University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

Quevedo.

At the foot of Mount Pike it was arranged that each
one of the party should proceed to a different point
among the Indians, to purchase horses and mules, and
that we should reunite with our acquisitions at Santa
Fe. For my part, I now began to exercise self-scrutiny,
and to feel myself disqualified in every point of
view for this kind of traffic. A certain per-centage
was ultimately to be awarded me, according to the
profits and losses, and in proportion to my contribution
to the common stock. As I frankly confessed my disinclination
to the active labors of the partnership, it
was stipulated that on these conditions I should be a
kind of sleeping partner, and might find my way
as I chose to the common point of meeting, at an
assigned time in Santa Fe. I was thus left at liberty
to gratify my curiosity in my own way, and was
esteemed a kind of good-natured scholar, with my head
too much turned by books to understand the value or
use of money, or to enter into the pleasure of making
it. One of the company, a young man from New York,

had been educated in a considerable degree, and was in
other respects a man of a different order of thought and
manners from the rest. Between him and me there
existed a certain kind of companionship. He understood
a smattering of French, and enough of the language of
the Commanches to converse with them. To him, as
one of the most important personages of the expedition,
was assigned a central village of the Commanches
among the mountains, as the place where he was to
commence his traffic. He represented his place as
being singularly romantic and beautiful, for he had
been there before, and the Indians as the most noble
and interesting people of all that region. He requested
me to accompany him, holding forth all the usual inducements
which operate with most force upon such
adventurers. From very different motives from those
which he held out, I consented to follow him.

The morning after our arrival at the mountains, we
made our final arrangements, and each member of the
partnership separated to his assigned place. My companion
and myself began to scramble up the rocky and
precipitous banks of the Arkansas, as it foams along
from cliff to cliff in its descent to the plains. The progress
was both laborious and dangerous. After climbing
this way for two days, we left the course of the
Arkansas, and made our way towards the waters of the
Rio del Norte. We were often obliged to dismount,
and lead our horses through the defiles, and we found
great difficulty in getting them along, although we
were on the track by which the savages come down to

the plains. We came to the bank of a torrent, and
wound along in a trace, barely wide enough for one
horse to pass, and with perpendicular points of the
mountains often hanging a thousand feet above our
heads. On the evening of the third day a moment
before sunset, we entered a long and very narrow gorge
between two stupendous elevations, with a narrow path
of smooth blue limestone, washed on the edge by the
foaming waters of this torrent, which was a considerable
branch of the Rio del Norte. We threaded this
gorge, perhaps two miles, and just as twilight was
fading, we entered the most beautiful valley, that I
have seen before or since. Dusky as it was in the
depths of the valley, the last rays of the sun still glittered
on the eternal ices of the summits of the mountains.
The bells of cattle and horses tinkled. Dogs
bayed. The chanticleers were crowing a parting salute
to the day. A compact village of Indian cabins, like
an extended cluster of beehives, dotted the opposite
extremity of the valley. The smoke streamed aloft in
perpendicular columns to the sky. The dun mist of
Indian summer, conspired with the fading light to give
a shadowy form to every object. The squaws were
crossing each other's path, carrying water on their
heads, and performing the other kitchen duties in the
open air. Naked boys were shooting arrows at a
mark, or evincing the incipient cockatrice spirit of
fondness for battles, by mimic quarrels of scratching
and biting. My companion, who knew the village,
walked forward with the confidence of an acquaintance.
He approached the sentinels, two of whom always
guarded the point, where the gorge opened into the
valley. Knowing their customs, my companion approached
them with a firm step and a fearless countenance,
and offered them his hand. They gave a sharp
cry of recognition, followed by a gentle grunt, and a
cordial shake of his hand in return. A phrase introduced
me to them, and I, too, received my shake of
the hand. One of them went with us to introduce us
to the village. The chiefs and warriors thronged
around us. My companion explained his object and
mine in this visit. As far as I could judge, our reception
was cordial, and we were welcome. A vacant
cabin, fitted up with Indian magnificence, and its floor
spread with skins, was assigned us. There seemed to
be almost a contest among them, who should be the
first to entertain us. I did not much admire Indian
viands and cookery, which consisted principally of
venison and boiled corn seasoned with native spices,
and cooked with bear's grease. The rough but obvious
kindness of the entertainers, however, made amends
for the unsavory character of the feast. Extreme fatigue
made us welcome that early repose to which we
were invited.

I arose early in the morning to make the circuit of
this lovely vale. At the extremity of the village,
the torrent, whose sources were in the mountains,
poured down, from a prodigious elevation, a white and
perpendicular cascade, which seemed a sheet suspended
in the air. It falls into a circular basin, paved with

blue limestone of some rods in circuit. The dash near
at hand has a startling effect upon the ear. But at a
little distance, it is just the murmur to inspire repose,
and it spreads a delicious coolness all around the place.
From the basin the stream seems to partake of the
repose of the valley; for it broadens into a transparent
and quiet water, whose banks are fringed with pawpaw,
persimon, laurel, and catalpa shrubs and trees, interlaced
with vines, under which the green carpet is rendered
gay with flowers of every scent and hue. The
soil is black, tender and exuberantly fertile. The
coolness of the vale and the shade together with the
irrigation of the stream cover the whole valley with a
vivid verdure. The beautiful red-bird with its crimsontufted
crest, and the nightingale sparrow, pouring from a
body scarcely larger than an acorn, a continued stream
of sound, a prolonged, plaintive, and sweetly modulated
harmony, that might be heard at the distance of half
a mile, had commenced their morning voluntary. The
mocking bird, the buffoon of songsters, was parodying
the songs of all the rest. Its short and jerking notes, at
times, imitated bursts of laughter. Sometimes, laying
aside its habitual levity, it shows, that it knows the
notes of seriousness, and trills a sweetly melancholy
strain. Above the summits of these frowning mountains,
that mortal foot had never yet trodden, soared
the mountain eagle, drinking the sunbeam in the pride
of his native independence. Other birds of prey, apparently
poised on their wings, swam slowly round in
easy curves, and seemed to look with delight upon the
green spot embosomed in the mountains. They sailed
back and forwards, as though they could not tire of
the view. The sun, which had burnished all the tops
of the mountains with gold, and here and there glistened
on banks of snow, would not shine into the valley, until
he had almost gained his meridian height. The natives,
fleet as the deer when on expeditions abroad, and at
home lazy and yawning, were just issuing from their
cabins, and stretching their limbs supinely in the cool
of the morning. The smoke of their cabin fires had
begun to undulate and whiten in horizontal pillars
athwart the valley. The distant roar of the cascade,
like the gong in Chinese music, seemed to mingle and
harmonize all other sounds in the valley. It was a
charming assemblage of strong contrasts, rocky and
inaccessible mountains, the deep and incessant roar of
the stream, a valley that seemed to sleep between these
impregnable ramparts of nature, a little region of landscape
surrounded by black and ragged cliffs, on every
side dotted thick with brilliant and beautiful vegetation,
and fragrant with hundreds of acacias and catalpas
in full flower, a spot sequestered like a lonely isle in
the midst of the ocean; in the midst of it a busy, simple,
and undescribed people, whose forefathers had
been born and had died here for uncounted generations:
a people, who could record wars, loves, and all the
changes of fortune, if they had had their historian.
Such was the valley of the Commanches.

There are places where I am at once at home with
nature, and where she seems to take me to her bosom

with all the fondness of a mother. I forget at once
that I am a stranger in a strange land; and this was
one of those places. I cannot describe the soothing
sensations that I felt. I listened to the mingled sounds
of a hundred birds, the barking of the dogs on the
acclivities of the hills, the cheerful sounds of the domestic
animals, and the busy hum of the savages. The
morning was fresh and balmy. The sublime nature
above me, and the quiet and happy animated nature on
my own level, seemed to be occupied in morning
orisons to the Creator. I, too, felt the glad thrill of
devotion come over my mind. “These are thy works,
Parent of good.” Here, thought I, in this delightful
vale, with a few friends, is the place where one would
choose to dream away his short day and night, forgetting
and forgotten.

Having sauntered about in different parts of the valley
for an hour, one spot struck me as peculiarly inviting
to meditation, study, and repose. It was a peninsula
made by a bend in the stream, which almost curved
back upon its path, leaving an entrance scarcely three
paces across, and the islet including an area of two
acres. Even the Indians had taste to feel the pleasantness
of this place, for their devious paths had checquered
out walks worn smooth in the living turf. Even the
Indian girls felt that here was the place to own their

`dusky loves.' Weeping willows and magnolias rendered
it a perfect alcove. In the midst of the verdure above
were seen the brilliant wings of the parroquet and the
red-bird, as they darted from branch to branch. Here,
thought I, shall be my study, while I reside in this
sweet place. When I cast my eye around, I applauded
that forecast, which had drawn so much ridicule from
my companions, in having brought along with our supply
of provisions for the body, so select a supply of
food for the mind. Here I proposed to take up my
residence through the day, and read, and meditate, and
botanize, and study the natives; and here, I thought,
in this balmy air, if I were not exiled from every thing
but the copper-colored daughters of the savages, one
might learn to love. I had a kind of inkling for the
muse, and it would be easy to imagine a Laura to my
mind. In this pleasantest spot of the earth a couple of
months could not but pass cheerfully, as well as usefully.

After breakfast a council-fire was kindled in the public
wigwam. The council chiefs, the warriors, the
women and children assembled round the council-fire,
to welcome us to the village with the customary solemnities.
The calumet went round. The savages all
smoked, and passed it to us to smoke. A speech of
welcome to us, and of invitation to our partners to visit
them, was uttered by the most aged council chief.
The elocution was strong, significant, and emphatic;
and at the close of every sentence the interpreter, a
half-blood Frenchman, translated it into French, a

a language which my companion and myself both understood.
I felt thankful that, among some useful
acquirements at college, I had gained the mastery of
this language, so generally understood abroad. I entered
into the speech with intense interest, for I had
heard much of Indian eloquence. The gesture was
vehement. An arm, which had once been muscular
and brawny, waved with graceful motion from under a
buffaloe robe, thrown half across the shoulder. To
give emphasis to the close of every sentence, the
speaker raised himself, and poised the weight of his
body on his toes. It was garnished with the usual
figures of the clouds, the winds, thunder, and generally
images drawn from the most striking phenomena of
nature. In the name of the tribe the usual promises
of hospitality and protection were given, in return for
which we were to furnish them with a suitable portion
of beads, knives, looking-glasses, and, more than all,
vermilion. On these terms I was to be considered as
under the special protection of the tribe for two months,
and my companion was to have every facility for purchasing
and noosing horses and mules.

The sitting terminated with a religious ceremony.
The chief actor in that part of the welcome was a tall,
meagre savage in extreme old age, and his eyes, sunk
in his head, rolled their grey orbs with all the earnestness
of the assumed spirit of divination. He had on
the centre of his crown a single lock of dirty grey hair.
The rest of his bald head was painted high with vermilion.
Both of his long and sunken cheeks were painted

black. About the waist he wore a bandage of scarlet
cloth, and the tails of two panthers flourished behind.
The rest of his body was naked, and on his back were
painted, with sufficient accuracy, alligators and rattlesnakes.
This personage was one of the first importance
in the village, uniting the functions of priest, physician,
and conjurer. There was something in his person,
which united the ludicrous and the terrible in a strange
degree. His prayer was a long monotonous note, occasionally
dropping, by a number of tones at once, to a
low and unearthly murmur. The being invoked in this
prayer in their behalf and ours, was denominated
“master of life.” It was understood, that this prayer
was to be paid for in whiskey and tobacco.

Then came the dancing. Two old chiefs held a
parchment drum, and two aged squaws shook with
great gravity and labor a couple of gourds which
were hollow, and contained a number of pebbles.
The chiefs just murmured a deep note, and beat
with great solemnity upon the little drums, and the
squaws kept time by shaking the pebbles. Six young
warriors, highly painted, bent forward, so that their
noses almost touched. They began to dance slowly,
and to sing the accustomed and universal song of the
savages from Mexico to the St. Lawrence; “He-aw-aw.
He-aw-aw. He-aw-hum.” Their eyes kindled in
the progress of the dance. They wagged their heads,
and increased the vigor of their movements, and the
song grew louder, until they sprang from the ground,
and stamped their feet furiously upon the earth. The

sweat trickled down their naked backs, marking devious
channels through thick coating of black and red paint.
After this dance it was understood that we were medicined,
charmed, or under the pledged protection of
their household divinities.

The tribe of the Commanches, of which this was the
chief town, inhabited the valleys at the sources of Red,
Arkansas, and the Rio del Norte rivers, which all rise
near each other. These were their winter and permanent
habitations. In the summer they encamped, and
hunted the buffalo and other game, on the subjacent
plains. To diversify their mode of life a little, they often
made incursions into New Spain, sometimes for a kind
of forced traffic in horses, mules, and pelts, but much
oftener with the avowed purpose of war and plunder.
They kept up in this way a kind of border warfare
with the Spaniards, sometimes practising open hostilities,
but generally maintaining a kind of armed neutrality,
throwing their weight into the scale of the Appaches, a
neighbouring tribe of savages, with whom the Spaniards
maintained continual war, or of the Spaniards themselves,
as their interest, their policy, or their ambition
dictated. Their presentt relation with the Spaniards
was a kind of hollow truce, which had not, however,
prevented a recent excursion to Santa Fe with a select
force of the young warriors, in which they had brought
off a rich plunder, a number of captives of the lower
orders, and with them the only daughter and child of
the Conde Alvaro, governor of Durango, and superintendant
general of the Mexican mines. A deputation

from the tribe was now at Santa Fe, to treat with the
governor for the ransom of his daughter, which they
put at an exorbitant sum of money, proportioned to the
vast wealth of the father, and his known affection for
his daughter. This circumstance showed, more than
any other, that they held the Spaniards at entire defiance.
Circumstances, that will explain themselves as
I proceed, will show why they felt such a peculiar confidence
at this point of time. The governor, with all
his resources, power, and thousands of tenants, appeared
to think of no other resource for regaining this daughter,
but a ransom. The savages spoke of her with a
kind of mysterious reverence, remarking, that she was
never seen abroad, sometimes designating her with the
sacred name of “medicine,” and at other times by the
name of a flower, which is the garnish of Indian figure
for whatever they deem most beautiful. This valley,
that contained the chief town and the central position
of the tribe, evinced no little wisdom in those who
selected it as a place of residence. The fortifications
of Vauban were works of mere ginger-bread, compared
with these inaccessible and everlasting battlements of
nature. A gorge, or defile of two miles in length, just
wide enough to admit a single horse, and walled in by
hanging mountains of slate and granite, barred all approach,
except of a single person at a time. A cabin,
constructed rudely, but with great strength of massive
rocks, and inhabited by select warriors, the most trustworthy
of the tribe, was built at the point where the
gorge opened into the valley, and every one who entered
must pass through this cabin, and by these
warriors. So situated, and so guarded, it might be
considered, as they considered it, impregnable to any
force which, in the present fermenting and distracted
state of the Spanish provinces, they could bring against
it.

The Commanches bear a general resemblance to the
rest of the North American Indians. Inhabiting a
healthful and temperate climate, living in constant
abundance from their inexhaustible supplies of game,
and having vast herds of cattle, horses, and mules, and
constantly exercising in the open air, they attain the
most perfect and entire developement of the human
form. They are of fine persons, large, muscular, and
athletic. They are courageous, fierce, and independent,
knowing no law, but their own proud wills. I saw
manifest proofs of their having put the Spaniards under
frequent and heavy contributions. For, besides that
their trade with the Americans supplied them with
rifles and yagers, they had levied from the Spaniards
carabines, powder, and lead; and quantities of bullion,
silver, gold, and massive plate appeared in the cabins
of the principal war chiefs. There were also cumbrous
articles of mahogany furniture, splendid dresses and
trappings, and crosses of gold, decked with gems,
among them. The Creole captives from the Spaniards
were retained as slaves, and performed menial drudgery.
Some of them were intermarried among the
savages, and there were numbers of children of this
mixed race.

I had every chance to study this singular people, for
my companion was so constantly and laboriously employed
in collecting horses, mules, pelts, and silver, that he
left me almost continually alone among a people of
whose language I knew not a word. The stranger's
cabin, which I inhabited, was superintended, by the
appointment of the tribe, by Arci, or The Red Heifer, a
young, stout, and finely formed squaw. She was active,
assiduous, and shrewd. She knew every thing
that was passing in the village, especially as regarded
the concerns of the younger members of it. From the
rapid advancement which I made in her good graces, I
drew presages of the havoc which I was afterwards to
make among hearts in this region. She was of course
often with me, for she was cook, steward, and manage-general
for the cabin in which I dwelt. She delighted
to teach me her language, and she made at least as
rapid progress in learning mine. It was some time
before my vanity had made the discovery, that I was
in the progress of subduing the heart of this fierce
damsel. I was at first rather astonished at the assiduity
with which she waited on me, and the rapidity with
which she mastered words and sentences in my language.
She did not long leave me in doubt about the
real motive of her diligence. It became palpable to
me, and, notwithstanding she practised some awkward
attempts at concealment, to all the tribe, that she
viewed me with eyes of partiality. I soon found myself
involved in difficulties from this quarter. If I could
manage this regard without either affront or too much

encouragement, it would insure me much attention, an
excellent teacher, and the most accurate intelligence.
If I affronted her by a direct rejection of her kindnesses,
she was the daughter of the second council chief, and
of so much importance, as to have been recently on
the brink of marriage with Menko, or The Torrent, the
young, fierce, and principal war-chief of the tribe.
The marriage had been recently broken off by that
chief, without assigning any reason. It was clear that
she entertained deadly revenge towards him, and no
little jealousy for the young and beautiful Spanish captive
in his keeping. She attributed the breaking off
her marriage with Menko to his growing love for his
fair charge, and had no backwardness to do an ill office
for both, if occasion offered.

I saw at once that it would require no little management
to preserve the right medium in my intercourse with
this tender virago, so as to commit myself with no party.
It was but a few days before this apt pupil and myself
had words enough in common in our two languages, in
which to bring me acquainted with much of the secret
and interior history of the tribe. I began with great
caution to hint some curiosity about the Spanish captive,
for whom I began to feel rather a vexatious interest.
However indirectly I approached that subject, The Red
Heifer instantly proved, against all gainsayers of our
common origin, that she was a lineal descendant from
Eve. She drew up at once, manifested temper, and
only let me know that this proud danghter of the white
people was a “medicine,” and was then sullenly silent
upon the subject.

In other respects I was delighted with my abode.
Here was the very spot so sweetly described by the
Mantuan; “Muscosi fontes, et somno mollior herba.”
I botanized, and read, and walked, and inhaled the
ambrosial atmosphere, and studied the natives, and began
the first lines of a sonnet to the locks of “Laura;”
but found my easily besetting sin, of dreaming with my
eyes open, carrying it over all other inclinations. I
spent the greater part of every fine day in the cool
peninsula under the shade of the catalpas. Here were
my books, and my materials for writing and drawing.
I had erected a sod seat, and rude shelves, and a table,
and gave into my dreaming existence in ample style.
I made daily progress in becoming acquainted with the
people, and my way of amusing myself, so entirely
different from theirs, seemed rather to render me an
object of curiosity, and to propitiate their good will.
The only unpleasant circumstances of my condition
were the inability to learn any thing about the captive,
who dwelt within a hundred paces of me, except enough
to stimulate a vexatious curiosity, and the difficulty of
sustaining, without either encouragement or offence, the
purrings of my enamoured panther. The captive was
retained in studied seclusion in the cabin of the mother
of Menko, and was seen by no other man, and by him
only by day, and in presence of his mother. I was sufficiently
warned, that for me to attempt to enter that
cabin, would have given mortal offence. Apart from the
restraint which savage customs generally impose upon
intercourse with women, the high rank, and probably

the personal beauty, and, more than all, the exorbitant
ransom demanded for her, dictated this mystery
and forbearance in relation to this captive.

In this way elapsed my first week, and I was beginning
to feel myself domesticated in the valley. On the
seventh morning of my residence there, I repaired to
my accustomed haunt, and was both surprised and delighted
to see it occupied by a very young and beautiful
lady. The first glance showed me, that here all my
fairy dreams were out; and all my imaginings of the
beau idéal were here actually before me. To exempt
me from the charge of enthusiasm and extravagance, it
will be only necessary to consider the circumstances of
this meeting. An ordinary young woman, so situated,
would probably have seemed an approach towards angelic
beauty and excellence. I had seen all women in
my own country with equal indifference, but one. That
one was the youngest daughter of our minister. I confess
that her black eyes, ruddy cheeks, and curling locks,
had given me a few transient pangs, which I passed off
at the time as attacks of heart-burn, and for which
chalk and magnesia had been prescribed. Judge, then,
what passed within me, when I saw my seat occupied
by a vision, as fair as the poet's dream; a very young
lady, whom my imagination had pictured as disheveled,
subdued, the image of terror and despair, sitting rather
stately and erect, with buoyant hope and spirit in her
eye, and self-estimation and command impressed upon
her whole person. I am naturally awkward at descriptions
of this sort, but I will attempt to convey some

idea of my first impressions. She seemed not more
than fourteen, but tall, finely formed, with an Italian
face, an almost imperceptible shade of olive softening
the glow of health and freshness in her cheek; eyes of
that black and lustrous brilliancy, that so struck Lord
Byron, as the peculiar trait of a fine Spanish woman.
Raven tresses curled luxuriantly upon a head, moulded
in the finest form for intelligence. The effect of
her condition seemed to have produced a cast of
melancholy, with which native dignity and youthful
vivacity maintained a constant struggle. Her costume
was, according to my impressions from reading,
European Spanish—the most striking part of it a
velvet mantilla, with a belt sparkling with gems,—and
for the rest, it appeared a riding dress; the whole
wearing an air of splendor and fête unaccountable in
her condition, upon any other supposition than, what I
afterwards learned was the fact, that it was the very
dress in which she was taken on horseback, and conveyed
here as a prisoner.

So complete was the screen of verdure in my alcove,
that I was within four paces of her, before I saw that
my seat was occupied. Astonishment arrested my steps,
and I must have looked particularly foolish. I bowed
low; my cheeks burned, and I was awkwardly retiring.
She partly arose, slightly inclined her head, and, in a
manner in which naïveté pride and confusion contended,
asked me in French, “Pourquoi fuyiez-vous?” I
turned, and stammered something in the same language
about my unwillingness to interrupt or disturb her.

“But,” she answered, “you do not interrupt me. I
came here expressly to meet you. Stranger! I have
but a moment with you. The rules of my captivity,
and the cruel circumstances of my confinement,
allow me very seldom to go abroad. This is one of
the times allowed. It is precious, and I must make
the most of it. I have done you the justice to suppose
that you could enter into my situation, and that you
would at once comprehend that it excludes observance,
and the forms of society, which should be so inviolable
under other circumstances. Your honor and your pity
will alike prevent you from thinking me forward, or
acting unworthily, when I tell you, that I have inquired
about you, and sought this meeting. Your companion
is generally away, and you are the only being in this
valley to whom I could have a thought of appealing,
under my deplorable circumstances, for protection.
Upon inquiry of Arci about you, I made so much from
her information, as to assure myself that you were not
a man of the rough and common mould. I am an unhappy
captive, torn from a father and mother inexpressibly
dear, and who have no other child. I had been
on an invited party to the house of a friend of my
father, who resided two leagues from Santa Fe. I was
returning in the evening in the midst of my servants.
In a moment we were surrounded by these ruthless
savages. A few shots were fired upon us, and my
servants, and the gentleman that accompanied me, dispersed
in different directions. They seized the bridle
of my horse, and surrounded me with their warriors.
Resistance and cries were equally unavailing. They
brought me to this valley. I have already been confined
in this prison, which, under other circumstances,
would be so delightful, six weeks. The chief, who
headed the party that took me, is called Menko. The
tribe understood the value of their prize. They placed
me under the protection of his mother, and I have been
treated with consideration. A few days since I made
an effort to escape, was apprehended, and brought
back. Since that, the visits of Menko have been more
frequent, and his manner less restrained. There is
something terrible to me in his regards, and in his
whole deportment. Think, Sir, that this fierce and
horrible being expresses to me, in his way, that he
loves me.” As she said this she crossed herself, half
kneeled, and looked towards the sky for a few moments,
seemingly engaged in intense devotion. Her flashing
eyes were dimmed with tears. She slowly regained
her composure, and resumed, as follows. “My only
comfort now is, that you are here, and that this dreaded
being is absent. He went with a deputation from the
tribe to Santa Fe, to treat with my father concerning
my ransom. The deputation should have arrived two
days since. I should have trusted to this mode of
deliverance, and should not have troubled you with my
story; but from the frequent visits of Menko before he
started, from his mother, my keeper, and, more than
all, from Arci, I gather that something secret and terrible
is about to befall me. Sleep flies from me. I sit
at the little opening in the place where I sleep, and
strain my vision in the direction in which the deputation
should arrive. And yet I have a horrible presentiment,
that if it should arrive with the price of my ransom, I
am not to be liberated. Dear, dear parents! Pitying
mother of Jesus! And you, compassionate stranger,
aid me in this extreme distress.” A burst of irrepressible
grief here cut short her communication for some
moments.

After this pause she seemed to struggle for composure,
as she brushed away the fresh starting tears.
“Stranger! you are of our race. You are instructed,
and must be a man of humanity. Surely my confidence
in you cannot be misplaced. Should it appear,
after the arrival of the deputation,' that I am not to
be set at liberty, or in any event, if I am to be persecuted
by that being, I put every thing dear into your
hands, and appeal to you to aid me to escape to my
parents. Whatever motives detain one of your pursuits
in this place, they could not but operate to induce you
to such an act of honor and humanity; and there is
nothing of reward, or gratitude, that such an act would
not claim from my parents.”

She paused, as if for my reply. You cannot doubt
what reply I would have made to any woman under
such circumstances. Add, that this was the very scene
for the visions of romance, and that this lovely girl, in
such extreme distress, seemed more interesting, the
more closely I considered her; that she threw herself
with such a simple and dignified confidence, which circumstances
seemed so well to justify, upon my honor and

my protection; and I must have been stupid and unfeeling,
not to have been ample in protestations of aid and
protection to the utmost extent of my power. I have a surmise,
that I was rather eager and eloquent in advancing
these pledges; for, as I made them, a transient blush
succeeded to the paleness of her previous distress.

There was earnestness and sweetness in her mode of
thanking me. “And now,” she continued, “to the
manner of aiding me. I take you at your word. You
will place it to anxiety about inventing the means of
this escape, that I have learned that Arci, so influential
among the young warriors, loves you; and we are both
pursued by these savage fires. I will not trifle with
you, by supposing that such a regard from such a person
could have any influence with you. She, in her
turn, is beloved by the warrior who commands the entrance
to this valley, and who arrested me in my attempt
to escape. You will easily account for the interest
with which I have studied into this secret history. Calculate,
and manage rightly your influence upon these
two persons, and you may furnish me, through that
influence, the means of escape. Through the warrior,
the egress from this valley may be left unguarded.
Through Arci this may be obtained of him, and horses
may be in readiness, and we may fly, I, from a condition
worse than death, and to a family, of which I am the
only hope; and you, to a compensation exceeding my
ransom, if wealth be your object here; and, if I have
rightly interpreted your character, to the applauses of
your own heart, a still higher compensation.”

You may be sure that I disavowed mercenary views,
for, in fact, I had none. Motives of another sort thrilled
through me, and I was again voluble, if not eloquent,
even in French. Having exhausted all that I had to
say on the score of promise, I intreated that she would
so far confide in me, as to meet me often, until the
means of escape could be devised. To this she returned,
“That nothing but the emergency of the case
could have justified advances like the present. Future
interviews could not further the means of escape. Were
they proper in themselves, they would only be observed,
and excite jealousy, and retard the object in view.”
She earnestly conjured me to think of her case with
compassion, and that if any chance offered to aid her,
Arci would inform her; for, that she suspected, that
Arci was jealous of her supposed influence with Menko,
her former lover, and that very circumstance, she
hoped, would induce her to communicate any intelligence,
or aid any plan, that would facilitate her escape.
But she closed, “You will see, stranger, that I can
have no object in future interviews, except so far as
they might aid our escape. They would be useless to
you, and unfitting to me. Upon this point I have deliberated,
and resolved. Remember me. All is confided
to your prudence.” Saying this, she arose and
retired, and I followed her with my eyes, until the
cabin excluded her from my sight.

I had now matter enough for rumination, and no
further need of an imaginary Laura. One simple
thought took possession of my whole mind, and that

was, to meditate through the day, and to dream through
the night, upon the means by which this interesting
captive might fly from her savage prisoners. I went
this day more than once to the bower, to see if she had
not altered her resolution, and come there to meet me
again. I am not sure, that I did not give so far into
the illusions of my imagination, as to suppose her present,
and to make a suitable speech upon that supposition.
In the evening I had an interview of a very
different character and interest. The Red Heifer lingered
after supper, and I saw clearly that I must prepare
myself for an explanation. In fact, she let me know,
without circumlocution, that the honor she intended me
was no other, than to offer me all her wealth, consisting
in a large quantity of vermilion, a complete assortment
of Indian finery, a rifle, a yager, dogs, mules, horses,
cows, and that, upon which she seemed to have affixed
the least value, some ingots of silver; and all this, only
with the incumbrance of a fine athletic squaw, six feet
and an inch in height, and with broad copper-colored
cheeks, painted as red as vermillion could make them.
She gave me to understand that her husband would, by
the customs of the tribe, be entitled to the same rank
with her father. Her offer of her substantial person
was in English, and was a curiosity in its kind, and ran
nearly in this form. “You silly. You weak. You
baby-hands. No catch horse. No kill buffalo. No
good, but for sit still—read book. Never mind. Me
like. Me make rich. Me make big man. Me your
squaw.” The caution of the fair captive, to turn the
affection of this tender heroine to account, struck me
with great force. I knew too little of the workings of
the savage heart, to judge exactly of the medium I
ought to pursue. I made up my reply, however, on
the presumption of her descent from our common
mother, and said every civil thing that I could, particularly
thanking her for her good opinion of me, and my
sense of my unworthiness of such a prize. I begged
her to wait on me, until I should have learned something
more of their ways, and rendered myself more
worthy of the honor, by performing some exploit. The
idea of waiting struck her unpleasantly, but the unction
of soothing words anointed that sore. She continued
to hang round me, and to deal out to me the little
stories and slanders of the tribe. I endeavoured, with
as much address as I could command, to turn the
conversation upon the subject of the Spanish captive,
and to draw from her what she knew about the
final views of Menko, in regard to her ransom and liberation.
A flash of indignation and fierceness kindled
in her eye, and she eagerly replied; “You bad. You
same, like Menko. She white. You love. Never
mind. She no love back. Her father big man, rich
no like your people. You no believe great spirit
Never mind. Me hate Menko bad. Me glad she go
away. Nobody love Arci. She here.” This was just
the string I wished to harp. I told her, as well as
could explain myself, that I pitied the poor captive
greatly; that, like her, I wished to see her away, and
to know that she was among her friends; that, in wishing
this, I was influenced by no other motive, than compassion,
and that she could do nothing for me for which I
should be so thankful, as to give me any information
about her, or any assistance in attempting to enable her
to escape. I imperceptibly approached my wishes with
respect to her interference with the warrior, who commanded
the approach to the valley; that through her
he might be gained to allow the captive to escape. I
told her, that of course I expected all this to be a profound
secret. “Yes. Me love,” she replied; “me
no tell. Me tell—Menko kill you.” But her notions
of fidelity to the tribe were of the most trusty and high-minded
cast. She could not contemplate the idea of
tempting the sentinel to desert, though she took care to
let me know, that she did not doubt her influence with
him to that point. I then informed her, that I had seen
and conversed with the captive, and that she had apprehensions
that Menko was not in good faith in regard
to her ransom. She answered, as it appeared, with
entire confidence, that Menko was a bad man, with
great power, but that he would not dare to injure a
person under the sacred protection of the tribe; and
that all the members had too great an interest in their
share of the ransom, to allow him to think of any dangerous
practices upon her. She promised, however,
that she would watch every motion of Menko, and give
me certain and timely intelligence, if there should be
any real ground of apprehension.

Though disappointed in my attempts to influence
Arci to furnish the direct means of escape, I flattered

myself that another time her heart or her passions
might be so moved, as to bring it about. I spent the
remainder of the day in painful efforts to imagine some
other means of her escape. All my inventions were
heavy, or attended with some insuperable difficulties.
I wandered to the pass, and conversed with the sentinel,
using all the words that I knew, and striving to win his
confidence. I gained all the information that I could
glean from him, respecting the road from that point to
Santa Fe. I returned and sauntered round the cabin,
where the captive, who occupied all my thoughts, was
concealed. Access was forbidden; but there are no
barriers to the imagination, and I busied myself in supposing
her position, and her thoughts, under the covert
of the rude tenement, and I made most fervent vows,
that no effort should be wanting to free this mistress of
my thoughts.

As the sun began to decline, I heard a' shout, apparently
of joy, in the direction of the pass. It was
echoed back again by the whole tribe. The old men,
the warriors, the women and children, set up such
piercing yells of joy, as none can imagine but those
that have heard. Thirty warriors, with Menko at
their head, accompanied by a Spanish officer and six
soldiers, came riding up the valley towards the village.
Arci told me it was the return of the deputation from
Santa Fe; that they had stipulated the ransom of the
captive, and that she was to depart the next morning,
under the guard of the Spanish officer and soldiers.

I had been painfully engaged in straining my thoughts

to devise the means of her liberation. It appeared,
that she was now like to be liberated without any effort
of mine. I confess that I felt a selfish feeling of regret,
that there was no chance of my having any agency
in the business. The Spanish officer spoke French. I
introduced myself to him, and he courteously detailed
to me all the circumstances of the ransom. From him I
learned the name of the captive. She was called Doña
Martha Miguela d'Alvaro. Her father had been on a
visit to Santa Fe, to quell the dawning spirit of insurrection
in the province, of which that place was the
capital. He spoke with great feeling of the beauty
and accomplishments of the lovely captive, and the
desolation of her parents at her loss, adding, that immediately
on regaining the daughter, having succeeded
in the objects of his visit, he should set out with her for
her father's residence at Durango.

Here, then, was the vanishing of all my fairy visions.
A single interview, extorted only by the extreme pressure
of her condition, was no ground on which to seek
an introduction to her father, even if I accompanied the
escort on its return with her, as the Spanish officer
invited me to do. None but voluntary engagements
detained me here, and I painfully felt that when she
should be gone, my interest in the valley would be
at an end. The pleasure of contemplating beautiful
scenery is soothing, without much excitement, and fades
at once before the higher excitements of the feelings
and the heart. But on what pretext could I follow
her? Certainly not on the slight ground of one casual

meeting, where circumstances compelled her to make
me a confidant, in want of all others. The thought of
never seeing the fair prisoner again was a bitter one.
While I was thus “chewing the cud of sweet and bitter
fancies,” my cabin door opened, and the tall and fierce
figure of The Red Heifer was before me. It was not the
time for her coming to discharge her usual functions.
I was aware that she must have communications which
she deemed important, and I waited in breathless impatience
to hear what she had to say. She first made
a motion to enjoin secrecy; adding the emphatic word,
“Hush! You tell,—me die, you die.” I promised to
be hush, as death. In her laconic dialect, which only
gave the leading words, and left all the rest to be supplied
by looks and gestures, she informed me, that the
warrior, who guarded the pass, her lover, had just been
telling her, that Menko was a bad and treacherous warrior,
who meditated the basest treason against the tribe;
which was no other, than to run away with all the
money which was the ransom of the captive, and which
had been entrusted to his care, and to carry her off
with it, that night, and fly to the Appaches, a numerous
and fierce tribe of savages, then at open war with the
Spaniards. He proposed to offer himself as a warrior,
who for ever renounced the Commanches, and wished
to join himself to them. Such elopements from one
tribe to another were common; and a warrior, of such
high fame as Menko, with so much money in his hands,
could have no doubt of his reception among them.
Menko proposed to her lover to leave the pass unoccupied,
and to accompany his flight, with the promise
of one half of the ransom as a bride. The sum was
thirty thousand pesos in gold, an immense bribe. “But,”
said she, “he no white, like you. But he good. He
no run off to Appaches.” He had not, however, been
blind to a motive among savages the most powerful of
all, that if Menko were away, himself would of course
become the head war-chief of the tribe. All chances
too that he would renew his claims upon The Red Heifer,
on which score her lover had jealous fears, would be
obviated. With these views, although he would not
consent to fly to the Appaches, for half the ransom, he
had stipulated to allow Menko to escape with the captive,
and had invented a plausible story, which would
account for the escape without implicating himself. She
closed by saying, “Me glad white woman go. Glad
Menko go. Me good. Me tell all. Me your squaw
now.”

The moment I received this intelligence, it confirmed
the ground of the apprehensions of the captive. I was
impatient to get rid of Arci, who still lingered about
me, expecting some marks of regard, proportioned to
the importance of her communications. I imagined a
pretext, and sent her away on it. As soon as I was
alone, a confusion of thoughts came over my mind.
What was to be done? I could make no communications
to the Spanish officer, nor to the chiefs without committing
Arci, and violating the most solemn promise of
secrecy. Besides, her deliverance, on which I was
determined, was a thing in which I wished for no coadjutors.

I wished to achieve the exploit unaided and
alone. My resolutions and my plan were quickly formed.
I had been simply a student, and all my pursuits
and habits had disqualified me for enterprises of the
sort I meditated. But I had never felt the least lack
of personal courage. I was muscular and nimble, in
an unusual degree. I was in perfect health, and had
at command a spirited horse, and a complete equipment
of arms, and my recent undertaking had put me in
daily training for the use of them. I placed this lovely
girl, in all the beauty of her interview with me, full before
my eyes. I imagined the agony and despair of the
helpless victim completely in the power of the lawless
and brutal savage. His powers were indeed gigantic,
but I much excelled him in agility. I felt myself nerved
to any point of daring, and there was not a particle of
apprehension in my mind. As soon as the twilight disappeared,
I stole out to the little stable, where my
horse was penned every night. I saddled him unobserved,
and carried out my holster of pistols. I then
returned, took my supper as usual, and despatched
Arci from the cabin, complaining that I was ill, and
wished to retire early to rest. The moment she was
gone, I was out and mounted, and riding under the
covert of the trees and shrubs to the entrance of the
valley. Fortunately, it was a night peculiarly favorable
to my purpose. It was sultry and thick with
smoky mist. Fleecy pillars of clouds were spread over
the sky, that emitted frequent and brilliant flashes of
lightning. I was stationed under a thick shade, that
entirely concealed both me and my horse, and yet so
near the pass, that, when the sentinel moved, I could
see his whole figure by the lightning, and even its
gleams upon his tomahawk. I waited in this position
until nearly midnight, when I saw the sentinel move off
in the direction of the village. Shortly after I heard
the trample of two horses, rapidly approaching the pass.
The lightning still gleamed in the distance, and my
heart palpitated so loudly, that other sounds became
indistinct to my ear. It was only a moment before I
saw, by the lightning, the gigantic and terrible figure of
Menko, and a female figure, apparently bound fast to
to her horse, and seemingly struggling to disengage
herself, and to speak. He had the bridle of her
horse in his hand, and both horses disappeared beyond
the cabin of the pass. My blood boiled, and the
glow at my heart seemed to endow me with gigantic
prowess. It occurred to me, that it was prudent to
follow them at such a distance, as neither to be seen
nor heard. Accordingly I waited until I supposed they
were half a mile in advance of me. I then followed
them, not meaning to overtake them, until both they
and myself were beyond the apprehension of any interference
from any of the inmates of the valley. I
continued to ride on behind them, sometimes so near,
that, by the diminishing flashes of lightning, I could
barely distinguish their figures in the obscurity, and
then falling back, through fear of being myself observed,
until I judged that we were ten miles from the valley.
I there came upon a prairie, a level table plain, a little
as the highest earthly boon. His feelings would
have been consulted with the most careful delicacy.
Could he have had even his father's house dog for
a companion, he would have felt comparatively
happy.

He had wandered, perhaps, two leagues from the
point where he was cast ashore. He had seen in
all the distance, no animals of any size, but kangaroos;
and the timid manner in which they
avoided him, evidenced that he had nothing to apprehend
from them. But he was not sufficiently
acquainted with the natural history of this region
to judge, whether there might not still be beasts of
prey. His fears would naturally suggest, that there
were. He had seen serpents, but they seemed
rather of the harmless class, than those deadly ones,
that generally inhabit tropical regions. The place
might be inhabited, though he no where saw the
trace of human footstep. The dews of the night
were like rains; and he well understood, how adverse
they were to life in such climates. He made
his way to the foot of the mountains, and employed
the fading twilight in searching along their bases
for some cavern of retirement and shelter. But he
sought in vain. The first bench of ascent was, for
the most part, a smooth, shining and perpendicular
wall of three hundred feet in height, without fissure,
or interstice. He found a somewhat thicker shade
where a number of small trees interlaced their
branches, and wove together a thickness of foliage,
which looked as if it would exclude the dew, and

to entangle his arms, and parry his efforts to draw his
dirk, until he should exhaust himself in putting forth his
brute strength. I received severe bruises, and felt his
horrid teeth fixed in my arms and elsewhere, but I still
held to the defensive, and let him struggle on. He
some how contrived to disengage his dirk from his
bosom, and gave me a cut in the arm; but I had soon
the satisfaction to discover that his strength was sinking
in exhaustion, and that his efforts were growing more
feeble. I availed myself of a momentary slackening of
his hold of me, and summoning my yet unwasted powers,
I threw him off me, and was uppermost in my turn.
In a moment he received my dirk in his bosom. He
uttered the yell of a fury, and disengaged himself from
me, as though I had been but an infant. He made a
deadly thrust, which, had I not parried, would have
been mortal. As it was, I was severely wounded in
the arm by which I warded off the thrust. This was
his expiring effort. He fell with a convulsive sob, and
was still.

I was covered with blood, both his and my own. I
felt it trickling from my wounds, but equally felt
that they were not mortal. I ran to the captive, who
sat on her horse at a little distance from the combat.
A handkerchief was so passed over her face, that
she was only able to utter the hoarse and scarcely
audible sounds of distress. I tore away the handkerchief,
unbound her pinioned arms, cut away the rope
by which she was bound to the horse, and made myself
known to her. Her terror and the agony of her

situation took from her for some moments the power
of reply. I placed her gently on the grass, and made
all the efforts that the case admitted, to calm her terrors
and her agitation; and I made her comprehend
the danger of pursuit from the valley, and that no time
was to be lost. Her first words were scarcely articulate
thanks to the Virgin for her deliverance, and her
next were inquiries if I had received wounds in the
affray. I answered that I was slightly wounded, but
begged her to think of nothing but escape; and as soon
as she was able, to mount her horse and fly towards
Santa Fe. To be in preparation for this flight, I took
the horse of the savage that I had slain, and brought him
to mine. The horse was literally loaded with the money
of the ransom, and with bars of bullion. I apportioned
this among the three horses, and encouraged the young
lady to mount her horse again. She uttered earnest
and vehement exclamations, indicating mingled terror
and thankfulness, and promised to exert her best
strength to fly. To mount and be off was but the work
of a moment, and I felt no compunction to leave the
wretch that I had slain, to the burial of the carrion vultures.

It was not long before my fair companion regained
her powers, the use of words, and a sufficient degree of
composure to talk of her wonderful escape, and to find
those artless, but powerful expressions of gratitude,
which indicated at once strong feeling and a quick sense
of delicacy and propriety. “I shudder to think of the
condition,” said she, “from which you have rescued

me. Death were but a trisle, in comparison of what I
had to apprehend. Oh! what words could describe
what I felt, while you were engaged in the mortal struggle.
I cannot imagine how you could have triumphed
over such a terrible and gigantic enemy. Your voice
is faint, and I much fear that you have deceived me as
to the severity of your wounds.” I endeavoured to
quiet her apprehensions by assuring her, that my exertions
and powers of horsemanship would show her that
I was not dangerously wounded; that for the rest, I
waved all thanks, if so that she would put her horse to
his utmost speed, and render the deliverance effectual,
by getting too far in advance of pursuit to be overtaken.

But, in truth, I felt myself weak and exhausted.
I had, indeed, achieved a considerable victory, had
won back an immense booty, had shown some daring,
and had delivered a distressed damsel of exquisite
beauty, and under circumstances which must call
forth grateful feelings, and render me something of a
hero in her eye. All these invigorating motives did not
hinder nature from asserting her claims. I felt my exhaustion
increase with every mile of advance. I frequently
and anxiously looked back towards the regions
of the morning. But it seemed, in my weakness and
impatience, as though the sun had forgotten to rise. I
trembled from the chill of the morning air, the pain of
my wounds, and the apprehension of pursuit; and my
companion discovered increasing fears about my wounds.
Her apprehension rose to terror, as the increasing

twilight disclosed my whole dress covered with blood
and the paleness of my countenance.

At length the sun arose, and in his glory, from the
rolling mists which curled above the snowy mountains,
down the green slopes of which we had been winding.
At the distance of half a league below us on the plain
appeared a village, inhabited partly by Spanish, and
partly by civilized Indians. Their flat-roofed and whitewashed
dwellings resembled, in the distance, little square
towers, and the smokes of their fires streamed aloft
from the peaceful hamlet. I welcomed the prospect as
the omen of repose and protection. Weak as I was
my heart exulted. Elysian prospects danced before
my imagination. I had fabricated in fancy the
last act of my drama, and the catastrophe was most
delightful. I turned to my fair companion. “Courage!”
said I; “we are free. This is the first prospect that
guarantees us against the danger of your being recaptured,
and carried back again. I have not dared to
believe in the reality of your deliverance until now.”
She surveyed me as I was, all stained with blood, and
tears of tenderness and joy started into her eyes
“How much I fear,” she replied, “that I have purchased
this deliverance by suffering, and sickness, and
danger to you! I tremble to see how pale you are.”

We entered the village, and were soon surrounded
by a crowd of villagers, proposing to me and the young
lady a thousand questions. She waved them to retire,
and to send for the village surgeon. I did not understand
what she said, for she addressed them in Spanish

But I saw their grateful and glistening eyes turned upon
me, and comprehended that they could not retire satisfied,
until she had given them the substance of our
story. The authorities of the village attended us directly,
and we were conducted with homage and observance
to the little meson, and to the best apartment
in it. Nothing could have been more opportune than
this repose. I was almost fainting, before a mattress
could be prepared. But I retained consciousness
enough to observe, that my fair companion discovered
as much alarm and sensibility, as vanity itself could
have desired. When the sapient personage came, who
operated both as surgeon and physician of the village,
taken.

But, in truth, I felt myself weak and exhausted.
I had, indeed, achieved a considerable victory, had
won back an immense booty, had shown some daring,
and had delivered a distressed damsel of exquisite
beauty, and under circumstances which must call
forth grateful feelings, and render me something of a
hero in her eye. All these invigorating motives did not
hinder nature from asserting her claims. I felt my exhaustion
increase with every mile of advance. I frequently
and anxiously looked back towards the regions
of the morning. But it seemed, in my weakness and
impatience, as though the sun had forgotten to rise. I
trembled from the chill of the morning air, the pain of
my wounds, and the apprehension of pursuit; and my
companion discovered increasing fears about my wounds.
Her apprehension rose to terror, as the increasing

Here commenced between me and the young lady a
kind of contest, whose interests of the two should yield
to the other's. It was evidently dangerous for her to
remain. This village was near the Commanches, and
they could easily send such a force against it, as would
enable them to regain their captive, and at least the
price of her ransom would be demanded. She must
certainly dread the thought of being in any way in their
power again. This was an unanswerable argument, why
she at least ought to go on without delay. I, on my
part, insisted on this, and assured her that all I wanted
was breakfast and a glass of wine to be able to follow
her. She, on the contrary, insisted that the physician
must know best, whether it was safe for me to proceed;
that she apprehended no other danger from being pursued
by the savages, than being obliged to refund the
ransom—a matter to which she attached no consequence;
that, however anxious to return to her parents,
no consideration could induce her to leave me in such
a miserable place, and with such attendants, as long as
there was any danger in the case; peremptorily affirming,
that she should not depart until it was deemed safe
for me to accompany her. I believe that the first gallant
remark which I had ever made to any one, was,
that she was placing temptations before me in such
case, to affect to be sick, and thus prolong my stay.
To this she replied, slightly blushing, that there was no
call for remarks of that sort; that she proffered no
more than the simplest offices of humanity; that my
paleness sufficiently confirmed all that the physician

said; and that she better knew her duties, than to leave
one who had so nobly exposed himself, and so severely
suffered for her sake, from selfish considerations.

“Well, then,” I replied, “if you are peremptory, so
also will I be. I will have breakfast, and I will take a
glass of wine, and then, if my strength admits, I will
proceed on my way towards Santa Fe alone, if you will
not accompany me. For I am perfectly aware that this
doctor is a blockhead, and that all I need is refreshment.
If I have exposed myself, and suffered, I will
not consent that it shall all be unavailing, by allowing
you to remain here until you are overtaken, and carried
back to the valley.” So saying, I made signs to the
host that I wanted wine and breakfast. A fowl and
venison was soon placed before us, and a bottle of
exquisite Parso. I had to encounter the tender remonstrances
of my companion, and the grave assurances
of the physician, that this conduct would prove my
death. I ate, and drank, and was refreshed, and felt
no other inconvenience than a certain degree of stiffness
and soreness in my wounds, and weakness from the loss
of blood. When she saw it was of no further use to
remonstrate, the young lady took refreshment too. Our
bills were discharged, and I assisted her on horseback,
and mounted myself. The Alcalde of the village was
in attendance, offering any escort that the village could
furnish for guarding to her home so considerable a personage,
as the only daughter of the Conde Alvaro. For
my part, I felt happier, if not safer, to be alone, and

felt glad to hear her decline the proffered aid, wisely
remarking, that whatever force the savages should send
against us, would pass by the village, and that he could
make a more efficient resistance there, than with us.
The force that was offered us, had actually been collected
and put in array, in less than two hours that we
staid in the village. It was sufficiently formidable in
numbers, and in appearance not unlike the regiment of
Falstaff. I did not doubt that they would all have
scampered away in view of twenty Commanches. As
it was, they accompanied us with great parade a league
on our way.

I was refreshed and invigorated by the food and wine
that I had taken. Once more on horseback, and alone
with my fair protegée, my wounds, my recent peril, and
all the past was forgotten, and the future opened upon
me in all the rich coloring of hope. I contemplated
nearer and with a more intense interest my companion,
on whose fine countenance the buoyancy of youth, intelligence,
and spirit were gleaming again She admitted
that the physician must have mistook my case,
for that I had regained the same countenance in which
she had seen me at first. Her apprehensions on this
score relieved, and her native flow of spirits returning,
her conversation became frank and delightful. I was
astonished at a display of talent and acquirements, premature
in any place for a lady apparently so young,
and particularly unexpected from a young lady of that
country, whose inhabitants in general we have been
taught to consider so uneducated. The prematurity of

attainment might be accounted for by the well known
fact, that the mind, as well as the form of females is
developed earlier in southern, than in northern countries.
She informed me that she had been educated with
great care at a convent in Seville, in Old Spain, of
which city her father was an ancient grandee. He had
served with distinction in his early years on the coast
of Morocco against the Moors, and had sustained
various offices and honors there. Just before the
invasion of his country by Napoleon, he had been appointed
to the high and lucrative trust which he now
held in New Spain. Wisely foreseeing in the distance
the approaching distractions of the mother country, he
had in his own mind renounced it for ever as a home,
and had, on receiving the appointment in question, transferred
the proceeds of his immense estates to the new
world. He lived in dignified and princely retirement
near the seat of his government, Durango, in New
Spain. It was not long since he had sent for his
daughter.

At this part of her history her voice faltered. Her
countenance was suffused with the crimson of consciousness,
and she seemed to hesitate about proceeding any
farther in her narrative. But, apparently the naïveté
of youth, perhaps a wish to prepare me for an acquaintance
with her father's family by some previous knowledge
of its situation and members, possibly some little
interest in a young man, who might be supposed to
have some estimation in her mind, seemed to urge her
on. She went on to observe, that on arriving at her

father's house, she was introduced to a young gentleman,
called Don Pedro Guttierez, son of a nobleman
of Old Spain, who had been a compatriot and fellow-soldier
with her father, and who now discharged a
lucrative and important trust at Mexico. She instantly
perceived that there were particular views in his being
there at the juncture of her arrival; that, for her part,
she was ready to admit his prospects, rank, and dignity,
but that he had always been unamiable in her view;
that she might possibly come in time to esteem him as a
friend, or a relative, but in any nearer connexion never;
that she had expressed as much to her father, when he
intimated a wish that she might look at him with other
feelings; that events were proceeding in this train at
her father's house, until the preceding winter; that
then her father had been compelled, by the duties of
his office, to visit the frontier provinces, to quell the
spirit of insurrection against the existing government;
that she had accompanied her father, his family,
and Don Pedro in their journey to Santa Fe; that,
after having resided there for some time, she had been
invited to the fatal party of her father's friend; and that,
in returning from it, as has been related, she was captured
by the Commanches. She recurred to the forebodings,
of which she had spoken to me in the valley.
She perceived that Menko entertained for her sentiments,
for which she had no other name, than love;
that he had insinuated in his way, how much more
independent and happy the wife of a Commanche chief
would be, than the wife of a feeble and cowardly
Spaniard; that his mother often talked in the same
strain, and began finally to intimate to her the necessity
of making up her mind to receive Menko as a
husband, and to be adopted into the tribe, as so many
other captives were. To all this she had considered it
the part of policy to make no reply. Up to this time
she had trembled, indeed, to find herself a captive
among them; but it was a case that had frequently
happened, to be carried captive among them. Such
stories were familiar to her ear. She had never supposed,
for a moment, that any thing worse was likely to
come of it, than a heavy ransom, which she well knew
would be no consideration with her father. For they
made no secret, that they detained her simply with a
view to her ransom; that after Menko had arrived the
preceding day with the Spanish guard, her suspicions
of his intended treachery were first excited, by finding
that the Spanish guard was not allowed to visit her, Menko
pretending that all the preliminaries of the ransom
were not yet settled; that as soon as the evening came,
she found herself watched, and not permitted to leave
her cabin; that Menko then came in, and told her that
he was a much greater man than her father; that the
Spaniards were no better than squaws; that he was
determined to make her his squaw, as many of the
tribe had Spanish squaws; that he knew how to love
better than a pitiful white man; and that she should
have plenty of servants, horses, money, and vermilion,
and want nothing, if she would go willingly with him
among the Appaches. But that, if she made any difficulty,
he was not, like a white skin, to be turned
from his purpose, and that he would bind her fast,
and carry her off by force. He then insisted upon a
direct answer. She watched an opportunity, and made
an effort to get abroad, and reveal his intended treachery,
and claim the protection of the tribe; that Menko
and his mother brought her back by force, and bound
her, and placed a handkerchief over her face, as has
been related; and that not far from midnight they had
placed her on horseback, and bound her so firmly, that
all her struggles to disengage herself had been unavailing.

Such was the brief story of her captivity. From
this story she digressed to the history of her father's
family. It was sufficiently obvious, amidst all the delicacy
and circumspection of these details, that she
counted upon me for a while at least, as likely to become
a member of her father's family, and that she
wished me to have a full view of the ground before me,
with the benevolent wish, that understanding the different
characters, I might calculate best how to propitiate
them. She spoke of her father as honorable, high-minded,
ambitious, loving her more than any thing,
except power; but flexible and unsteady in his purpose.
In her eulogy of her mother, she was unsparing and
unqualified. She represented her as educated, gifted,
gentle, and affectionate in the extreme, and receiving
from her the entireness of filial affection. In speaking
of the father confessor, her views of the sanctity of his
office forbade her from describing him in terms of

reprehension. But I could perceive that she wished to
put me on my guard against him. It was clear, too,
that in her account of her admirer, whom she expected
to find with her father, more was meant than met the
ear, and that she wished me to see that it was out of
the question for me to think of any thing beyond the
claims of simple gratitude; and to caution me against
entertaining any aspiring views in my own case. At
least she wished me to take a full and entire survey of
the premises, and of all the rocks and quicksands, that
I might know how to steer my little skiff among them.
For the rest, with a great deal of spirit and vivacity,
she was all truth and simplicity. There was a laconic
force in her expressions, and a delightful Spanish accent
in her French, which rendered her conversation
singularly interesting. I was flattered by the pains
which she took to enable me to understand the bearings
of things in her father's family, and notwithstanding I
had requested her to recur no more to the subject of
her obligations to me, and though she seemed to wish
to avoid the theme, artless expressions of grateful
feeling, and anxiety that I might find it consistent to fix
myself in her father's family, escaped her in spite of
herself. I will fairly confess to you, that I did not at all
regret my loss of blood, nor the anguish of wounds,
which received such amiable and considerate sympathy.
I was a young man, and, to avail myself of the old
Latin saw, you could expect nothing of me foreign to
my age and feelings. It was to me a most delightful
journey, and, from the kindling brightness of her eye,
and the growing frankness of her conversation, I had
reason to believe not unpleasant to her. She listened
with the most flattering attention to my short
recital of the passages of my history up to the present,
and seemed as much astonished at the possibility of
such an education as mine being obtained in the States,
as I had been that she should have been so well instructed
in New Spain. She informed me, that a
thought occurred to her of an employment, as she
judged, suited to my character and pursuits, that would
offer in her father's family, which she hoped might induce
me to settle there. She did not, indeed, name it,
but stated that she would suggest it to her father, and
hoped that through him it would be offered and made
acceptable to me.

In these conversations, and in occasional stops at the
haciendas and mesons, the time passed rapidly. As
soon as we were free from the fear of pursuit, I could
have wished the distance to Santa Fe twice as great
as it was. The country was delightfully interesting,
and every prospect brightened in my eye. The people
all seemed good, obliging, and happy. I had not been
much used to the society of ladies, and, with one slight
exception, had seen all hitherto with the same indifference.
But I used every effort in this case to stand on my
best. Either joy exalted my imagination, or the country
was more beautiful, and the scenery more inspiring
than any I had seen, or the slight fever of my wounds
created a fermenting excitement in my brain. Be the
cause what it might, I felt myself a new man in point of

eloquence. I smiled internally at my own volubility.
Every thing seemed to suggest thoughts and words to
me. I was thorough in my French, but had never
been in habits of speaking it. But it appeared as if
the occasion had transformed me into a Parisian. I
remarked, more than once, that my energy of language
and fluency of expression brought a smile into her face,
in which there seemed to be a kind of arch consciousness.

Every thing on the earth, both joy and sorrow, have
their term, and this journey was too pleasant to last
long. The evening of the second day was drawing on,
when, in the direction of the setting sun, we saw the
glittering of the towers of Santa Fe. A peasant had
been sent in advance to advertise the Conde of the
approach of his daughter. “Yonder,” said she, turning
her melting and thankful eye to Heaven, “is the
house where reside my dear parents. What words
could convey the emotions of my heart, as I return to
them? And what do not I and they owe to you, generous
deliverer? The chill of death must be on this
heart, before it forgets its obligations.” Saying this,
her folded hands were clasped, and she appeared to be
devoutly occupied in thanksgiving, until we entered the
town. We were admonished that the news of her
deliverance and return had been spread, for we entered
amidst the ringing of bells, the discharge of cannon,
and an universal illumination of the town. The whole
population poured into the streets, and the welkin rung
with vivas, and acclamations. The canaille of the

streets thronged round us, and she was nearly stifled
with kisses and embraces; and I also had my share.
For immediately on entering the town, she admonished
me that it would be necessary for us both to dismount.
Our horses were led, and we conducted amidst these
acclamations to the public square, the place of the
palace, which the Conde occupied as his temporary
residence. Around this square was paraded all the
military of the town and vicinity, in sufficient numbers,
it seemed, to have blotted out the nation of the Commanches,
and to have obtained the release of the returned
captive by force.

At the gate that opened into the public square appeared
the Conde, surrounded by his officers. He
was a stout and venerable looking man, enveloped in a
flowing Spanish cloak, a broad drooping hat with white
plumes, and armed with a sword of portentous length
and size. His countenance was noble, but stern and
inflexible. The tout ensemble, with his air and manner,
strongly called up the remembrance of the prints of the
Spanish, in the times of Charles V. As soon as the
father and daughter saw each other, the state of the
grandoe gave place to the tenderness of the father.
Nature asserted all her claims. It was one of those
meetings which the imagination only can paint. At
the entrance of the great stair-case of the palace, the
daughter exchanged the arms of the father for those of
the mother, and the rapturous tears and sobbings were
from a motive the direct opposite of that which caused
the lamentations heard in Ramah. I had never witnessed

such a scene, nor such a cause for rejoicing.
The dogs barked for joy. Domestics, Indians, negroes,
mestizos, samboes, male and female, old and young,
crowded round the restored daughter. Clapping of
hands, kisses and embraces, tears and exclamations,
were seen and heard on every side. No language has
so many terms of fondness as the Spanish, and this
occasion seemed to exhaust them. Never did I see a
more affectionate, and apparently a more happy family.
After the salutations of the family, she received those
of the tall, whiskered, and stately Don Pedro, who
appeared to eye me from the first moment with the
lowering looks of distrust. Then she was welcomed
home by the dueña, and last of all by the father confessor.

Some minutes elapsed before there was sufficient
composure for my introduction. I was then introduced
by the daughter to her parents, with a concise, but
energetic statement of what I had done, and of her
obligations, in French. In the joyous burst of the
feelings called forth by the occasion, I went through
this formidable introduction with more confidence and
composure than I had expected. The speaking and
encouraging countenance of the daughter followed me
through it; and it was sufficiently visible to me, that
she wished me to make a favorable impression. The
Spanish are known for the strength and earnestness of
their feelings, when a great occasion excites them. I
could not have wished more ardent expressions of
admiration and gratitude, than I received from all.

I was the hero of the hour. Deep and unaffected concern
was manifested about my wounds and visible
paleness. My country, my religion, every thing was
overlooked, in contemplating my exposure, and its joyous
termination. It was a full hour before the restored
daughter had told enough of her story, and endured
enough of caresses, to be allowed to sit down in quiet.
We were then seated to chocolate, a supper, a gisado,
and confectionary. The daughter was seated between
the father and the mother, with a hand in the hand of
each. On one side was the father confessor, and on
the other Don Pedro. So seated, she gave a brief
narrative of her captivity and release in Spanish, and
so loud and distinct, that the assembled family could
hear. At every pause in her story, although I could
not comprehend the language, I could easily discern,
by the grateful and glistening eyes of the hearers turned
upon me, that I had my full meed of praise. If I ever
saw cause for envy, it was the feelings of the parents
and the child on this joyous occasion. From the supper
table we were ushered into the chapel. It was hung with
black, decorated with religious paintings, and lighted
with waxen tapers. The daughter turned upon me an
imploring look, the purport of which I understood to
be, to go as far as I could in imitating the observances
of the rest. High mass was celebrated by the father
confessor with great solemnity, and a Te Deum performed
on the organ. My views of religious obligation,
and my principles, allowed me to go certain, but not
all lengths, in joining in the ceremonies of their church.
A single look from the daughter, as I came from the
chapel, told me that, in her judgment, I had kept the
right medium in this observance.

I retired for rest, but, much as I needed repose, not
to sleep. The adventures of the three last days had
crowded upon me too rapidly, to allow my mind
easily to return to its natural level of repose. Its
agitation was that of the waves, just after the fury of
the storm has been suspended. I threw myself on the
stately and downy couch assigned me, and wished the
calm which sleep gives, before I took a view of my
actual position, and attempted to arrange my plans for
the future. But the more I courted sleep, the more
tumultuously thoughts crowded upon me. The old
question returned, What doest thou, and what wilt thou
do here? A youth, from the land of undeviating industry
and regular pursuits, in the wild regions west of
the Mississippi, then among savages, and soon after his
hands red with the blood of a fellow creature stretched
at his feet, a knight-errant, a deliverer of a beautiful
and distressed damsel; and finally in the palace of a
grandee of Spain, among Catholics, a people of other
manners, another language, and another religion. What
have I to do here? On what proper pretext stay?
Shall I accept a compensation which I have fairly won
with my sword? I came to this country with mixed
motives, not distinctly known to myself; but to acquire
a fair and honest fortune was, undoubtedly, one of my
hopes. Should I accept this compensation, and take my
leave, will not a certain image be painfully present to my

remembrance? At least there appears at present no
assignable ground for my remaining here. Because I
have delivered the daughter, shall I fix myself on her
family? What was the employment of which she spake?
And then, had she manifested no symptoms of flattering
partiality for me? None at all. That she had, was
the dictate of mere inexperienced vanity. She had
been simply grateful, and had taken pains to put an
extinguisher upon any such idle notions, by letting me
know that, by the family, all the elements of such a
calculation had been previously arranged and settled.
To look upon all sides of all these subjects was employment
enough for one night. I probably turned in my
bed at least a hundred times, and revolved as many
projects. I came in the end to no fixed resolution, but
this; I will follow the leading of circumstances. They
shall see that a well principled, and well educated young
man will never swerve, for a moment, from the conduct
prompted by integrity and self-respect. If these will
not allow me to remain here, I will join my company
when they come to this place of our union, and return
to my own country. On this resolution I fell asleep. I
am not sure of my dreams; but I think that I fancied
Doña Martha telling her parents that I was much to be
preferred to Don Pedro.