 | CHAPTER VI. Francis Berrian, or, The Mexican patriot |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
“Que grandes poblaciones, Que immensos chapiteles
Fabricamos de suenos, Sobre esperanzas breves!”
“What brilliant towers, what airy spires of hope,
We rear with the material of a dream!”
I HAVE been thus far the hero of my own story.
However insipid my adventures may have been to you,
they are material to preserve the thread of my story.
You will find for the time to come, my fortunes in some
sense identified with the patriots, to whose cause I joined
myself in their incipient efforts at emancipating the
great Mexican republic. You will find them consummated
in the ultimate and successful accomplishment of
a revolution, which has wrested this great and fair portion
of the American hemisphere from a miserable and
blighting despotism, exercised over it by the most bigoted,
ignorant, and unprincipled tyrant, that perhaps
ever swayed the Spanish sceptre. Before I take that
brief retrospect, which the order of events will compel
me to take, that I may give some little idea of the rise
connected with it, I shall first give you an outline of my
course, up to the time when I joined myself with the
patriots.
As I went on to Durango, driving my ledhorse before
me, grossly insulted and browbeaten, as I had been
by Don Pedro, and driven away by the Conde, it may
naturally be supposed, that my reflections were not of
the pleasantest kind. I had been deemed of a mild
temper. I had proposed to myself the highest possible
model of forbearance and forgiveness. No curses,
“neither loud, nor deep,” came to my lips. But I
amused myself, as I could, in thinking, what I would do in
the cause, to which I was determined to join myself, and
what a drubbing I would give Don Pedro. I then painfully
adverted to the condition, in which I last saw Doña
Martha. I then meditated the depth and bitterness of
love without hope. I could say with Sterne, that “the
iron then entered my soul.” I saw the necessity of an
effort, and I made it. `I will shake myself,' said I, `from
the dust. I will not sink, a whining lover, into the depths
of despondency. Had Martha thus deemed of me,
that this was all my nerve and purpose, she had never
bestowed on me a second thought. I love, and at this
moment see not a ray of hope. What then? Shall the
future be obscured before me in impenetrable gloom?
There is duty. There is a glorious career. What
have such wretches, as Don Pedro, sent across the
ocean, to do with their iron scourge, shaken over this
oppressed and beautiful country? I have seen, myself,
that the despotism is most detestable. A noble country,
are regarded with sovereign contempt by the ignorant
nobles, who govern them, and are trampled into the dust.
Added to this, there is the still more wretched despotism
of the priests, whose object it is to fetter the mind,
as the others do the body; and who regard every ray
of light, let in upon the minds of this people, as so much
subtracted from their kingdom of darkness. My principles
and my feelings both call me to this cause. I will
gain glory. I will triumph over envy. I will humble
that arrogant intended son-in-law. What do I know?
May not the Patriots triumph, and may I not again be of
service to Martha, and her mother? But how will Martha,
who feels the ties of kindred so strongly, regard me
in arms against her father; in arms against a despotism,
and hierarchy, both of which all her associations and
habits have taught her to consider as sacred? Such
were the points on which I soliloquized with my heart,
and my conscience, as I rode along. I settled the matter
with myself, by recurring to my old college saw,
“Fiat justitia, ruat cælum.” I will do my duty. I
will act out my principles, come what will. Even if the
Patriots pursue wrong ends, or use bad means, I will
renounce the cause. If Martha hears, and approves, it
is well. But if she should not eventually subscribe to the
right, I have loved an illusion. Did she not generously
defend me in my adherence to my faith? And will she
think the less of me for consistency here?' My thoughts
ended, as they began, by mingling bitterness towards
the Conde and Don Pedro with my purposes. I thought
over their obligations, and the contumely and contempt,
views, I made my inward vows to the cause of liberty
in New Spain. Who knows, how often even the best
of men act from mixed motives, in which bad, unknown
to the agent, is blended with good?
I found every thing in Durango in uproar. The public
ear was filled with rumors. One brood of monstrous
fabrications had scarcely perished, before another was
hatched. The lower classes in general appeared in favor
of a revolution. The greater part of the European
Spanish, or Gauchupines, and the higher priests
were unrelenting enemies of change. Suspicions,
jealousies, and rumors of every sort were afloat,
and the terrible reaction of fostered ignorance and
bigotry began to show itself. The government vibrated
from trembling and contemptible forbearance to
wanton tyranny and unnecessary cruelty. The objects
of suspicion were seized, and, without being confronted
with their accusers, often without knowing the charges
brought against them, were plunged in the mines, or were
assassinated or speared by the soldiery. A number of
Americans, who were casually found in the country,
shared the former fate. The natural character of the
Conde had inclined him to lenient measures. But he
had been obnoxious to another faction, who advocated
opposite principles. To support himself, and to remove
the charges of guilty forbearance, he had sometimes
assumed a severity, foreign to his general character.
In this unequal march of the government, the one
course prepared the way for the other, and proscription,
banishment, and massacre were the order of the day.
of falsehood, and were excessively ignorant, were, as a
matter of course, timid and suspicious. The different
races of which the population was composed, and their
mutual hatreds and jealousies towards each other, naturally
came in with abundance of fuel for this flame.
In the corners of the streets, and in all the places of
public meeting in the city were seen groups of ragged,
and mean-looking people, with lowering brows, and with
jealousy and apprehension in their faces, conversing together.
Patrols of armed men were seen scouring the
streets. I quickly found the advantage of my passport.
I was obliged to produce my papers at every turn. I
found it necessary to use caution in my inquiries for M.
de Benvelt. By good fortune, I chanced upon the acquaintance
of a surgeon from the United States, who
had been settled for some years in this city. I found
him, as might be expected, a republican in principle; but
having married a Spanish wife, and having gained a considerable
property, of which he could not now dispose,
he was reluctantly compelled to remain on his guard,
and watch the current of events. With him I could
converse without suspicion. I found him honest, hospitable,
and intelligent. From him, I learned, that M. de
Benvelt had indeed been proscribed, and had fled with
his family to the patriot gathering at the mountain Mixtpal.
He gave me the most accurate directions to that
place. The encampment of the patriots was on the
side of this mountain, which was about seventy miles
from Durango, in the direction of St. Antonio. He informed
me, that at the latter place, there was another
from the United States were enlisted under the same
standard with the Creoles, and engaged in actual hostilities
with the royal government. I gained from him
much important local information, respecting the relative
strength and bearing of the parties. Through him I made
all the necessary preparations for my journey. I sold,
through him, my ledhorse, and purchased, and equipped
a sumpter mule, with my baggage, which the Conde had
caused to be safely deposited at the principal meson in
the city. I made the most prudent arrangements, which
the case admitted, for securing against accident my precious
trunk, furnished myself with the proper arms for
my intended warfare, and provided myself with a sufficient
supply of wine and provisions. In short, I packed
my mule to the extent of his travelling powers, and
disposed of the remainder of my baggage in an immense
valise for my own horse. I spent one night with my
host, who evinced himself in all respects a true American,
and early the next morning, with mutual expressions
of good will, I set my face towards the mountain
Mixtpal, and the union of the patriots.
My journey led me, as usual in this country, on a
great and beaten road over red hills succeeded by grassy
plains. I saw little to interest me. The impress of
terror and apprehension was marked even upon the
passing on the roads. From the prevalence of mutual
suspicions, the people travelled in large and select companies,
and those completely armed; so that every
group of passengers had the appearance of a band of
guerillas. The greater portion of them could not read,
document. I met with no adventure, until
a little after noon. My agitation and anxiety, for the
three last days had prevented my thinking much about
food, but nature, after all, will have her way. I began
to feel faint, and to bethink myself of the provisions,
with which the provident surgeon had furnished me. A
clump of shrubs and catalpas indicated a spring at a little
distance from the road. Thither I was turning my
steps, to make my dinner in the shade, when I saw a
solitary horseman descending the hill, just behind me.
As he neared me, I began to fancy myself acquainted
with his form. In fact, it proved to be no other, than
Bryan himself. Place any one in my situation, an utter
stranger in a strange country, and you may fancy something
of my joy at meeting him again. He sprang from
his horse, and embraced me, shedding tears of joy.
“Now,” said he, “satan roast them all, if they ever
separate me from your Honor again. Bryan has nicked
them all, and cleared themself, though they barred him
up like a runaway dog. Don't you see, too, I have
brought your Honor's horse. Who should I light on in
Durango, but the yankee surgeon? I plumped upon
him, as though he had fallen in my porridge, and he
told me all, where your Honor was gone, and showed
me the horse you had sold. When I had once set eyes
on him, no other beast would serve my turn. So, your
Honor, out of the cash, that Martha, the jewel, has furnished
me, I bought him back, and mounted him, and
here I am, safe and sound, to follow your Honor to the
world's end, to fight royalist, devil, or dobbie, just as
your Honor chooses.
“But you have not told me how you escaped?”
asked I. “Well I will tell you that too. After you
was off, the Conde he orders me to the palace before
him. But Bryan is much of a mule, when the gait
does not please him. So I asks him, as his own self
had bid me be your servant, why he stops me now?
So he looks big, this way, curses me, and shuts me up
in that infernal calabooza, with steel bars, that they
have near the palace, and tells me to cool my fingers,
and learn patience there. There I sets me down on
the straw to a comfortable little turn of thinking of my
ways, and the fleas, your honor, boring my tender
skin in a thousand places at once. All the while, I
was as surly and as cross as a bull. At night they put
in some bread, a cup of the element, and a shank-bone
of tough beef in a platter, and I, your Honor, in pure
ill nature, kick'd it all over, like a gentleman. The
night and the day, in that horrid hole, are all one thing.
I guess it was not much wide of midnight, when down
comes the plump old dueña. Ay, does your Honor
remember the capers we cut together, when we first
came home, and your Honor grinned this way? I sees
her waddling up to the grates with her dark lantern,
and she says, `Bryan, O Bryan, are you here, honey?'
`Ay,' says I, `and no thanks to them that put me here
neither. What would you with Bryan?' She says,
`Bryan, you are as cross as a rattlesnake, and you
always liked Anna, the quarteroon, better than me.
But you are pretty boy, Bryan, and I bears no malice.
So, you see, Mistress and Martha waited, till the
Conde had cooled a little, and then they gives me the
of yours, and bid you clear yourself, and join Mr. Berrian,
as fast as you can.' Be sure, your Honor, I needed no
spur for that gait; and then, while I was yawning, and
getting a little out of the kinks, she tells me all in a
whisper, `Bryan, you cant guess, what a fuss we have
had. They have done all, but raise the real devil
himself. The Conde has quarrelled with madam, his
wife, which is more than I ever knew him to do before,
and he swore by all the saints, that he had almost a
mind to bring the father confessor, and marry his daughter
to Don Pedro on the spot, and Martha look'd grand,
this way, and a little wild, and said a big speech, as
how she would mind her father in all right things. But
devil burn Don Pedro, if ever he lays the fingers of a
husband on me.' ” “I suspect,” said I, “Bryan, that
this last part of the speech, is an interpolation of your
own.” “No, please your Honor, it is neither pole nor
hoop of mine in the least, but just the meaning of what
the dueña told about Martha. Oh! I couldn't tell
your Honor all about it in an hour. The Conde is
fretted to death, about the new business on the mountain,
and another rising away there in the countries
near your Honor's country. But he swears, it is harder
to manage a wife, and a giddy girl, than a whole government
of rebels, but that he will see the girl safely married,
before he goes out to fight the publicans. The
young Don, all the while puts the Conde up to this, and
stands by, like a dog, waiting for a bone, and, devil
roast him, he looks big, this way, and is going to put on
his regimentals, and then he swears, how he will spit
But the best is to come. Here's a sweetmeat for your
Honor,” and he took a billet from his bosom. It was
from Martha and contained these words.
`I cannot but believe that you will be glad to hear
that I am better. It was but a bad cold. Bryan will
tell you, that I suffer on account of our common enemy,
Don Pedro. They have used some indignities towards
me, and I am glad of it. My heart has been so heavy
of late, that I feared my spirits would be broken down.
But they will find, to their cost, that they have roused
the blood of my ancestors, and that they cannot bring
me to their purposes that way. I have no authority
to counsel you, and yet my heart is still prompting me
to say something. Whatever course you take, I am
sure you think it the path of honor. You will not take
it amiss, if I say one word to you about the mountain
You will go there, I am told. I wish you may not take
arms against my father. But I foresee that you will be
much with the Misses Benvelt. They are good, I
hope, and pretty; much fairer, I confess, than the
Spanish ladies. I am far enough from being happy
myself, but surely I am not so base, as not to wish you
happy, and you will be; for you will walk together, and
look at the mountains, and watch the setting sun, and
the rising moon, and have none to disturb you. Well,
they may as well be happy as anybody. I hope you
will not wholly forget me, when you teach them English.
They will learn fast, I dare say, now that you
have no other pupils. Could you not find time to
write to me, now and then? It would teach me to correspond
in English; and I think your verses are pretty,
though they are on so poor a subject. Bryan has
your letters. May be, I shall trouble you now
and then with a line. It will be a hard thing for me,
to imagine you in the ranks against my father, and I
know well, if you were to meet as enemies, you would
spare him for my sake. But for the other, he has
used us both with the basest indignity, and uses names
in reference to you, in my presence, that I will not
trace with my pen. I nightly, and fervently implore
the Mother of God, and all the saints, to guide you,
and keep you from all harm. If I could believe that
there were more energetic forms of prayer in your
church, I would use them too.”
Nothing could exceed the delight of the honest Irish
lad to rejoin me, and I felt as if, in this humble friend,
I had found a brother. The spring was limpid and
cool, the shade of the catalpas delightful, and mangre
love and insurrection, we eat heartily, and drank a reasonable
quantity of the heart-cheering Passo with entire
gust. “And now,” said Bryan, “your Honor, I
feel like a lion. I am ready to march to the ends of
the earth, and as much farther as your Honor pleases,
and if the publicans don't find me up to hard knocks,
let them say, `Bryan's a coward.' ” We were soon
jogging along the dusty highway, towards the mountain.
Our horses, when brought together, almost manifested
the joyful recognition of Dapple and Rozinante.
We arrived, as the twilight was fading, at the foot of
a mountain, the first of a chain, which stretched, hill beyond
hill, to the gulf of Mexico. Its summit was still
bright, and illumined with the last rays of the sun,
while its sides, and its base were enveloped in the dusk
of evening. We had overtaken, in the last half hour,
the same point of union. At an elevation of some hundred
feet, on the side of the mountain, on a table plain
of no great extent, we saw the white tents, the fires and
torches, and the camp of the Patriots. A pass, barely
wide enough for the ascent of a horse, wound up the
sides of the mountain, among huge fragments of
rocks. We were hailed with the question Adonde
va? by a couple of tall and fierce-looking Spaniards,
armed with all sorts of weapons. Those, whom we
had joined, produced documents, which procured them
immediate admittance. I was aware, that my passport
from the Conde would be of sinister omen in
this place. I enquired, anxiously, if M. de Benvelt
were there. I was answered in the affirmative, and
that any friend of his would be admitted. We were,
however, most carefully scrutinized. Having advanced
a few rods further up the mountain, to a small plain,
we were joined by a file of soldiers. We next came upon
a pass barred up with fallen trees, except a narrow gateway,
through which but one man could pass at a time
Here were temporary stables, and here we were compelled
to leave our horses. A couple of cargadores, or
porters, came, who with Bryan made shift to carry our
baggage. The story, which Bryan told with great fluency,
of our having been driven from the Conde's palace, as
patriots, obtained for us undoubting confidence, and a cordial
reception, and we were hailed as masonic brothers of
the cause. We continued, with increasing difficulty, to
clamber up the rocks, and to wind round the sides of the
mountain, with a half hour's most laborious ascent. Then
we opened upon a plain of some acres in extent. In the
centre, was a smooth, level, and verdant little prairie, on
showed delightfully by the hundred fires of the camp.
The watch-word was given by the leader of our file,
and repeated from sentinel to sentinel, until the sounds
died away in the distance. We were immediately ushered
into the camp, and brought to the marquise of the
commander in chief. Here our documents were examined
anew, and as mine was the most suspicious case, M. de
Benvelt was sent for, to answer to my being a true man,
and no spy. While I was awaiting the issue of this message,
I had time to look round the camp. From the little
I had seen, and read upon the subject, I judged, that the
tents were arranged in military order, and the tall, whiskered,
and fierce-looking men, seen partly in light, and
partly in shade, made a formidable appearance. There
was no uniform. Some were dressed, capa y espada, and
some had little more, than a chemise and culottes. Most
of them were arrayed in a costume of motley, and shaggy
character, and the whole had more the aspect of banditti,
than the array of a regular military force.
In a few minutes the soldier came back, accompanied
by M. de Benvelt. He had seen me, twice or three
times only at the palace, but he knew my estimation there,
and especially for the confidence which his daughters reposed
in me, he pronounced me a true man, as honest as
a German. “I give mein Gott,” said he, “a tousand
tanks, that you are come. You shall stay with me, and
my dear girls will be so happy. This man,” said he, “is
one very good American, and has been treated very bad
by de Conde himself; and he has come, as he says, to
join the good cause, and fight for de liberties.” I was
welcomed by Morelos, the commander in chief, with great
courtesy. After conversing with me a few moments, and
assigned a time, in which we would deliberate together,
what position and rank I should fill in the army, and I
went on with M. de Benvelt. As we proceeded, he gave
me some of the details of his proscription, which seemed
to have been ill advised, and to have precipitated his purpose.
I inferred from his account of the matter, that in
the warmth of his frank and honest heart, he had dropt
some expressions, intimating good wishes to the Patriots.
They reached the ears of Colonel Arredondo and Don Pedro,
and he was at once proscribed. “But,” said he, “I
tank mein Gott, I have been in Old England, and learned
to speak English almost so good, as a native, and I got
the start of the tamned Dons, for I had sent all my monies
there, as soon as I saw these tamned times coming. And
now, my poy, my son, we will pay them back in their
own coin. We'll punish those vile hypocrites, the priests
too, and will have the settling of the land. Not that I
want their tamned mines, neider. I have monies enough,
I tank mein Gott. But, it's the liberties, my prave poy,
it's the liberties we want. There's never a true Tuchman
on the globe but what loves de liberties, ay, better
than sour krout. Come on, my poy, we'll at them togeder.
How I shall make my girls hearts leap mit dis
sight of you. 'Tis a tamned tark hole under de side of
the mountain, where we stay. But never mind. We'll
beat them, and then have just such housen as we like.”
He led the way, and I followed, through the tents, advancing
towards a perpendicular wall of native lime-stone,
which towered from one extremity of the prairie, a thousand
feet into the air. Under this wall, there was a
capacious cavern, whose front opened with an elevation,
just sufficient to admit us without stooping. Having entered,
out by the hand of nature, of many hundred yards in extent,
and the dome springing up to such a height, as only to be
faintly illumined by the candles, and torches within.
Huge natural columns, and colossal pillars of solid blue
limestone, sprung up in different points to the roof. The
whole had the appearance, thus dimly lighted, of a vast
Gothic interior of a temple, of such a grandeur as no words
could reach. It answered a great many purposes at
once. It was immense, and sufficient to furnish shelter
to an army. The air was, at once, cool and dry.
Here were the head quarters of the Patriot officers.
Here were lodged all the female parts of their establishment.
The lines of demarcation, between the ladies and
suites of different families, were blankets, or silken curtains,
or verdant branches, or palmetto stalks. As far as
the eye could penetrate, in the rear of the cavern, were
natural apertures, through the cliffs of the mountains,
and here in blazing lines were the cooking fires of the
camp. The range of nature could not have presented,
a place more favorable to every thing, that could be
sought under such circumstances. There was perfect
shelter from the elements, and impregnable security;
and, as though nothing, that the bounty of nature could
furnish, should be wanting, in one corner of this immense
grotto, trickled along, a spring of pure, and cool water
amply sufficient for all the exigencies of the whole camp.
There were children, servants, negroes, mulattoes, samboes,
Indians, domestics, and wives, of all nations and colours.
In one point leaned the stately Spanish dame,
glittering with gems, and invested with the rich and splendid
mantilla, and beside her glared the white eyes of a fat
negro wench. In one compartment, the Patriot officer,
from a table rudely made of planks. In another,
there was a family group, with children of all ages, taking
their chocolate together. The clatter of plates, chimed
in with the roasting of beef, and the hissing of boiling vessels
in the rear. The united sound of voices through the
whole establishment, was not unlike that of a numerous
flock of blackbirds at the North, when perching on a tree.
Some were singing canzonettes, not unlike our catches.
Others were roaring patriotic songs, many of which were
produced in the camp every day. Some were scraping
the violin, others were thrumming the guitar. But the
whole medley of sounds was that, in which reckless gaiety
was the key note. Between the parlour and kitchin subdivisions,
there was an open promenade, from one end to
the other, and along this walk were seen moving slowly,
backward and forward, as if in deep meditation, the tall,
dark, and whiskered Solons and Solomons of the rising,
revolving the fate of empires in their bosoms, and, perhaps,
regarding with complacency the gigantic shadows,
and the immense feathers, and long swords, which the
tapers gave them, on the huge rampart, as they moved
along.
Nothing could be more cheerful or affectionate, than the
welcome which the Misses Benvelt gave me. They gaily
told me, that, as any hope of making any deeper impression
upon a heart, so preoccupied, was out of the question,
they would content themselves with calling me brother,
and claiming only the attention and affection due to
sisters. I found them the same round faces, and
bright complexions, and happy countenances, that I had
them at the palace. There was never a more striking
contrast, than that of these happy and beautiful faces,
richest silks, and crapes clasped with diamonds, and sparkling
with gems, with the shapeless and awful grandeur of
the cavern, under the superincumbent piles of snow topt
mountains, and the moving groups of ugly servants, fat
wenches with their white and sauey eyes, and all the singular
gradations of tinged skin, from the copper colour of
the native Indian, to the jet black of the Congo African.
“Now, mein dear girls,” said M. de Benvelt, “I hope
you will scold mit me no more, for bringing you to this
tamned tark place. Here is your yankee master, come
to stay mit you, and to teach you de English, and fight de
Dons mit me.” “Thank you father,” said the elder, “Thank
you,” added the younger, and they cordially shook me by
the hand, bidding me call them sisters, and that they would
call me nothing but brother. “We told father,” said the
elder, (her name was Wilhelmina) “that what with the
smoke, and the horrid ugly faces here, we were all losing
our eyesight. Even the young fellows of Durango were
not so superlatively ugly, as these officers. Virgin Mary!
I had no idea, that all the Patriots were such ugly fellows,
or they never would have made a Patriot of me.” Sophia,
the second Miss Benvelt, was called by the family, Sophy
the Sage, as the youngest was, Annette the Meck. Sophy
eagerly questioned me, if it was a fact, that all the Yankees
were handsome to a man; for, she whispered, it was
confidently reported in the camp, that the Yankees at St.
Antonio, were marching to join them here. “Oh! how
sad and grave you look. I pity you, indeed, and so we
do Martha; but since it cannot be helped, we must try to
cheer you.” “Never mind,” said Annette. “The want
of a heart does not show upon the face. At any rate, we
have a likely fellow to walk about with us, and keep off the
honest, and this, among this bandit-looking people, is
no small matter. When you want to read, and sit still,
you shall shake your head, as you used to do at the palace,
and we will all run to our books, and be as quiet as
kittens.”
Every thing with this amiable group wore the air of being
en famille. Their father represented them to have
been gloomy. My coming among them seemed to be the
signal for the renewal of their innocent and uncontrolled
gaiety. Bryan, too, received from the father a proper
welcome, and to the duties of a servant was to add those of
a soldier. The omen attending my introduction among the
patriots thus far seemed auspicious. In a little while, we
were seated at a smoking sirloin, sweet potatoes, tortillas,
or Spanish corn cakes, a gisado, coffee and chocolate, bananas,
melons, and fruits of all sorts, the plunder of the
fields in the vallies below. There was no want of Parso
for me, and the squeezing of the native, as Bryan called
it, that is to say, aqua ardiente, for him. For the rest,
they made liberal use of an intoxicating drink, called vino
mezcal. With these appliances of natural and artificial
gaiety, there was no want of merriment among us.
After supper, the father remarked to his daughters, that
they must cease their clatter for a while, and give us time
to discuss the graver matters in hand. He drew me apart,
and communicated the present state of things, the plans
and prospects of the leaders of the insurrection, and the
omens of ultimate success. He was himself rather a cabinet
agent, than a general. Nevertheless he declared, that
whenever an opportunity offered, he intended to fight.
“They shall hear of their tamned proscription of me,” said
he. “They shall repent driving me and my sweet girls into
in which I felt a lively interest. There was an actual
rising in Texas, and many young men of respectability
and standing from the United States were actually united
with them in the ranks. This position was admirably chosen
for defence, and for levying contributions on the adjacent
country. It was, also, nearly midway between
Mexico, the capital, and St. Antonio, where the other
rising was. Many of the Patriot chiefs advised to remain
here, and erect impregnable fortifications, institute a press
for a gazette, and open a point of union for all in the provincias
internas, who were disaffected with the royal
cause. Others advised, to descend from this mountain,
and force their way to St. Antonio, and form a junction
with the forces there, making much calculation on aid
from the United States. A single glance at things was
sufficient to show me the disadvantages, under which the
cause labored here. Very few of the leaders had any system,
or matured plan. Very few of them were acquainted
with history, or politics, and the leaders were generally
much better instructed to noose a wild horse, than to
manage such ignorant, timid, and yet ferocious people,
as made up the mass of the party. Their plans were
shortsighted, having respect rather to momentary advantages,
than to distant, matured, and ultimate success.
Even the question, whether to remain, and strengthen
themselves here, and wait for accessions to the cause, or
sally from the mountain, and march to St. Antonio, became
the watchword of party. The question proposed to me,
as soon as I was domesticated among them, was, Are you
for staying, or going? My associates would assort with me,
according to my answer. And as happens in such cases,
the more trifling the difference was between us, the more
wanted in wisdom and capacity to deliberate, they made
up in long-winded speeches, in zeal, and fierceness.
I could see, too, that the motives, that brought them here,
were as various, as the appearance of the individuals. The
very same cause which thickened adherents round the
standard of King David, had its influence here also. There
were people in debt, spendthrifts, outlaws, people, who
come here through envy, and wishing for plunder and revenge,
people, who held nothing to lose, and who might
find booty during the general conflagration. Every sordid,
every base principle, every malignant passion had had
its recruiting efficacy, and had brought over more than one
partizan to the Patriot standard. Among the servants, who
wanted to be rid of masters, among the bankrupts, who
wanted in this way to liquidate their debts, among the profligate,
who wished to plunder the rich, among the ignoble,
whose envy induced them to wish to set their foot on the
neck of the great men of the country, among the many,
who had congregated here from base and sinister motives,
there were no doubt not a few of those pure and noble minds,
that appear from time to time in small numbers on our orb,
who calmly look down the current of the future, and with
singleness of heart, and that sublime benevolence, which
contemplates no selfish ends, arrange their plans, with a
kind of abstract and angelic calculus, for the good of the
generations to come. No doubt, but we had our miniature
Washingtons and Bolivars. There were a few fine
young men, whose eye kindled, as they dilated upon the
indescribable grandeur of their great country, written
great by the finger of Nature, its inexhaustible natural
and moral resources, the intrinsically generous character
of its simple and oppressed people, and the abomination
should continue to be the plaything bauble of a stupid tyrant,
embroidering petticoats for the Virgin, and living at
the distance of two thousand leagues.
Among those, who had joined the cause without any alloy
of sinister, or selfish feeling was M. de Benvelt. He
was a man of amiable, simple, and unsuspicious character,
who had accumulated an immense fortune by a continued
succession of fortunate events, which seems to crown the
efforts of some favored individuals with success, whether
they seek for it, or not. He had had the forecast to convert
his fortune into cash, and deposite it in the British funds.
But he had committed his own personal ease and safety,
and that of his three beautiful, and inexperienced daughters,
on the issue of this dubious stake, merely from a philosophic
regard to the great and sacred cause of genuine
freedom. Too amiable, and too little ambitious to be stirred
up to the contest by envy or aspiring thoughts, he had
come to the cause in the simple feeling of well-wishing to
mankind. He remarked himself, that no one could suspect
him of calculating upon more ease, honor, or wealth,
by any change, that a revolution could bring. His honest
and unsuspicious mind had led him to think well of me
from the first, because his daughters did; and he had become
attached to me in the same proportion, as they had.
He had seen enough of the ignorance and presumption of
most of the leaders here, as already to have become disgusted
with them. My adhesion to the cause inspired him
with renewed confidence. His vast wealth, and his established
character gave him no small influence among the
Patriot leaders. In fact, though nominally subordinate, he
had more real influence than any other man. He would
not hear of my having a commission under that of Colonel.
Morelos, he being for sallying forth, and joining the rising
at St. Antonio. I had no faith in the opinion, that the
United States would commit themselves in the contest, and
that all, that we could reasonably expect from that quarter
was occasional accessions of adventurous young men, who
would come from the impulse of feeling. We thought it
best, therefore, to fortify ourselves, and make this place a
depot, head quarters, and a rallying point for the Patriots.
It would be a point d'appui for the countenance and encouragement
of the wavering and the disaffected, and it
would tend to divert the Royal commander from concentrating
his whole force against either point. It would harass
and dishearten their forces. These disputes with the
chiefs, who differed from us on this point, were always
managed on our part with perfect good temper. Sometimes
the daughters gave their opinions too. They averred,
that from this delightful place, where they could look
down upon the world, with a brother to teach them English,
and beautiful groves, in which to walk, and all manner
of whimsical characters, with which to amuse themselves,
and a few faces, on which they might look, without
injuring their eyes, with plenty of fruits, and water, and
such a large and substantial mansion for shelter, and a
place of such strength and safety, it would be folly to go
away. They asserted, that we could do no better than to
remain here, and they privately whispered me, that if I
would behave well, they would have a detachment sent out,
to bring in the Condesa and Martha, and make me happy;
and that mount Mixtpal should be the seat of their government.
The sage Sophy, however, was for marching to St.
Antonio, that she might study Yankee faces, insisting, that
scanty.
The first days of my abode here were devoted partly to
the study of tactics, and in part to learning the practical
branch of military duty by actual training. For this purpose,
I interested myself to form a volunteer corps, which
should study tactics, and drill together. We spent some
hours every day in our exercises. I now spoke Spanish
with entire fluency, and had no difficulty in becoming acquainted
with the chiefs. It was a matter of no small difficulty,
as well as delicacy, to manage my intercourse with the
married ladies of the establishment. As they had little to
do, and were addicted to those courses at home, and were
here much more in society than they were accustomed to
be, intrigues, and tracasseries, and squabbles, and frequent
changes of their cortejos, were occurring daily. On this
subject a considerable quantity of gunpowder was harmlessly
burned in duels.
The most considerable of the Patriots, and the man, who
held the present command among them, was Morelos. He
was a native ecclesiastic, of the order of deacons. I may
remark, that there seems to be an instinctive feeling, antecedent
to reason, which causes, that every human being,
born in our hemisphere inherits a feeling of independence,
and a love of liberty, as his birthright. The clergy of the
higher orders were generally European Spanish, and it is
well known, that between them, and the natives of Spanish
blood, born in the new world, there has existed a kind of
hereditary antipathy. European priests were of course for
the most part unrelenting Royalists. The native priests, on
the contrary, generally leaned towards the independence of
their country. This man possessed the silent and contemplative
appearance, which long training in the peculiar rites,
So much restraint, and observance, and watching of public
opinion, in bad men, fosters hypocrisy in the heart. On
the faces of others, it imprints a musing and melancholy
character. In him this impress was peculiarly visible. The
dreadful fate, which had attended his compatriot and brother,
the father Hidalgo, the patriarch, and the first conspicuous
victim of insurrection against Ferdinand, had added
to this general expression an unalterable thoughtfulness
and gloom. He was a man not of uncommon powers, but of
considerable reading and reflection, and, as I judged, mainly
actuated by an innate regard to freedom in joining the
cause. He was a man of undoubted courage and firmness.
No ways terrified by the terrible catastrophe, which
befell the father Hidalgo, he seemed to have derived from
it more elevation of feeling, and more unshaken perseverance
in the cause. He often passed his evenings with the
family of M. de Benvelt, and attached himself to me from
the first moments of our acquaintance. He knew the whole
thread of events, throughout the whole Mexican empire,
from the first dawning of the spirit of independence. His
local acquaintance with this vast country, and the character
and influence of its inhabitants, was to me a matter of
astonishment. You could point to no village or city on
the map, with the whole of whose private history he did
not seem perfectly acquainted. He often passed the evening
in giving us details of the insurrection, generally gloomy
and terrible, up to this time.
The third evening of my residence in the family, during
a most furious tempest of rain, wind, and thunder, while
the lightning flashed into our subterranean dwelling, and the
wind and thunder roared awfully among the mountains, he
formed one of the circle, which the uproar of the elements
succinct narrative of all, that he had seen, done, and suffered,
since he had exchanged his functions of priest for those
of the patriot soldier, “quæque ipse miserrima vidi, et quorum
pars magna fui,” said he, quoting the great Roman poet.
These details, in such a place, in such an evening, and by
a man of countenance, so unalterably solemn and melancholy,
with a head, whose baldness at the centre marked
that the razor had passed over it, and whose deep thoughts
seemed to hold communion with torture and with death,
communicated to us the shivering chill of intense feeling.
I select from the details of that narrative the account of
the fate of the father Hidalgo.
“When I joined him,” said he, “the alarm of insurrection
in our country had just sounded from sea to sea.
With a holy feeling of devotion to the people of this oppressed
country, he had left his quiet and safe duties of
priest, and had girt himself with the sword of patriotism.
The people clustered about him, like the gathering of
birds when preparing for their aërial excursions. He was
flushed with hope and confidence, and at the head of forty
thousand men. Although his object was to deliver the
country forever from the dominion of the parent country,
the watch-word was, `Ferdinand the seventh, and the Virgin
of Guadaloupe.' You will suppose, that our communion
was sweet, for our hearts were alike devoted to this
cause. We were both creoles of the country. Both had
renounced the clerical functions, and were equally exposed
to the deepest anathemas of the dignitaries of our church.
Ours was a holier, and more intimate tie of brotherhood,
cemented still firmer by community of disgrace and exposure.
He advanced upon Guanaxuato, a city of considerable
importance, and was joined by Aldama, Allende,
that city and Valladolid, and was advancing in triumph
and in full march upon Mexico. Here he experienced the
terrible efficacy of the spiritual armor of our warfare, in
a region of so much ignorance and bigotry, as this. He
was excommunicated and denounced by the priesthood,
as an abandoned heretic and infidel. His accumulating
followers, viewing him, as the enemy of God and all good
men, terrified and awed, melted away from his path, like
snow in the sunbeams. He changed his advance to retreat,
and fled from one town to another, struggling with
superstition, but with his face towards the foe. At
Guadalaxara he was beseiged by the Royalist chief, Callejo.
Defeated, and compelled to retreat, he fled, successively,
from Zacatecas to San Luis Potosi. His
object was to advance towards the American frontier,
where the germ of republicanism had been long in vegetation.
Velas, a perfidious wretch, who had by the fawning
semblance of implicit deference gained over him the
ascendancy of a flatterer, and succeeded in winning his confidence,
imparted to him under injunctions of the most
profound secrecy, that Colonel Arredondo, who commanded
the royal troops under the Conde, was himself in heart a
republican, and wished to join the patriots. He projected
an interview between them. The unsuspecting father was
thus entrapped into an ambush, and was seized, and made
a prisoner. I was in another quarter, when all this happened.
But I obtained the most exact information of his
fate. He was immediately conducted to Chihuahua, the
metropolis of the provincias internas. A council of war
was convened, over which General Salcedo presided, subject
to the ultimate revision of its sentence by the Conde.
He was well known, at that time, to have been disposed to
unhappy victim insult and torture. But the smooth and
plausible, yet stern and vindictive father Josephus interposed
his counsels with so much effect, that it was decided
that he should first endure the torture, and then die.
“He was a venerable old man, and had been a dignitary
of the church. He was arrayed with the customary
habiliments of his sacerdotal office, in order to be degraded
and deposed with more solemnity. He was then brought
out by a file of soldiers, and delivered over to a consistory
of priests, and they adjudged the nature and extent of
his torture. It was adjudged, that as he had grasped the
sword of heresy and rebellion, with the same hand with
which he had been used to raise the consecrated host,
the thumb and fingers of should be rasped down to the
first joint. The dreadful sentence that was read to him
was, that he should first suffer this operation, then be shot,
and then delivered over to the power of Satan and hell.
He was ordered to prepare for its immediate execution.
His right arm was immovably bound by cords to a postern,
just admitting the thumb and fingers above the end of the
postern, and they were secured to iron rods. A brazier
produced a coarse kind of file, and began the horrible
operation. He evinced the unshaken spirit of a martyr.
The feverish flush of agony was indeed visible in his
brown and furrowed cheek, and the first filling of the file
with the skin and the quick fibre produced a manifest spasmodic
quivering over the whole frame. It was the claim
of the frail physical and suffering nature. The ascendancy
of the higher intellectual principle, sitting on a throne
which the agonies of mortality could not touch, vindicated
the second triumph. They who came with the horrid
purpose to exult in his groans, and see him subdued, and
other impressions. He waved the hand that was not
manacled. `I die,' said he, `a believer and a servant
of Him, who endured worse than this, without shrinking.
He, who was nailed to the tree, will sustain me. This
soul is beyond your power, and it exults in the sacredness
of the cause for which I die. Think not, when you have
murdered an old and a most unworthy priest, that the
cause will expire with him. The groans of the oppressed
will raise up other deliverers. If there be present a single
person, who is a patriot in his heart, and who is restrained
by fear, let him learn that there are holy principles, that cast
out fear; and let him see, how a patriot and a Christian
can die.' He continued in this way, with a firm countenance
and an unfaltering voice, to express his devotion to the
cause, until the savage operation was accomplished. They
then unbound him, and led him to execution. Even here
he was equally undismayed. Before he kneeled down,
he exhorted the assembled multitude to arise in their
strength, and break their chains, and cast them in the face
of their oppressors. He expressed, with the prophetic
confidence of a dying man, his conviction that the cause
of liberty would prevail, and that the whole hemisphere
would be completely emancipated; and that, though he
was not to be spared to see it, he should learn of it in a
better country, and in `the abodes of more than mortal
freedom.' He would not allow them to cover his head.
He kneeled down, and held up his hand, as a signal for the
soldiers to fire, and received his death with undaunted
composure. Thus,” said Morelos, “died my noble and
unshaken compatriot and friend, and if I am to suffer in
the same cause, `may my last end be like his.' ”
The winds still mustered in their fury. The rains
the glare of lightning. The story, the countenance of
Morelos, and the scene, were all in keeping. The roses
gradually yielded to the lilies in the countenances of the
daughters, as the story advanced. On De Benvelt's sat
the undisguised expression of indignation and terror.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, “these Creoles are a tamned set
of asses. It makes me think of the servile war in old
Rome. The army that went against them, armed itself
with scourges and whips. The miserable wretches fled
from the sight of the lash. Only place before these ignorant
fools an excommunication, and they would desert
the Saviour himself. We are engaged in one pretty business,
to expose ourselves to such an end as this, to give
de liberties to these tamned cowards, who will run away
even from an invisible danger.”
Upon the Misses Benvelt the story had the effect to turn
their thoughts to the possible issue of their undertaking,
and to reflect that their father was now obnoxious to the
same fate, which fell so terribly on the head of the father
Hidalgo. Gay and thoughtless as they generally were,
they were not without deep feeling. The bare supposition
of such a catastrophe, suspended over a father so
beloved, fixed on their pale and fair faces a deep gloom,
succeeded by starting tears. As soon as Morelos had
retired, they began to agitate the question, if there was no
escape from the position in which they were now placed,
and to intreat their father and me, to devise some way in
which we might all fly together to the United States. But
another theme, adroitly introduced, had the effect to turn
their thoughts in another direction. Stories of another
cast circulated, and another train of images was introduced.
Their tears gave place to gaiety, and before we separated
cause, were alike forgotten.
I made all the progress that I could desire, in becoming
acquainted with our associates in the camp, and with the
ladies I had more popularity than I could have desired;
for they took occasion to tell me, that so sober a man,
and so little addicted to gallantry, they feared, would not
know how to fight. Every new view of the men gave
me more disheartening apprehensions of the issue of a
cause, depending upon such leaders. Had they listened
to Morelos, they would have had subordination, discipline,
system, economy, and sufficient supplies of provisions for
a siege. But there was no compulsion, and no subordination.
The resources of a month were wasted in the
riot of a week. The camp rung with patriotic songs,
and the reckless gaiety of young men, who felt themselves
far from all restraint; and presented an aspect of
frolic and mirth, that was peculiarly fascinating to such a
people. Even under the massive dome of our quarters,
new stories of intrigues were constantly getting air, and
their intrigues, and their pride, and their parties, and
their heart-burnings, furnished ample materials for the
thousand and one narratives of scandal. Almost every
night brought its ball and fandango, which the Misses Benvelt
and myself, however reluctantly, were compelled to
attend. The country for twenty leagues round was put in
requisition, to furnish the requisite good cheer. The poor
plundered peasants had no other redress, than to imprecate
curses, equally, on the heads of Royalists and Patriots.
There was so much riot and dissipation, so much abundance
and idleness, such barbarian affectation of glare and
splendor, that I doubt not a considerable number of these
patriots, male and female, would have been glad to terminate
for themselves, that they should take up their final
residence in this abode of pleasure and plenty. For my
part, I felt myself in such demand with the dames and
sisters of the officers, that I was rapidly getting rid of
that bashfulness, that creates such a barrier between the
people of different nations. If I were disposed to go
into the annals of female intrigue, I could easily fill a
volume with the adventures which occurred while I was
here. I turned from such novel manners with indifference;
and were it not an assumption not to be expected
at my years, I might say, with loathing.
The only real satisfaction which I experienced, apart
from my reading and studies, was in the delightful family
circle of M. de Benvelt. On this charming table plain,
I could have enjoyed solitude in the scenery and the contemplation
of nature. But the incessant activity and bustle
gave it the air of a paltry, crowded village, neither town
nor country, neither solitude nor society, although, besides
fandangoes, we had our parties, dignified by the grand
Spanish designation, tertulias. Escaped from the chattering
ignorance of these affairs, there was a naïveté, an
infantine frankness, mixed with feeling and good sense, in
this affectionate family, that made all the hours which we
could have to ourselves, pass most pleasantly. Every
returning day gave me higher views of them. Their simplicity
I found to be that singleness of mind and of heart,
which I have always considered the highest endowment
of the best minds. Amidst all their gaiety, there was
the fearless deportment of conscious rectitude, and self-respect.
The father had been originally a Lutheran
protestant, and the assumption of respect for Catholic rites
and usages, had been made out of a decent regard to the
lived. As we became more closely and intimately acquainted,
I found a thousand points of mental union, as
though we had been brought up together. Struck with
this, De Benvelt often questioned me, if I could not speak
a little Dutch, and if I was sure there was no Saxon blood
in my veins. The manners, morals, and pursuits of this
assemblage of mountain banditti, were as abhorrent to their
feelings as to mine. But, with the happy and sunshiny
temperament of joyous and innocent natures, they rather
drew from the whole scene food for mirth and amusement,
than for dissatisfaction and harsh remark. We never took a
walk, or made the circuit of the camp, or took our part
in a review, or returned from a fandango, but what they
brought away an amusing anecdote, or became acquainted
with some incident that furnished us with conversation
and diversion. Above all, they managed with a good
sense, modesty, and propriety, altogether unaccountable,
from their limited acquaintance and experience with human
nature, the numerous professions of admiration and proffers
of love, from the young heroes of our camp. They were
the undisputed belles and beauties of the whole circle,
and yet they were not pursued by envy. In this amiable
family, I was in a few days as entirely domesticated, as if
I had been, what I was invariably called, a son and a
brother. I hoped that the bustle and agitation of this new
scene, and the duties of a colonel in a regiment of ignorant
and refractory recruits of another nation, and the air
of quiet and home in the family, would banish that deep
feeling of painful remembrance, which was causing my
thoughts every day to wander back to the sycamores of the
Conde's palace. In this hope I was disappointed. Like
an evil conscience, this feeling not only followed me, but,
instead of being alleviated, was embittered by time.
De Benvelt often observed, as we separated for the
evening, that with a competent supply of the good things
of life, and one or two more agreeable families, as neighbours,
he should be satisfied to live and to die in that
place. The very mention of leaving the mountain, was
sufficient to bring paleness to the cheeks of the daughters.
But the question, whether to go or to stay, which had
been so much discussed, was now to be settled by circumstances,
over which we had no control. We had just
formed our family circle for the evening, and De Benvelt
had just remarked, that he had recovered the flesh he had
lost when he first fled to Mixtpal, when a despatch was
handed us from Morelos, who had, upon a rumour of an
approaching force, descended with the élite of his forces
to the subjacent plains. It informed us, that the Conde
had arrived at the foot of the mountain, with a large force,
partly regular troops under Colonel Arredondo, and of
Creole troops under Illissondo; that his horse had scattered
themselves in all the region; that a number of our
little parties, which we were obliged to baptize by the
name of foraging parties, but which were, in fact, plundering
detachments, had been captured; that no quarters had
been given, and that they had been subjected to promiscuous
military execution. He stated all the difficulties of
our cause; that all his remonstrances about the necessity
of laying in a supply of provisions for a siege, had been
utterly unavailing; that we had provisions for no more than
a week, and that our only course was to beat the enemy,
and drive them from the country, that we might continue
to find supplies; or to evade them by stratagem; or to
break through their array, and take up our march for
St. Antonio, where report represented the Patriots as successful.
He wished an immediate descent with all our
volunteer regiment was assigned as my command, and
my commission, as its colonel, was made out by the
provisional junta, with all the formalities. This, at least,
put an end to doubting and disputation, as to our course.
All now admitted the wisdom of remonstrance against
our folly, in not laying in provisions. Had we had them,
we might now have defied all the forces of Mexico.
Each threw the fault upon others, and admitted, that
now we had nothing to do, but to fight. The Misses
Benvelt, in tears and in agonies of terror, clung alternately
to their father and to me. The dames, the young ladies,
the servants, the soldiers, all crowded together about us,
while we read the orders, that every man among us, who
could bear arms, should be ready to descend to the plain,
fully equipped, in an hour. Our glees, and catches, and
patriotic songs, were all at once changed to mourning.
Nothing was seen in faces, that could be blanched, but
paleness, and nothing was heard, but the language of consternation
and dismay. Those of our young heroes who
had been loudest in their windy fierceness, while the foe
was neither heard nor seen, were now as mute and pale
as the rest.
Having issued the orders, which were peremptory,
and admitted no exceptions, De Benvelt, the general, and
myself, the colonel, retired to our military wardrobe.
His short and round figure, was soon accommodated with
the gaudy regimentals of a general of brigade. The
glitter of a profusion of lace, was in good keeping with a
face as round and as ruddy, as a full moon. “Mein
Gott!” said he, “now this looks like Dresden. Do I
look prave now? Ah! my poor girls, it is a tamned pusiness
after all, this of fighting for de liberties.” In turn,
that I felt sufficiently awkward, and sufficiently ridiculous,
with my heavy lace epaulets, and a sword of as formidable
dimensions, as that shown by Bonaparte to
the Mamalukes. You may laugh, if you choose; but I
thought of myself, preceded by the thick Saxon, who seemed
in his new habiliments, as stiff as a poker, and was surrounded
by brawny and vapouring Creoles; and of myself,
but poorly qualified, in my own estimation, for any thing
but peaceful pursuits, in the ridiculous comparison, which
forced itself upon me in a moment. You have seen a
New England pig, recently garnished about the neck, with
a fine new yoke. You have remarked, that he will raise
his fore legs some inches higher than he was wont to do, in
order to hit his knees every step upon his yoke. Our
gait in our new armour, struck me as an exact parallel of
this.
The young ladies clung to their father and to me, to the
last moment, and in voices, scarcely articulate for sobbing,
begged us to take care of ourselves, and they gave me
the most solemn charges, to bring their father back again
safe. The tears chased one another over the cheeks of
the Saxon father. “Mein Gott,” said he, “my tear girls,
you will break your father's heart. Now, as daughters of
a Tuch general, you ought not to cry at all, at all.” I felt
it necessary, to give the parting an air of gaiety, and I
begged a lock of the blond tresses of each of their heads,
and told them, that they ought to send us away, as the
French ladies used to do their preux chevaliers, with
smiles and with kisses. These are the omens, to give a
stout heart for battle. “I promise you, my fair sisters to
come back no more wounded, than just enough, to render
us interesting, and with a whole volume of exploits, to be
you my word, to escort you safe and sound, to the Yankee
camp at St. Antonio.”
In calling over our muster-roll, we found no small number
of our young enthusiasts for liberty, reported as too
ill for marching. Most of these young men had been the
night before at the fandango, and had been seized with
this disqualifying sickness, since that time. But we were
a very considerable body, who were assembled to march.
We moved on, as Milton says, “darkling,” and treading
on each other's heels, and stumbling upon the rocks in the
darkness. Of course, we had some Spanish curses, followed,
however, by the sign of the cross, and a prayer to
the patron saint for forgiveness. We were dimly lighted
on our way by torches. It was midnight when we reached
the plain, and united ourselves with Morelos. At the distance
of half a league over the plain, were seen complete
ranges of fires, one extremity of which touched the base
of the mountain on our right, and the other on our left;
so that we were completely hemmed in by a semicircle.
We were immediately ushered into a council of war. As
usual, we had discordant opinions, and almost as many
plans as there were individuals. But in a storm at sea, I
have remarked, when the cause labors, and the ship and
crew are in equal danger, there is a common feeling in the
ignorant and timid, to remit their usual self-sufficiency.
The real helmsman is no longer kept back by envy, but
is called for by the general opinion, to come forward, to take
his proper place. Our opinion was in entire coincidence
with the determined counsels of Morelos, that we should
place in advance, a great number of scouts, or sentinels, who
should give us an alarm, if there were any advance of the
foe, that our troops might take as much repose, as consisted
dawn of the morning, we should attack them with our
whole force, and cut our passage through their centre.
I had scarcely retired to the tent assigned me, before
Bryan, who, I should have remarked, was a serjeant in my
regiment, brought me a couple of letters. They had
come with other dispatches by a flag of truce. Among
these despatches, was a proclamation offering a general
amnesty to all, that would lay down their arms, and surrender
themselves to the Royal commander. They had
excepted from this pardon a few cases, among which were
Morelos, De Benvelt, and myself. The first letter was
from my former pupil Dorothea. It was in indifferent
English, and was long and rather difficult to decypher.
The purport of it was, that her father and she were yet
willing to forgive my indifference, if I would even now
see things in the light of my true interest. She declared
in strong terms her continued regard for me, and that her
father had so much influence with the government, that he
could yet procure me a pardon; that our cause was known
to be utterly hopeless; that if I persisted, I could expect
nothing better, than a military execution; that I could have
no hope from any supposed influence over the heart of
Doña Martha, for that it was a fixed affair, that she was
to be united to Colonel Pedro, at the close of the campaign,
which, from appearances, was likely to be very short; that
her father would even be willing to interpose in behalf of
De Benvelt, provided there were no truth in the report,
that I was to marry Wilhemine; that she trusted to my
good sense, to choose between a fortune, liberty, and
an affectionate wife, and an immediate and ignominious
death; that the least notice to colonel Aradondo, that I was
disposeb to accept of her hand and fortune she had been
rest.
The other was from Doña Martha, and contained only
the following words.
“Blessed Virgin! do I live to hear that you are a
rebel officer, in arms against my father, and proclaimed a
spy, and a traitor? While these terrible denunciations are
issued against you here, you are making the mountain ring
with your revelries, living in riot on the plunder of the
poor peasants, solacing yourself with the smiles of the
easy Wilhelmine, and, like a butterfly, wantoning from
flower to flower, when tired of her. Well, you will now
have a chance to meet Don Pedro, as you have wished.
I am sure of one thing, that harshly as I have met all his
advances, he regards me more, and would have remembered
me longer than you have done. Would to God, I
had met with nothing, to seduce my affections from the
tranquil tenor of my duty. I might then have been a
wife, tranquil, if indifferent, and an obedient child, making
my worn and harassed father happy. As it is, you will
live on, and take your pleasure, and amuse yourself with
Wilhemine; and for me, let events turn as they may, there
is no escape from this intolerable pressure at my heart.
For me there is no resource but to die. But rebel, or
royalist, vanquished, or victorious, you ought to be dear
to me and you are so. Remind Wilhelmine, that she too
once professed to be my friend.”
From the tenor of these letters, I discovered clearly,
what I had more than suspected before, that our movements
were all reported at Durango, that we were surrounded
by invisible dangers, and had traitors in our
camp. I discovered too, that the character of my affectionate
reception in De Benvelt's family, and my brotherly
and misinterpreted. Indeed, I had received insinuations
of this sort, from the ladies in the camp. I saw but too
much reason to believe, that the natural impulses of human
feeling, united with pride, resentment, a sense of
duty, and the spiritual representations of the father, would
actually, and speedily bring about the desired union of Martha
with Don Pedro. I had never distinctly allowed to myself,
that I had any hopes there. But shadowy visions,
against myself, would play about my imagination, anticipations,
so blissful, and so exquisitely dear, that without
definition or outline, they still looked to a different issue.
“But they are not quite sure,” thought I, “that the campaign
is to terminate so soon, and so successfully for Don
Pedro. At least, if he is to be married when he returns,
I will strive to detain him here as long as may be.” I
found, that meditating on the probable event of our being
beaten in the morning, and my suffering immediate military
execution, in case I survived, and his returning to
claim and receive his bride, was an excellent preparative
for intrepidity, and determination, to fall on the field in
case of defeat. “I will either conquer,” I thought, “or
I will die. If the former is not reserved for me, the
latter will be the consummation to be wished.” I felt, that I
had not philosophy enough, to be willing to live, after I
knew Martha to be in the possession of another, much
less of Don Pedro; and with that reflection I went to sleep.
I was just taking the comfort of a tranquil dream,
in which I supposed myself in New England, on a fine
summer's morn, and sitting down to our customary rural
breakfast, at my father's house. I heard the boblincolns
chattering in the meadow, and I saw the dear and well
remembered face of my mother, and she was telling me,
I had not slept. In the midst of this dream, the bugles
in all directions, broke in on the stillness of morning twilight,
and awakened me from this delightful dream, to the
thrilling and contrasted consciousness of my actual position.
I had made all the little arrangements, that circumstances
would allow, in preparation for whatever might be
the issue of the encounter. I had so provided, that in
case of my decease, none but Bryan would know, where
were my effects, and if he survived, as, not being obnoxious
to the government, there was a greater probability,
that he might, he was directed, and he promised me that
he would attempt to make his way to Boston, and remit
my property, the gift of the Condesa and Martha, to my
parents. I also left a short letter for them, and another
for Martha. I hope, it will not be inferred, that I was
more timid, or would fight the less hard, because I had
not yet worn off the impressions of a religious education.
I made a short, but fervent surrender of my hopes and
fears, my will and my wishes, the interest of my dying and
immortal nature, to the Great Disposer of events. I examined
my motives, and on the whole my heart did not
misgive me. A calm, I might almost hope, a holy serenity,
came over me. Never did morning dawn upon me
in a state of so much exultation of feeling. Our army, if
a vast mass of Indian, mulatto, and creole rabble, could
be called by such a respectable name, was in a few
minutes in order, or rather disorder, of battle. The advantage
of our assiduous trainings on the mountain was
now conspicuous in my regiment. It was something more
uniform and regular, than the rest of the host, and was
drawn up with something more of order, and martial array,
inspiring confidence in themselves, and infusing it into
my regiment. I remarked, that my poor fellows looked
yellow and pale, as the full array of the opposing army,
opened upon us with the increasing brightness of the morning.
We had no music of excitement, or defiance, but
the sound of monstrous wooden bugle-horns, the neighing
of our horses, and the braying of our donkies. In the
centre of the royal army, was the splendid Cadiz regiment,
with an uncommonly fine band, a gay uniform,
and boasting to be one of the best disciplined regiments
in Europe. The Conde with his aids, among whom was
Colonel Pedro, mounted on fine Andalusian chargers, were
seen at the head of this regiment. The army was drawn
up in a line, whose wings were a little inclined towards
the mountains. A deep serpentine gully, called Rio Seco
was between us and them. We were, perhaps, as numerous
as our foe; but it was easy to see, that their more
martial, regular, and uniform appearance, struck a thrilling
sensation through our disorderly multitudes. Each
army waited for the other to cross the Rio Seco, that they
might attack the other while clambering up the banks.
Every demonstration of defiance, to provoke this advance
was made by either party. Our bugles pealed a deafening
clamor. The Cadiz regiment replied by a slow
and grand national air on the full band. Each army
slowly approached the gully, and was now so near the
other, as that mutual terms of reviling, in which the Spanish
is wonderfully rich, could be distinctly heard. Every
opprobrious term of crimination and recrimination, which
the language could furnish, was exhausted, and while defiances
and execrations were thus bandying backward and
forward, our troops foamed with rage. I was delighted
to witness this, for I was fully persuaded, that our troops
rage. It was sufficiently obvious that we had not the first,
and our enemy was grateitously furnishing us with the
latter. We remained in this position, looking at each other,
uttering flourishes of musical defiances, and when they
paused, abusing each other, until the sun arose, and a
slight breeze arising with it, dispelled, as by enchantment,
dense banks of mist, that concealed parts of the opposite
armies from each other. I had expected every moment
that they would open upon us discharges of artillery.
But it seems, that their pieces had but just arrived with the
rising sun. We had not a single cannon. The moment
their artillery came up, they opened upon us a sweeping
and deadly discharge, and the thrilling cries of the wounded
and the dying, in the intermission of their terrible
crash, first rung in my ears.
I comprehended at once, that for our raw and untrained
rabble, many of whom had never been in at any thing
more than the killing of a deer or a buffalo, to stand and
receive these sweeping discharges, without the possibility
of revenge or annoyance in their turn, would be instant
and total rout. I requested Morelos to allow me to cross
the ravine with my regiment, and see if we could make
no impression upon the foe. It was granted me. I harangued
my men for a moment. I put them in mind of
the estimation thay bore in the army; that this was the
first time, we had had a chance to acquire glory, and
show our devotion to our cause. “Let us avenge,”
said I, “the charges of cowardice, that they have thrown
upon us. Follow me, and we conquer or die.” They
answered me by vivas, and shouts, and requests to be led
on; and we started in quick step for the bank. Such is
the effect of sympathy, that the same multitude, who would
running, instantly caught the enthusiasm of my regiment,
and with a terrible and unanimous shout, that made
the very mountains ring, started almost at a run. We
were in the ravine, and out of exposure in a moment.
We halted there a minute, to take breath, and by the same
simultaneous impulse we sprung for the summit of the
opposite bank. Those of more strength and agility than
the rest, reached the summit with a bound, and had our
foe had the wisdom to charge us here with the bayonet,
at this place would have been an end of us, and the battle.
But, as if panic-struck with our electric impulse,
they remained in their ranks, and renewed the fire of their
cannon, and gave us the fire of their small arms by platoons.
We were, as I should have remarked, all on foot,
and armed with carabines and spears. We returned them
one deadly discharge with our carabines, and rushed upon
them with our spears. It was at once a perfect melée, a
rencontre of man with man, and in which, in many instances,
the opposite parties were acquainted. Of course
personal malice came in for its share of influence in the
fury of the combat. It furnished just the field in which
these men would be most likely to have experience. It
was an army of duellists, of personal struggles for mutual
assassination. Our spears stood us in excellent stead
against their horse. They became disordered, and recoiled
back upon their own disordered ranks. They evidently
had the disadvantage in this first “tug of battle.”
Had we possessed any discipline, it would have been an
entire rout to them. But the commanders saw their disadvantage,
sounded a retreat, and their troops separated
from the melée in good order. Our eagerness, as they
undoubtedly foresaw, had well nigh ruined us. We strove
by it, instead of being able to arrest it. We lost every
thing that resembled a front, and became a furious, rushing
crowd. Our enemy retreated, until he saw irregular
masses of our men in advance of the rest. He faced,
and attacked us in his turn, in firm column, and in good
order. A change of things, so unexpected, staggered the
advance. In a moment it began to fall back, producing
in the rear “confusion worse confounded.” In this dreadful
moment, their horse dashed in upon us, and shrieks,
and groans, and rout, ensued on every side. The ground
was covered with bodies, and was slippery with blood.
Morelos, De Benvelt, and myself, together with a few more
undismayed spirits, placed ourselves between the fighting
and the retreating. We assured them, that to be forced
to the bank was inevitable destruction, and as no quarter
was expected, not a man could escape. Partly by these
considerations, and partly by shame and threats, we persuaded
them to face the foe again. We arranged them in
a kind of form, and to sustain ourselves against the charge
of the horse, we planted our spears on the ground, at an
angle of forty-five degrees, and received the horses with
the spear in their breasts. This manœuvre produced
another recoil of the foe, and there was again an interval
between us and them. The action was renewed, by discharges
of musquetry along the whole line of either army.
Here we should have had the advantage again, but for the
terrible havoc inflicted by their artillery, which, at every discharge,
swept a clear path through our whole depth of line.
Morelos utttered his fierce cry for another charge, and we
attacked them again with fixed spears. In this melée,
accident confronted me for the first time with Don Pedro.
I cried to him in Spanish, “Dismount, Sir, and we can
to attack a rebel colonel, or whether he was unwilling to
fight on foot, or whether he reserved himself for a more
fortunate opportunity, I cannot say. His first motion was
as if towards me; but he instantly wheeled his horse,
and rode away. In this charge, we fairly pierced our
way through the centre, and the celebrated Cadiz regiment
and their army, as if by consent, parted towards
either wing, allowing us an almost unmolested passage
through. We blew our bugles, for forming our line in
their rear. We had experienced too bitterly our want of
discipline, to be in haste to attack them again; and they
had suffered too severely, and had too well proved our
manhood, to think of molesting us. The strange spectacle
was seen, of two armies retiring from heaps of slaughter,
and from each other, as if by mutual consent. The enemy
sent us a flag of truce, and proposed a parley. We
consented, and it was arranged, that we should have an
armistice. The terms were settled directly, They were,
that each army should bury their dead, and aid their
wounded unmolested; that then we should be allowed to
march from the mountain in the direction of St. Antonio,
or in any other direction we should choose, undisturbed;
and they were not to be assaulted by us, in retiring, as
they agreed to do, upon San Pueblo, a small village at
the distance of a league and a half.
These terms were settled on both sides, and troops
speaking the same language, that were but an hour before
engaged in mortal struggle with each other, were now
mournfully occupied in searching for their dead and
wounded. The losses on the two sides were nearly equal.
It has been observed in all ages, that the most deadly foes
mingle in this sad business, apparently laying aside personal
case now. Bryan, who had fought like Achilles, found
and recognised among the dead, a member of the Conde's
household, who had been a fellow-servant with him. The
tears ran down his cheeks, and he raised the Irish howl
of mourning. Mutual aid was given in burying the dead,
and aiding the wounded. The priests performed funeral
rites for the one army or the other, indiscriminately. The
melancholy and thrilling chant, De profundis, mingled
with the low and faint groans of the wounded and the
dying. Having made these arrangements, and attended
to our wounded, we prepared to return to the mountain,
to carry into effect the article in our armistice, which
bound us, as soon as possible, to depart for St. Antonio.
In returning, I walked on in company with Morelos and
De Benvelt, so near the Conde, who was on horseback in
the midst of his troops, attending to the same duties
which we had been discharging, as to see Don Pedro, and
be recognised by him again. “I beg you, Sir,” I cried
to him, as I passed, “to have the goodness to inform Doña
Martha, when next you see her, that you have, on this
occasion, declined my courtesy, as on a former occasion
I declined yours.”
There can be no scene more tender, than the return of
warriors from the uproar of battle, and the strife of blood,
safe and unwounded to their friends. You may be certain,
that we claimed the victory, as sure and unquestionable.
In fact, the very circumstances of the armistice warranted
us in the claim. The battle had indeed assured to us the
fruits of a victory, and, all that we could have asked, an
unmolested march to St. Antonio. I was amused, as we
were met by the women and children, many of whom had
come down the mountain to get the first tidings of the
rapture, and congratulations, each one of our warriors, in
the relation of his personal exploits, was transformed into
an Alexander. I almost envied the reception of De Benvelt
by his daughters. For the first time they seemed
selfish, not being willing to receive an equal proportion of
embraces. Broken exclamations, mingled prayers and
thanksgivings, filled up an interval of some moments.
Morelos, who had performed the noblest duties of a patriot
soldier, and who seemed raised above the sympathies of
humanity, even he melted at this scene, and let fall natural
tears down his furrowed cheeks. “I return my humble
thanksgivings to the God of battles, my dear children,”
said he, “that your father and this young man have been
returned safe to you, and both covered with glory. I
thank God, too, in witnessing this scene, that I have no
children. The issue of this great struggle can personally
affect only me. The sympathy which I feel for this great
and oppressed community, leaves me but too much surface
in which to be exposed to suffering and agony.” The ruddy
face of the Saxon was bathed in tears of parental affection,
and he could not refrain from sobbing. In battle he had
been unshrinking in its hottest forefront. Now he wept like
a child. After he had become a little composed, he embraced
me, and presented me to his daughters, as one
who had done much, he was pleased to say, in producing
the success of the action, which Morelos confirmed in
terms, improper for me to repeat. Even Bryan received
his share of compliment, which he repaid by extolling the
heroism of my crossing the ravine, Rio Seco, to the clouds.
In short, we liberally praised one another backwards and
forwards. The Saxon was delighted with this joyous
commencement of our warfare, and was sanguine in his
will see the country free and happy yet, and we will beat
the liberties out of the tamned Dons, and they will wish
they had not proscribed the honest Tuchman yet.” The
timid welcome of the girls to me was sufficiently affectionate.
Less would have been out of keeping with their
frank and tender natures. More would have violated
their nice sense of decorum. Their glistening eyes
said to me as many kind and impressive things, as any
words or embraces could have done. For the first hour
of our return, we were perhaps the happiest people in the
world.
I pass over the scene of packing, and arranging, and
preparing for a march, which we were now compelled to
make. It was perhaps, softened by the circumstance that
we were all in one predicament, and were all to go together.
The ladies were for the most part pleased with the prospect.
Their range would be extended, and their amusements
diversified. For me, I have a very particular aversion
to moving. The very naming of the thing applies oil of
vitriol to every nerve. Every thing, that the camp could
furnish, in the form of horse, mule, or ass, was put in requisition,
and was either loaded with a pack or harnessed.
The line of carts and loaded mules, when formed at the
foot of the mountain, made a range of a mile in extent.
We took our last sleep under the vault of the cavern of
Mixtpal, and commenced our descent from the mountain
on the dawn of the morning, after the battle. The day
before had so abundantly drawn upon the sources of
feeling that I hoped we should this day have passed
away from this singular and romantic residence without
emotion. Bur to some it was identified with the idea of
security, to others associated with the remembrance of
and good cheer. All seemed to go away with the
painful feeling of leaving home. The countenances of
the Misses Benvelt were overcast with apprehension and
anxiety. They had been perfectly satisfied with things, as
they were, and to leave this place was as the departure of
our first parents from paradise. The very circumstance,
that “the world was all before them,” was appalling. Sensitive
and affectionate natures, as theirs were, cling to privacy,
quiet, and domestic joys, and “that dear ark, the home.”
They had been quiet, and retired here in the midst of all
the bustle. The scene before us, as we descended, was
sublimely impressive. The mists were rolling away from
the sides of the mountains, and the sun was pouring his
rising radiance upon their hoary cliffs. The battle field
was distinctly visible to us, and seemed spread directly under
our feet. A few people, here and there, apparently
mourning over their dead, and at that distance only visible as
moving atoms, were seen on the field. Wilhelmine pointed
them out to us, and supposed them engaged in the pious
office of taking a farewell look at the spot, where friends,
left on the field of honor, were taking their final repose for
the resurrection; and “Oh!” she added, “you cannot
conceive, with what oppressive throbbing of the heart, we
yesterday morning looked upon the mingled conflict of this
same field. We could distinctly hear the shouts, the
feebler crash of small arms, and the more terrible explosion
of artillery, so much the more awful, as we knew, it
was the discharge of the enemy. I almost conceited, that
I could feel the air of the balls whistling by me. I turned
away my eyes for fear, that by intense looking, I should be
able to discriminate my dear father and you in the midst
of the struggle, falling and trampled under foot. No view,
party was victorious. Oh! that I had words, to explain to
you our agony of suspense, from the time, when the firing
ceased, to that joyous moment of your arrival. We were
clasped in each other's arms, in earnest prayer, afraid to
look forward, to see the messenger with his tidings, and
yet anxious beyond description, to obtain intelligence.
“Now, when we are going away in health and safety, I
have forebodings, and an oppression of heart, that I cannot
account for. It is a charming place, and we have been
happy, tranquil, secure. Never shall I pass as pleasant
days again, as I have spent in that vaulted cavern, in view
of this beautiful world, outstretched below me, kindied up
with the glories of the morning, or gilded with the fading
and mellow splendors of the setting sun.” “Then,” added
Sophy, “there are more battles, more of these heartrending
suspenses to encounter. Foolish girl! when the
proscription came, and we fled, I felt an idle satisfaction,
in fancying pleasant adventures and gratified curiosity. I
see, it will be a sad business, and we cannot always expect,
those we love, to come off, as yesterday.” “Now,
my tear son,” said the Saxon, “stop your ears, when my
weak girls talk this way. Girls, you are not fit to be children
of a soldier. You ought not to say a word to him,
that will not tend to harden his heart and make him a
true soldier. You would make us both have hearts of butter.
For my part, I am right glad to leave this tamned
hole in the rocks. Give me a good stone house, and no
more fightings for de liberties.” I attempted to raise the
spirits of our young ladies by talking of the pleasure, I
should have, in showing them complete specimens of the
young men of Yankee land, that they had expressed so
much desire to see, and that Sophy and Annette had forgotten,
better opportunity for the study of Yankee faces had been
considered the only want, of which they had complained.
We were now about to supply that want, without losing
any of the good things, that we had here, that I should be
the only loser, for that among so many fine young men, as
they would meet there, I foresaw, that I should be overlooked.
To all this, Annette thoughtfully replied, that the
times were getting too sober for jesting, that she should be
well satisfied with the society she had had, so that she
could be sure it would be continued to her. The women
about us generally consoled themselves with the prospect
of a new range for fandangoes, and the probability of seeing
something more of the world. Some stumbled over
the stones by themselves. Others leaned on the arms of
their cortejos or husbands. The dogs barked. The
children cried. The servants and cargadores were loaded
with baggage, and in this way we descended to the plain,
where the servants had previously arranged our horses, and
the heavier part of our baggage. We continued to walk
on, until the procession had crossed the Rio Seco, and on
the opposite bank we passed directly through those
points of the battle field, where the greatest destruction
had occurred. The eyes of the young ladies were filled,
as they surveyed the traces of the havoc, the ground drenched,
and still reeking with blood, the soil ploughed up by
the wheels of the enemy's artillery, and the fresh graves
arranged in lines, which made the number of the tenants
seem even greater than it was. De Benvelt, who had
fought the day before, like a hero, sickened and turned
pale, as he surveyed this prodigal effusion of human blood,
which yesterday had flowed in veins, as warm as ours.
Morelos walked thoughtfully over the field with the same
took up no small time, to get our women, servants, and
children on horseback, in carts and carriages, or on
asses and mules. Every tenant of the mountain was
somehow provided for in this way. The slightly wounded
were in the baggage wagons. Those, who could
not bear removal, were sent with a flag to San Puebla, and
recommended to the mercy of the enemy. In a couple
of hours, this straggling procession, that seemed to cover
the plain, took up the line of march.
At another time I should have expected to find an
intense interest in this journey. Nature was just as
varied, and beautiful, as though she had been arrayed for
the contemplation of a single, thoughtful, and solitary traveller.
But the hurry of a march, the distraction of
thoughts which ensues, from finding yourself participating
in the same toils, pleasures, and events with such a multitude,
naturally turn the eye and the mind from the contemplation
of nature to the concerns, and the little passions
of your fellow beings. The difficulty of finding food and
water, indispensable things, for such a multitude, in a
country so little inhabited, was a formidable impediment to
that reckless tranquillity, necessary for the pleasantness of
a journey. Quarrels and petty vexations, the giving out
of horses and the breaking down of carriages, the screaming
of children, and other such miseries were frequently
occurring. I had often been struck with the romantic
beauty of the scene of our encampments, when my small
party was journeying to this country. The encampment
of an army, attended by women and children, furnished a
view still more picturesque and imposing. The army halts
on the banks of a running stream. The beasts are unharnessed.
A thousand hatchets attack the groves, to furnish
oblong ranges of tents whiten in the fading light of
the day. A cheerful and bustling city springs up as by
enchantment. Visits and parties are projected. The dogs
bay. The chanticleer salutes the parting light, with his
cheering and domestic cry. The confused murmur of a
thousand voices is heard. The soldier whistles, as his supper
is preparing, and there is always some scraping of the
violin, and thrumming of the guitar. The kindling of the
ranges of fires furnishes another source of beauty. The
dry and combustible wood is sought, and by its bright
blaze, every thing in the camp is still more visible, than by
the light of day.
The only remark, that occurred to me in relation to our
grand object was, that the people all were, or feigned to be,
true patriots, and we were welcomed, as deliverers by people,
who would have gladly seen us all in the Red Sea. We
took them at their word, and caressed them for the forced
patriotism, which brought to us all that their means could
well furnish. As soon as we approached a village, a settlement,
or a town, the domestic animals and the fowls all
seemed to understand, that we were carnivorous animals.
The cattle and pigs fled from our path, and the fowls flew
screaming away. In fact, like the grasshoppers of Egypt,
we cleared every thing that was eatable out of our way.
We passed two or three considerable towns, among them
Lanedo, and they were so occupied and fortified by the
royal troops, that we deemed it expedient to pass to the
right of them without attempting an attack. At each
place we sent in a flag, proposing to pass the town unmolested,
on condition, that certain stipulated supplies should
be furnished us, for which we were to pay a fair price, and
that no annoyance should be attempted on either side. At
troops made a night assault upon our camp, which produced
a great deal of consternation, and in which some of
our young men behaved badly. But we soon found out
the strength and position of our foe, and easily drove him
away. The mutual criminations and charges of cowardice,
during this attack, resulted in producing two duels in
the morning, in one of which, one of the parties was slain,
and the other dangerously wounded. We did not much
regret the slain, for he had been quarrelsome and mischievous
on the mountain and in the camp, and although he
fell in a duel, had been a notorious coward.
The first news we got of the Royal army was here. The
Conde's forces were much better mounted, than we were.
They had marched from San Puebla by a shorter route,
and at the time, we were crossing the Rio del Norte,
they had probably arrived at St. Antonio. It appeared,
that the Conde intended to make his permanent head quarters
there, for he had passed with his whole household establishment.
The whole intelligence went to convince us,
that we should have an efficient campaign and plenty of
fighting.
The Patriots with their allies from the United States had
been engaged in the siege of St. Antonio, which place was
on the eve of capitulating, when the Conde arrived with
his forces, and raised the seige. The united forces of the
Patriots, awed by the imposing force which the Conde
brought, retired five miles from the town, and entrenched
themselves behind the beautiful little river, which waters it.
We sent forward messengers to advertise them of our approach,
and the exhilaration of our men may be imagined,
when, after such a long march from Mixtpal, we at length
saw the white tents of our allies. They received us with
and every possible demonstration of welcome. Congratulations
in English and Spanish were exchanged, the
usual eager questions asked, and it seemed the meeting of
a band of brothers. For myself, no one can tell my feelings,
when in one part of the camp I saw the stars and
stripes fluttering in the breeze, and viewed the well remembered
countenances and costumes, and heard the language
of my own dear country. The first glance among
the troops from the United States convinced me, that they
were men of standing and character. My astonishment
and joy may be imagined, when I ascertained, that one of
the first officers of this establishment was a graduate from
my own Alma Mater. My communion with him of course
was sweet. I had the pleasure of introducing this young
gentleman, as well, as a number of other respectable young
men from the United States, to our chief Morelos, and
to De Benvelt, and his fair daughters. The delight of both
parties was visible, of our chiefs to see high-minded and
educated young men united to their cause, and of my young
compatriots, to be introduced to such beautiful girls, whose
deportment and the richness of whose dress evinced so
much rank and fashion; while they, in their turn, found
all their anticipations more than realized, in these fine
young men. The solemn face of Morelos relaxed for a
moment. De Benvelt capered for a joy, that he could not
conceal. “Now, mein Gott” said he, “if dis be not
Sharmony itself. Can't you speak Tuch, young gentlemen?
Oh! it is such men, that is de ting to beat de liberties
out of de Dons.” When we were left to ourselves,
even the sage Sophy, and the meek Annette, as they were
respectively called, congratulated me in high glee, that now
they had hopes, they should not fail of finding a beau for
for the sake of an equal partition. Bryan's
head, too, swam with joy; for there was not only an ample
supply of whiskey in the camp, but English was spoken
there; there were also a number of his compatriots from
the green island, and who spoke with the knowing brogue.
| CHAPTER VI. Francis Berrian, or, The Mexican patriot | |