put themselves seriously to the work, of attempting
to procure the concurrence of their allies in the
effort, to institute an efficient police, and to adopt measures,
which should restore the march of law and order, and assure
protection to all. It was a painful discovery, to find
that our allies were destitute, to a most humiliating degree,
of all subordination and genuine tenderness, and that they
indulged their cruelty, cupidity, and lust too often without
restraint. The town was frequently a scene of riot, and
brutal excess. All discipline was relaxed, and all fear of
the reaction of public feeling, and of the resuscitation of
the royal cause, was thrown to the winds. Complaints of
outrage and violence came to us continually, for the wretched
people soon learned, that they had little redress to expect
from their own countrymen. Morelos would gladly
have joined his full influence to ours, in redressing these
evils. But he found in Bernardo a miserable intriguer,
against whose wiles he was obliged to exert all his circumspection,
to retain his own command. Bernardo had already
begun to raise a Spanish party, hostile to the American
influence, and to denounce Morelos in secret whispers,
as the friend of the Americans. While our common danger
was imminent, we had no jars, and made common cause.
But the moment the surrender of San Antonio had concealed
burnings began to spring up from this source. The unfortunate
Royalists were only anxious to get under the protection
of the Americans. Parties soon ran high, and we
were in danger of coming to blows with our new friends,
the Creole Patriots. These disputes quickly gave rise to
a definite and specific cause of contention, which division
of the allied troops should have charge of the prisoners?
The Spaniards assumed, that as the Americans pretended
only to act as auxiliaries, the ransom of the prisoners, their
safe keeping, and their ultimate disposal belonged only to
them. In the surrender, the prisoners had made it a term,
that they surrendered to the Americans, and we insisted
that our honor was concerned, that they should not be
placed out of the reach of our protection. This dispute
ran so high, that at a fandango, at which the American and
Spanish officers in general were present, it came to blows.
By the aid of their father, two of the American officers,
and Bryan, I was enabled to bring off the Misses Benvelt
safe. Fortunately none of the Conde's family were there.
It was a battle royal. The ladies' mantillas were demolished,
and the gentlemen's heads broken, and the dirk was
liberally used, though, by good fortune, no one was slain.
The Misses Benvelt were excessively alarmed and disgusted,
and promised their father that they would follow
the example of Doña Martha, who had not been seen
abroad since the capitulation.
The next day the Spaniards insisted upon having possession
of the prisoners, and assured us, that they would gladly
obtain this possession with our consent, but that otherwise
they would have charge of them by force. They
were more than quadruple our numbers and were well
able to execute their threat. As things were turning, we
would not hesitate, on an emergency to join with the Royalists,
and bring their united force upon us. It was obvious,
that their jealousy of the Americans preponderated over
their attachment to the common cause. In a conclave
of the Americans, we agreed to meet the next day in a
council of war, and fix upon some final and definitive
arrangement with respect to the disposal of our prisoners.
At my return from this meeting, I was both pleased and
surprised to receive by Bryan a verbal message from the
Conde, requesting me, when my leisure would admit, to
call upon him, for that he wished some particular conversation
with me. “Bother them all,” said he, “they are
like the weathercock, all round the compass. The other
day, there was nothing like the great Colonel Pedro,
and I could see, that they treated your Honor shabbily.
Now, the thing is all top down. The Conde is blue. Doña
Martha is at the head, and your Honor is in demand. What
they want of your Honor I know not, but they spoke your
name as soft as silk.” When I waited on the Conde, I
found, as Bryan had said, that the wind set in another quarter.
The Conde received me with complacency, almost
with deference. “You are too generous,” said he, “and
too well versed in human nature, not to find an excuse for
the roughness of my manner to you the other day. Consider
only what I have been, how much I have been chafed
by treachery and rebellion on every quarter, and I am confident,
all will be forgiven and forgotten. You kindly directed
us to let you know in what manner you could aid
us. Now, let me tell you. They propose to place us in
the hands of the Spanish chiefs of your party, and if you
consent to resign our keeping, we are perfectly assured,
my own personal interest, I should be perfectly content it
were so. But in these dangerous and terrible times, I
earnestly wish to live a little longer for the sake of my lady
and daughter. You will insist upon retaining your command
here, with a pertinacity exactly proportioned to the
value you affix to our lives.” “I entreat you,” said the
Condesa, “to be pertinacious in retaining your command
We are informed that you alone, of the rebels, pardon me
the word, for I know of no one in its place, that you alone
have a sufficient influence to prevent the adoption of that
atrocious resolution. Oh! these dreadful people! You
can have no idea of the savageness of their natures. I
would rather a thousand times be in the hands of the Commanches.
If you knew these people as we do, you would
see how little worthy they are of freedom. Notwithstanding
all that may have appeared to the contrary, we have
all along done ample justice to your character, and have
felt perfectly tranquil and confident in your keeping.
“Yours is indeed a proud destiny,” said Martha. “At
the fandango you carry away in your arms the trembling
ladies from the bacchanalian riots, and from the dirks of
these innocent and amiable Patriots. Here you are called
to the family of the chief of the government, and they implore
you not to hand them over to the dominion of these
merciful deliverers of an oppressed people. How much
things are changed within a few weeks! How proud must
be your feelings in having so many people clinging to you
for protection. I cannot flatter myself, that my entreaties
can add any interest to such a mass of supplication. If it
would, I have, with my parents, a sufficient horror at the
canaille of this country. I would beg you, on my bended
knee, to strike off our heads with your sabre, rather than
aware, Doña Martha, of the cruelty of this bitter irony,
or you would not employ it. I can only say, that no part
of my deportment to you or your family has merited it. I
have neither time nor inclination to take up the apology of
my cause, or the people with whom I am associated.
They are ignorant and harbarous, I grant you. But what
has made them so? Enlighten their ignorance;—break
their chains;—remove the threefold veil of darkness with
which your priesthood have hoodwinked them. My heart
tells me that nothing can be more amiable than the Spanish
character. To your Excellency and the family I can only
say, that I fear you have entirely miscalculated my influence.
But, that such as it is, it shall all be exerted for
your welfare. I hope and believe, that your alarm is without
cause. Should it be otherwise, I will retain my command
while I can. Whenever you shall be in danger, you
may calculate to see me at hand. Nothing will debar
me from the duty of watching for your safety, but what, at
the same time, deprives me of life.” As I was taking my
leave, the Conde informed me, that Don Pedro and the
father confessor, also, begged to be included under my
command, and subjected to the same disposal with himself.
“This too,” I replied, “shall be granted, not for their
own sakes, but for your family's,” and I took my leave.
In the council of war, convened the next morning,
the session was stormy, and party feeling, as usual,
ran high. It appeared, however, that the Spaniards had
managed to overreach us, and not break with us. They
meditated the consummation of their horrid purpose by
treachery. They affected to regret, that any cause of
jealousy should have existed between the troops of the two
nations. They proposed an arrangement for the disposal
and would effectually remove all grounds of
jealousy for the future. They represented the immense
wealth and influence of these chiefs, and they developed
intrigues and agencies, which they affirmed, were going on,
to bring about a counter-revolution, and that, to those who
knew anything of the fickleness of the people, this must
be to us ground of distrust and apprehension. They produced
a dispatch, implicating the honor of the Conde, as
regarded the terms of his parole, which forbade his holding
any communications with his government, until he should
be regularly exchanged. This letter, which we ascertained
afterwards, was a forged one, was addressed to Colonel
Arredondo, informing him of the capture of St. Antonio
by the rebels, and imputing the mistakes, by which it was
brought about to others, informing him, that the rebels
were but a miserable disorderly rabble, and that if he
would come to his aid with his single regiment, he might
recapture the town, rescue him, and destroy the rebellion
root and branch at a blow.
They represented, that there could be no safety for us,
while men of such power and influence, and so regardless of
their obligations, were among us. They informed us, that
an American vessel had arrived at Matagorda from New
Orleans; and that they proposed to march the prisoners to
that place, and there embark them for that city; that here
they would be effectually removed beyond the power of
present annoyance, and would be safe, under the protection
of the government. Finally, they averred, that the
prisoners themselves were desirous of this arrangement.
The project seemed so feasible, and this mode of disposing
of the prisoners so little objectionable, and the prospect of
its restoring amity and a good understanding among us so
vessel, we knew, had arrived, as stated, and there was no
doubt of their good faith. The proposition was adopted,
almost unanimously. The next question to be disposed of,
was, which should escort them, an American, or a Spanish
guard? To this the Spanish observed, that the Americans,
with their usual cautious policy, would certainly refuse to
admit prisoners conducted thither by armed Americans, lest
they should stand committed with the government. They
asserted, too, that it would assume the appearance of our
being principals, instead of being auxiliaries, as we professed
to be. In short, won by such arguments, they easily brought
over the Americans to consent to this arrangement also.
The council dissolved in great apparent concord, and the
articles were carried into immediate execution. The
American guard, which had hitherto had the keeping of
the chiefs, was relieved, and a Spanish one substituted in its
place. I immediately notified to the Conde, by Bryan, this
arrangement, and of the necessity which overruled me to
consent to it; and requesting him to let me know, in what
manner he could find any further use for my services
I promised still, to keep an unobserved eye upon all the
movements of their new guard.
Preparations were made for marching the prisoners for
Matagorda, in the afternoon of the same day. Rumors
began to be whispered among the Americans, that foul
practices were meditated in relation to these chiefs. I
imparted my apprehensions for the safety of the Conde's
family, to a few of my youthful associates, whom I knew
I could trust. Four of them agreed to concur in any
plan, which I would propose, to follow the family unobserved,
and aid them to the uttermost if need required.
It was a time of leisure and holiday in the camp,
made up a party, as if for hunting the buffalo. We
assumed the costume, and painted ourselves after the fashion
of the Conehatty Indians, as was the fashion for the
Americans to do, to make a frolic of the affair. Bryan
drove before us a sumpter cart, and we followed on horseback,
completely armed and equipped as for the chase.
The sub-governor, Salcedo, the elder and the younger
Herrera, and four more of the principal Royal officers,
were started off on horseback, and as there was a ford
across the river, below the town, they took the direction
of the ford; while the carriage of the Conde, which contained
the usual members of his family, followed by six
servants, all, of course, unarmed, took the direction of
a bridge over the river, which would lead them two miles
from the route, which the other party took. A numerous,
and strong escort, commanded by a full-blooded Wachenango
chief, surrounded the prisoners on horseback, and
enclosed them in a hollow square. A lieutenant, and six
privates followed the coach of the Conde, and the pretence
was, that beyond the bridge the two parties should
unite. The moment before we started, to get in advance
of these parties, Bryan slipped a billet into my hands,
containing but these words. “We have it from a sure
source, that we are all to be assassinated. Save us.” I
recognized, and I carried to my lips, the beautiful, and
firmly formed handwriting, that I knew so well; and I
vowed within myself, to save her or perish. My associates
were young, and high-spirited men, to whom such an adventure
wore the highest charm, and on whom, I knew
I might count even to death. The odds in number would
make success only the more glorious, and the necessity of
making the dash upon the escort more desperate. We
horseback, in a deep ravine, fifty paces from the great
road to the bridge, where, we knew the carriage and the
escort would pass.
We had scarcely reached our station, before the escort
came in sight, riding at the usual speed of carriage-horses
on a journey. As the carriage neared us, we distinctly
heard the guard talking in voices, loud and undisguised,
that they were far enough from town, to execute their
purpose, and that the ravine was a convenient place, in
which to dispose of their bodies. Just before the carriage
came abreast of us, the lieutenant ordered a halt, and
dismounted. He opened the door of the carriage, and
ordered the Conde to come out, and prepare himself to
die. At the same time, a private seized the arm of the
Condesa, and dragged her out. The servants approached
the carriage, pale with consternation. Two or three pistols
were discharged among them, and they put spurs to
their horses, and fled in the direction of the town. At the
same moment, we rushed from the ravine with a shout,
calling upon the servants to stop and aid us. The pistols
that had not been fired upon the servants, were discharged
upon us, and one of our party was wounded. I
brought down the lieutenant with my yager, and we made
a push upon them with our hunting-spears. They were
so much surprised by this unexpected attack, and alarmed
with the fall of their leader, that they sustained the strife
but a moment, leaving one of their number dead, and
another mortally wounded by a thrust of the spear. The
servants, seeing the turn of affairs, rallied, and returned,
and we remained undisputed masters of the field. We
examined the issue of the battle. One of the servants
was wounded slightly, one of my associates severely
dress; and grazed my body, just so as to draw blood.
We made ourselves known to the trembling family, for
seeing us in the costume of Indians, they were scarcely
assured that they were not delivered from one danger,
only to fall into another. “Blessed Virgin!” exclaimed the
mother and daughter together; “here is our deliverer
again,” and the Condesa embraced me, shedding tears of
joy. We told them, that this was no time for exclamations
or acknowledgements, that if they wished to avoid
another escort from St. Antonio, sent after them on the
return of the party that we had defeated, they must
make all diligence, to fly in the direction of Chihuahua.
We requested a place for our wounded associate, in the
carriage, and were compelled to leave the miserable
groaning assassin to his fate. The wounded servant
was able to mount on horseback, and we were ready for
moving. We requested the Conde not to lose a moment,
but to put his horses at their utmost speed, across the
prairie, in a direction for the great road, leading to
Chihuahua. The coachman, who had fled and concealed
himself in the ravine, returned, now that the skirmish was
over, and was on his box, ready to smack his whip. We
proposed, that in their flight, they should leave our wounded
companion at a meson, which they would pass, and
that we would make arrangements, for having him conveyed
in a litter, to St. Antonio. The family cried with
one voice, that it was better for them to return with me
to St. Antonio, and take their fate, than set off unprotected
and unarmed, on such a journey, in which, they felt
confident, they should be overtaked and massacred. “We
implore you,” said the Condesa and her daughter, in an
agony of terror, “not to leave us here, as the night is
apart, and we unanimously consented to accompany them
that night on their way. We immediately proffered our
services, as a guard for the night, and even the father confessor,
raised his solemn voice in thankful acknowledgements.
The colonel was still seated in the carriage, pale
and yellow, grim and silent. We put an end to all questions,
exclamations, and debates, by assuring them, that
there was not a moment to be lost. For the sake of expedition,
we somewhat peremptorily ordered the father
confessor to mount the horse of our wounded associate in
the carriage, and bade the coachman drive away at his
swiftest. We started away furiously, our horses at full
gallop, over the naked plains, towards the Chihuahua
road.
My reflections, as we sped away, may be imagined.
This was the third time, that a wonderful combination
of events had connected me with the preservation of
Doña Martha. Destiny seemed to have taken the
management of bringing us together into her own
hands. Even during her interview with me, after the
capture of the town, amidst the seeming haughtiness and
irony of her manner, I flattered myself, that I saw sufficient
indications, that I had my former measure of interest
in her thoughts. I was very sure, that the present occurrence
would not lessen it. There could be no mistake in
the grateful countenance and glistening eyes, with which
she had just made her acknowledgements to me. My associates
were delighted with the success of our exploit
and were enthusiastic in their admiration of the expressive
beauty of Doña Martha. They spoke in a language, which
neither the father confessor, nor any of the servants but
Bryan understood, and amused themselves in imagining
and in badinage, which of the two should relinquish his
claims to the other. When they appealed to me, whose
intimacy with her, apparently, they did not know, I informed
them, that according to my calculations of the latitude
and longitude of the female heart, the wounded
knight, who sat with her in the carriage, would be most
likely to carry off her favor, that in fact, I felt a strong
inclination for a share for myself. But, I informed them,
that the favored gentleman, reserved by the family for
that high distinction, was the Spanish cavalier, who was
also with her in the carriage. The circumstance, which
we all remarked, that he had not exerted himself at all in
the late rencontre, or even left his seat in the carriage,
called forth a burst of indignation, that such a swarthy,
ill-looking poltroon, should carry off such a prize. It was
merrily proposed, to tumble him out of the carriage, and
start him with a kick or two, towards St. Antonio, and
that the rest of us should decide by single combat, whose
claims should yield to the other. We all agreed, that
while we retained our Indian costume, and our cheeks
were so highly painted with black and vermilion, we should
hardly stand higher on the score of personal appearance,
than the ugly young Spaniard. This remark first reminded
us, what a horrid, and assassin-like figure we made.
For in the excitement of the recent strife, we had not been
aware, that the young lady in question, had not seen, in
our case, faces exactly like that, ascribed to Adonis. At
the first stream, we dismounted, and washed away our
paint, and threw off our savage costume, which we had
put on over our common uniform; and we came out, like
æneas in his début before queen Dido, blooming and
likely fellows.
The father Josephus could not have been much delighted
with the society of a man, who had twice saved his
life, and had received nothing in return, but constant enmity
and ill offices. Natural reflections of this sort, occasionally
expressed by him in Spanish, the interjections
of shame and guilty consciousness, came over his mind,
and audibly expressed themselves. In a deep voice, he
ejaculated snatches of prayer and thanksgiving to his patron
saints. He admitted to me, that it astonished him,
that Providence was calling him, once and again, to receive
deliverance from a heretic;—that I ought to consider
the influence, which, he was aware, I knew he had made
against me, with the family of the Conde, simply as a holy
and conscientious sacrifice, which he made of his gratitude
and his feelings, to the paramount claims of religion, and
he hoped that my enlargement of mind, as he was pleased
to say, would find that favorable solution of his conduct.
It gratified my pride, however, that heretic as he appeared
to regard me, and of course out of the protection of
his saints, he seemed to depend at least as much upon
my aid, as theirs. Even if I turned my horse from one
side of the road to the other, he immediately turned his to
follow me. He clung still more closely to me than even
Bryan. All the rest he eyed with distrust and diffidence.
He enquired anxiously of me, when I thought of leaving
him; and suggested more than once, that if I would continue
on to Chihuahua, he could and would secure for me,
a reception worthy of the preserver of the Conde; that I
should stay as long as I pleased, and be at liberty to return
to St. Antonio, when I would. When he was informed,
that I calculated to leave them the next morning,
and still a day's journey from their destination, he intimated,
in order to secure my attendance, and a safe conduct
that if we would escort them he would henceforward
throw any influence he might possess in that family, into
the scale in my favor.
Towards evening, and on the banks of a little stream,
we were compelled by the condition of our horses, to stop,
and give them time to breathe, drink, and feed. We
judged, that we had already left St. Antonio thirty miles
behind us. The family had not yet recovered from the
terrors of their situation, or the apprehensions of pursuit,
and still cast looks of fear over the prairie, to see if
there were no horsemen dashing over the plain, from
that quarter, in pursuit of them. We assisted the mother
and the daughter from the carriage, and prepared sod
seats for them, on the cool margin of the stream. The
family were now formally introduced to their deliverers,
and we had more leisure and security to receive their
grateful compliments upon our behaviour in the recent
affair. We were instructed by what means they became
acquainted with the fate, that was intended for them, and
which, they doubted not, had actually befallen the other
chiefs. To us it was owing, that they were not now inhabitants
of the “unknown country,” and their bodies mangled,
and cast into the ravine, the prey of the vultures.
The Conde expressed his thankfulness, and his acknowledgements
in the frank and laconic style of a soldier; the
Condesa and her daughter with that dignity and grace,
which were peculiar to them. Colonel Pedro, notwithstanding
all his propping of birth, fortune, and favor, evidently
had a very unpleasant remembrance of recent
events, and showed in various ways, that he felt himself at
this time in mauvais odeur with the whole party. His
countenance exhibited a compound of instinctive self-importance,
which rendered it a study for a physiognomist.
He offered his hand to assist Doña Martha from the
carriage. She denied it to him and gave it to one of my
companions. She expressed commiseration for our
young wounded friend, while her mother was dressing his
wound; and he asserted, with great gallantry, that in the
place which he had occupied, and in the sympathy which
he had experienced, he was so happy, that he had scarcely
felt his wound, and that he would cheerfully purchase the
same pleasure again, with ten such wounds in succession.
Here we were, Patriots and Royalists, all perfect friends,
interchanging courtesies, and assuming that air of confidence
and mutual good will, which belongs to old acquaintances.
A cold repast was prepared from provisions,
laid in by the Conde's steward. The fragrant Parso was
poured out, and we remarked among ourselves, how easily
and rapidly, the human mind passes from the extremes of
terror, grief, and gloom, to cheerfulness and joy. Our
American friends, though they could speak neither
French nor Spanish, were fine young men, and put in requisition
all their courtesy. The traces of terror and tears,
were still visible in the countenance of the Condesa, but I
had never seen the same delightful expression in the face
of Doña Martha, but once before. I remarked, that I had
never before made so delightful a supper in my life, and
the reply of the Condesa was a cordial pressure of the
hand and a starting tear, which intimated, that she felt
the contrast of what was, with what would have been, but
for us. I remarked, too, that Doña Martha exerted herself,
to appear to the greatest advantage, before these my
young friends. Vanity whispered, that she was anxious,
that they should report favorably of her to me, and in
upon them, was as it had been originally on me. They
manifested the romantic and extravagant admiration, natural
to their years, and were delighted beyond measure.
Even the Conde seemed to relax something from his settled
recklessness and gloom, as he looked upon the fair
and fresh faces of these fine young men, glowing with
health, benevolence, and hope. He uttered in broken
English, a wish that such gallant young men belonged to
his cause. Before the supper was closed, the Condesa
had made the same remark of them, that St. Augustine
had made so many centuries before of the pagan youths
brought from Britain to Rome, and which had been afterwards
so handsomely applied in the same place to Milgon,
haud Angli, sed angeli. I interpreted the compliment to
them, and the unaffected and heightened glow of modesty
rendered the compliment more strikingly just.
We tarried not a moment beyond what was necessary,
for the repose of the horses, although I told them, I reluctantly
brought myself to disturb so happy a supper. A
look passed between the Conde and his lady, and it was
intimated to Don Pedro, that he had better relieve my
fatigue, by taking my place on horseback, and give me
his seat in the carriage. A grim look intimated his feelings
on the subject. But he had no alternative. The
arrangement was so much the more pleasant to me, as I
was really fatigued, and as it was a pleasure wholly unexpected.
Behold me then, just as the last ruddy tinges
of the setting sun were fading from the plain, seated
quietly on the same seat with Doña Martha, and in the
indistinct light, which veiled the expression of inward
feelings from ordinary inspection, and yet allowed the heart
through the eyes to say unutterable things. The Conde
mind to gloomy cogitations. His lady sympathized in his
silence. My wounded companion spoke nothing but English,
and Martha, though she now and then made kind
enquiries of him, if his wound were painful, in that language,
did not avail herself of it for any thing beyond.
Short sentences, which said much in a few words, uttered
in a low and deep tone of feeling, passed between her and
me, in Spanish. It is wholly unnecessary, to give any of
the details of this conversation. We two, I will answer,
were abundantly satisfied, and it was of that sort, which
neither bears translation, nor telling, for the benefit of others.
The evening closed over us in profound darkness,
and it was well for us, that our road lay over a vast plain,
so smooth and unbroken, that the coachman drove on
with the same confidence by night, as by day. Had the
road even been difficult, such was our anxiety for our
charge, that we should have urged the hastening on by
night, as the less danger of the two. The Condesa fixed
herself in a reclining posture on the cushion, intending, if
possible, to sleep. She advised her daughter to do the
same. The difficulty for the latter, was to find a place
on which to recline. The pannels of the coach were
hard, and the position subjected the person to continual
jostling. My shoulder was somewhat softer and steadier,
and the thick epaulette not unlike a pillow. But it was a
couch not to be thought of. We had been, from our first
acquaintance, pitifully trammelled in our intercourse. I
leave you to imagine, how we availed ourselves of this
opportunity. Those, who were on horseback without,
were wearied beyond conversation. All within the carriage
slept, or seemed to sleep. The fatigued horses
gradually declined to the pace of a snail. Martha too was
started and raised her head. I asked her in a whisper,
if she had alarming dreams. And she answered, by asking
in her turn, if I had a fever, for that the palpitations of
my heart, were so quick and audible, as to arouse her
from her drowsiness. I have no doubt, that her medical
science, enabled her to discriminate these palpitations
from those of incipient fever, or the throbbings of patriotism.
Joy has its term, as well as sorrow. I believe poets
have represented Night as slow and limping in her progress.
However that may be, the hours of this night, the
most charming in the year, flew. I looked with terror at
my watch, as it began to be light enough to discern the
position of the hands, to see if it were indeed morning.
We admitted that we had neither of us slept a
moment. We had fairly talked the nigh through, as we
ascertained that the drudging sun had not forgotten his
daily business. As if to atone in some measure, for interrupting
such a delightful tête-à-tête, he made a glorious
rise, rolling an atmosphere of mist from his path, and
presenting us a most impressive view of the grand summits
of the mountains before us, and at the distance of half a
league, the village on the banks of the river, with its hundred
smokes beginning to undulate, and find their zig-zag
courses aloft. It was fortified, and belonged to the Royalists,
and the Conde admitted, that in that place he should
feel himself in safety. He begged us to enter the place
with him, for that, though we were nominally Patriots,
such intrepid and generous young men, as he was pleased
to call us, could have nothing in common with the assassins,
from whom we had rescued them, and to whom
circumstances had attached us. He assured us of the best
send us back with a Royal detachment, as a flag of truce,
to accompany us to St. Antonio. We thanked him, and
declined entering the town. We pointed out that it was
best for us, as well as him, that there should be no such
palpable demonstrations of our understanding one another,
as such a circumstance would evidence. This argument
was conclusive with him, but not so with his lady and
daughter. The countenance of the latter expressed the
very sentiment of the patriarch, when he wrestled, and
would not let the venerable stranger go. The carriage
stopped at my request. I begged Don Pedro to come up
with my horse. The Condesa grasped my hand, and for
a moment was unable to articulate from emotion. “It
cannot be,” she said, “dear young man, that we part here
for the last time. I have always said of you, what this
last exploit must have proved to the conviction of incredulity
itself. Our stars have placed us in the utmost peril
again and again, only to prove your intrepidity and forgetfulness
of self. The same Providence, that has thus
mysteriously brought you to our aid, will bring us, in its
own way, together again, and under happier auspices. At
least, I will hope it. I will never forget you.” The Conde
gave me his hand, and for the first time he evidenced the
impulse of kindly and grateful feelings. “Would to God!”
said he, “noble young man, that you belonged to our king
and church! But that is impossible. A Dios. May I
some time have a chance to show you, that I remember
what you have done.” The padre grasped my hand, and
uttered A Dios, in his peculiar deep tone of voice. Thanks
were offered to my associates with the greatest energy.
The wounded young man had a satisfactory share of sympathy
and gratitude. He mounted his horse with agility.
horses' heads, I heard something from Don Pedro, mattered
in a voice scarcely audible. It was between a curse
and a parting salutation, and we gallopped away.
| CHAPTER I. Francis Berrian, or, The Mexican patriot | |