 | CHAPTER XXVI.
IN THE CAMP OF THE ENEMY. Clara Moreland, or, Adventures in the far
South-west |  |
26. CHAPTER XXVI.
IN THE CAMP OF THE ENEMY.
None of the Rangers were taken prisoners, and only
two made their escape—the others died fighting on the
ground. But the Mexicans paid dearly for their victory
—having lost one officer and seventeen privates, killed in
the skirmish—besides seven others very seriously, if not
fatally, wounded.
Stripping from the Rangers every thing of value, the
valiant victors proceeded to collect their own dead and
wounded, to take with them into Matamoras. They also
took from us our arms; and then separating us, detailed
four dragoons as a guard to each person—so much did
they fear something unexpected and desperate might suddenly
we were escorted to one of the upper ferries, and
taken across the Rio Grande. Day broke just as we
reached the right bank of the river; and as we entered
the city, the sun rose bright and beautiful, dispelling even
the gloom of the mind, and making every thing look pleasant
and cheerful.
Hundreds of citizens and soldiers were abroad—and
windows and roofs showed many a pretty pair of black
eyes peering at us as we rode past to the Grand Plaza,
whither our captors conducted us in triumph. This Plaza
is a large open square, surrounded by trees and buildings,
from which diverge several wide streets. On one side was
an unfinished Cathedral, and opposite it a prison. All the
houses fronting on the square were either brick or stone,
with very thick walls, and heavy iron grates to the windows.
From one of these, a massive stone structure, waved
the Mexican flag, and around the door stood several officers
in splendid uniforms. This was the head-quarters of
General Arista, who had lately arrived in town as commander-in-chief.
The Square, or Plaza, was full of soldiers
on parade—their new, beautiful uniforms, and bright,
glittering arms, as they marched and countermarched, setting
off their persons to great advantage, and giving them
quite a formidable military appearance.
Now that we were considered in safe quarters, we were
allowed to come together, though still surrounded by a
strong guard. The dead were also conveyed into the Cathedral,
to have mass said over the bodies, and the wounded
taken to the hospital, while our commandant went to
make a report to his chief.
“Where will our adventures end? and what will be the
end of them?” were the first words of the Colonel, in a
desponding tone, as we met in the Plaza. “But I beg
it must be very painful.”
“It is somewhat so,” replied Harley.
“If we could only get a surgeon, and have it attended
to!” said Clara, anxiously, who seemed to think more of
him than herself.
“A surgeon we must have,” said Walter, “if we can
possibly procure one. Father, you can speak a little
Spanish, pray make inquiry of one of these fellows, as to
how we can best manage the matter.”
The Colonel accordingly addressed a few words to one
of our guard; who answered in a surly tone, that as to
surgeon, he would like to act in that capacity long enough
to perform an operation on all our throats, or words to
that effect.
As the Colonel translated his reply, Clara exclaimed:
“Good heavens! have we indeed been passed from one
band of illegal cut-throats to another of legal assassins?”
“We indeed seem to be the foot-balls of Fortune,” replied
Harley; “and where the foot of the fickle dame
will send us next, Heaven only knows!”
“I think,” said I, “this fellow's gruffness is not a
standard by which to judge our foes: I have heard that
Spanish officers are gentlemen.”
“And so, doubtless, we shall find them,” rejoined
Harley.
While we were thus conversing, an order came to conduct
us into the presence of General Arista. To be brief,
we found him very polite and gentlemanly; and after
hearing our story, and asking us a few questions, he said
that we did not properly come under the title of prisoners
of war—as, when taken, we were not in arms against
Mexico; and if we would give our parole not to take up
arms against his country during the war now pending, we
should be at liberty to depart when and where we pleased.
We held a consultation among ourselves, and came to
the conclusion that such a parole too much encroached
upon the liberty of free-born Americans, and we declined
to accept his proposal.
“Then policy will compel me to order you under guard,”
was his reply.
“Let us give our parole not to attempt to leave the city
for a week,” suggested Harley.
To this proposition we all agreed; and on making it
known to Arista, he cordially accepted it, and invited us
to dine with him on the following day, when he said we
should meet some captured American officers. He then
gave us written permits to go any where within the limits
of the city, and politely bowed us out. We left the presence
with a very favorable opinion of the Mexican Commander.
Before setting out on his expedition in search of me,
Harley, with his usual forethought, not knowing what
might happen, had sewed up in the lining of an under-garment
a number of gold coins, which the freebooters, in
searching him, had not discovered; and these now proved
of incalculable benefit to us—all of whom, save him, were
penniless. With true generosity, he now made a general
distribution among the party; and as gold will always
command attention and respect in any country, we soon
had the satisfaction of knowing that, for the present, we
should want for nothing, and our spirits rose accordingly.
In a very short time we found ourselves fixed in comfortable
quarters; and a surgeon was sent for, who skillfully
set my friend's arm, and carefully dressed the wound.
While my friends procured such articles of clothing as
they stood most in need of, I made an entire renovation of
the outward man; and with a cleanly shaved face, and a
decent wig on my head, I flattered myself I once more
had the appearance of a very respectable white individual.
Beyond the exciting incidents of my adventures, I feel
that the reader can have very little interest in my personal
narrative; and were it otherwise, I have neither
time, space, nor inclination to record commonplace affairs.
I trust I may, therefore, with propriety, pass over all
periods of comparative inaction with a very few words.
During the week that I remained in Matamoras on
parole, I held frequent and long conversations with Clara
—my friends ever managing to leave us alone together,
the Colonel not excepted. These days, as I recall them,
are among the most pleasant of my life; and it was with
joy inexpressible I saw her spirits revive, the bloom of
health gradually return to her wan, faded cheek, and a
look of happiness beam from her soft blue eyes. But
withal, I was not wholly contented with my situation. I
foresaw there was soon to be a fearful struggle between the
armies of my country and Mexico; and I felt that in the
present crisis the former had need of every arm that
could be raised for her support. Love struggled in my
breast against duty and patriotism. I could not bear to
think of tearing myself away from one I so dearly loved,
perhaps never to see her again; and yet to remain here,
inactive, with my gallant countrymen contending against
overwhelming numbers, seemed a species of cowardice at
which my soul revolted. True, I was a prisoner, and not
a soldier; true again, I was but a single individual; and
of what advantage would be a single arm in so unequal a
combat? Then I reflected that an army was only so many
single individuals—that a thousand was only so many
units—and if all should reason thus, who would be left to
sustain the honor of my country? The first battle I knew
would be an important one—and if won by Americans,
would be of incalculable benefit, in inspiring confidence
and damping the ardor of the foe; if lost, vice versa.
The events of the week gradually determined me; and I
of my parole.
On dining with General Arista the day following our
arrival in Matamoras, I met two American officers who had
recently been made prisoners. In conversation with them.
I learned that Taylor's whole force was but little over two
thousand, while that under Arista was nearly treble this
number. The General, too, aroused my national pride, by
a remark which was translated to me. Speaking of Taylor,
he said it was a pity that such a handful of troops
should be entrusted to so fool-hardy a commander, who, to
gratify an over-weening confidence and vanity, might yet
venture to give him battle, when his whole force would be
swept away like chaff before the wind; and added, that
he pitied the soldiers as much as he despised their leader.
My cheek burned at this recital, and I felt I should like to
be one of the pitied few.
At the time of our capture by the Mexican troops,
General Taylor was encamped opposite Matamoras, hourly
expecting an attack. This attack, however, was not made;
and three or four days after, he withdrew with his main
force to Point Isabel, leaving the fort he had constructed
garrisoned by a regiment of infantry, under the command
of the lamented Major Brown. The news of his retreat,
as the Mexicans termed it, was hailed by the ringing of
bells, discharge of arms, and other demonstrations of joy.
On the second day after Taylor's departure, I was
startled early in the morning by a heavy cannonade, and
soon ascertained that the Mexican guns had opened upon the
Fort. The streets, too, were thronged with soldiers, who
were already marching out of the city, and crossing the
Rio Grande above and below the town. I knew by this
that a battle must shortly take place, and I felt more
than ever anxious to have a part in it.
Nothing had been said to us, meantime, about extending
more momentous affairs, we should be overlooked entirely.
At all events, I had resolved not to give any further
parole, and escape if I could when the present one should
expire.
And I had further resolved not to let my friends know of
my design till I had attempted to put it in execution—and
for these reasons: Clara, I knew, would strongly oppose
my going, and I wished to avoid a scene; the Colonel,
even, might not approve of it; Harley would object,
because his wound would not permit him to be my companion;
and Walter, I feared, would insist on accompanying
me, in which case all would have to be made known to
his father, or I be censured for his clandestine departure.
In view of all these things, I wrote a few lines to each,
telling them my plans, and giving my reasons for doing as
I did, and enclosed the whole in one envelope, addressed to
Colonel Moreland, and left it where it would be found the
morning after my departure.
To be brief, on the night following the expiration of my
parole, I managed to get past the sentinels stationed at the
lower part of the town, and, descending the Rio Grande
about a mile, swum across, and immediately repaired to
Fort Brown. Here, on being challenged, I answered:
“I am an American, and have just escaped from the
enemy.”
This procured me admittance; and on entering, I was
surprised to meet Captain Walker. He did not at first
recognize me, owing to my altered appearance; but on
mentioning my name, he offered me his hand, and said:
“I am glad you escaped—I hope your friends did also.”
In a few words I told him what had since happened to
us, and how I came to be at the Fort now.
“So,” he rejoined, “you wish to have a hand in the
all the men we can raise. Taylor is now at Point Isabel,
and between him and us the enemy is gathering in force.
The General heard the bombardment here, and resolved to
communicate with the Fort before setting out on his return
march. I brought his despatches safely through last night,
and within the hour shall be on my way back. If you
would like to accompany me, I will provide you with a
horse and arms.”
“The very favor I would have asked,” returned I,
eagerly.
“It is by no means a safe journey,” he rejoined.
“Between here and Point Isabel are some four or five
thousand of the enemy, and we may not expect to get
through without a brush.”
“I will join my fortune with yours,” said I.
“Enough!” he replied; and turning away, he gave
directions that a horse, etcetera, should be provided for
me.
At this moment another person was admitted into the
Fort; and what was my astonishment to recognize in the
new comer Walter Moreland! He was no less astonished
to find me here before him.
“Can I believe my eyes?” he cried, as he seized my
hand. “Why, Henry Walton, how in the name of all that
is wonderful do I find you here?”
“The very question I was about to ask you,” I replied.
Mutual explanations followed, by which it appeared that
we had both been seized with the same patriotic idea, and
each had planned and executed his escape like the other.
For the very same reason that I had kept my design a secret
from him, he had kept his a secret from me, and from his
friends also. Like myself, he had left a note behind, had
set out at the same hour, had got past the sentinels in
above Matamoras, while I was swimming it below.
“There is something very curious in all this,” said I:
“and it goes to prove, what never before occurred to me
—namely—that we may think alike as well as look
alike.”
Another horse was provided for Walter, and we set out
on our perilous journey—our party, with the gallant Walker
at its head, numbering only nine, all told.
About five miles from Fort Brown, we suddenly came
upon a strong picket-guard of the enemy, drawn up directly
in our way. They challenged, and Walker answered by
firing some three or four shots in quick succession, and
shouting to us:
“Charge through the — yellow skins, comrades, and
give them a volley as you pass!”
He led the way, and we followed, firing right and left;
and ere the astonished Mexicans had fairly comprehended
what was taking place, we were far on the other side of
them, speeding onward like the wind.
About a mile beyond the picket-guard, as we were
dashing on at the same furious speed, Walker, who was
still on the lead, suddenly wheeled his horse to the left,
plunged into some thick chaparral, and shouted:
“The enemy! the enemy! Bend low in your saddles
and follow me.”
Scarcely were the words spoken, when crack, crack
went some fifty muskets; and the balls whizzed over us,
under us, and about us, so that it seems a miracle none of
us were harmed. For the next ten miles we had to ride
with great caution; for we were completely surrounded by
the enemy, and nothing but the darkness saved us from
being killed or made prisoners. We had several other
narrow escapes, but got through in safety; and in five
report to General Taylor at Point Isabel.
Great fears had been entertained that he had either
been killed or taken prisoner; and his safe arrival, and
cheering intelligence that all was right at the Fort, was
hailed with every demonstration of joy—not only by his
own men, but by the whole army—and great enthusiasm
and high spirits were the consequence.
| CHAPTER XXVI.
IN THE CAMP OF THE ENEMY. Clara Moreland, or, Adventures in the far
South-west | |