The first action fought by the American army in the valley of Mexico, on
20th August, 1847, was at Contreras. It was an attack upon a fortified
camp, in which lay General Valencia with 6000 Mexicans, composed of the
remnant of the army beaten by Taylor, on the hills of Bueno Vista. It
was styled "The Army of the North;" most of the soldiers composing it
being from the northern departments--the hardy miners of Zacatecas and
San Luis Potosi,--and they were esteemed "the flower" of the Mexican
army.
On the previous day powder enough was burned to have cured the
atmosphere for twenty miles around; yet there was nothing done. We held
the ground, however, in mud up to our ankles. In this we lay shivering
under a cold drizzle until the morning.
By daylight we were at it in earnest. During the night two of our best
brigades had crept, unperceived, through the clay "barrancas" close up
to the rear of the enemy's camp, ready to spring.
At daybreak old Riley shouted, "Forward and give them hell?" and before
our foes--not expecting us from that quarter--could bring their
artillery to bear upon us, we were in the midst of them.
The action lasted just seventeen minutes. At the end of that time we
had laid our hands upon thirty of Valencia's cannon, and taken about a
thousand prisoners; and had, moreover, the satisfaction of seeing the
rest of them, in their long yellow mantles, disappearing through the
fissures of the lava fields, in rapid flight along the road to Mexico.
We followed, of course, but as our cavalry had not been able to cross
the Pedregal, and as the enemy were our superiors in retreat, we were
soon distanced. As we came down upon the village of San Angel, the
occasional blast of a light infantry bugle, with the "crack--crack--
cr-r-r-ack" of our rifles in front, told us that we had still some more
work to do before entering the halls of the Montezumas. We were, in
fact, driving in the light troops of Santa Anna's main army, lying we
knew not where, but somewhere between us and the far famed city.
It is not my intention to give an account of the battle that followed;
nor should I have entered into these details of the fight at Contreras,
were it not to put the reader in possession of "situations," and,
moreover, to bring to his notice an incident that occurred, during that
action, to a friend--the hero of this narrative--whom I will now
introduce. I was at the time a Sub., and my friend, Richard L--, was
the Captain of my company; young as myself and fully as ardent in
pursuit of the red glory of war. We had long known each other, had gone
through the campaign together, and, more than once, had stood side by
side under the leaden "hail." I need not say how a juxtaposition of
this kind strengthens the ties of friendship.
We had come out of Resaca and Monterey, unscathed. We had passed
through Cerro Gordo with "only a scratch." So far we had been
fortunate, as I esteemed it.
Not so my friend; he wished to get a wound for the honour of the thing.
He was accommodated at Contreras; for the bullet from an escopette had
passed through his left arm below the elbow-joint. It appeared to be
only a flesh wound; and as his sword-arm was still safe, he disdained to
leave the field until the "day was done." Binding the wounded limb with
a rag from his shirt, and slinging it in his sash, he headed his company
in the pursuit. By ten o'clock we had driven the enemy's skirmishers
out of San Angel, and had taken possession of the village. Our
Commander-in-Chief was as yet ignorant of the position of the Mexican
army; and we halted, to await the necessary reconnaissance.
Notwithstanding the cold of the preceding night, the day had become hot
and oppressive. The soldiers, wearied with watching, marching, and the
fight, threw themselves down in the dusty streets. Hunger kept many
awake, for they had eaten nothing for twenty hours. A few houses were
entered, and the _tortillas_ and _tasajo_ were drawn forth; but there is
very little to be found, at any time, in the larder of a Mexican house;
and the gaol-like doors of most of them were closely barred. The
unglazed windows were open; but the massive iron railings of the "reja"
defended them from intrusion. From these railings various flags were
suspended--French, German, Spanish, and Portuguese--signifying that the
inmates were foreigners in the country, and therefore entitled to
respect. Where no excuse for such claim existed, a white banner, the
emblem of peace, protruded through the bars; and perhaps this was as
much respected as the symbols of neutrality.
It was the season when fashion deserts the Alameda of Mexico, and
betakes itself to _month_, cock-fighting, and intriguing, in the
romantic pueblos that stud the valley. San Angel is one of these
pueblos, and at that moment many of the principal families of the city
were domiciled around us. Through the rejas we could catch an
occasional glimpse of the occupiers of the dark apartments within.
It is said that, with woman, curiosity is stronger than fear. It
appeared to be so in this case. When the inhabitants saw that pillage
was not intended, beautiful and stylish women showed themselves in the
windows and on the balconies, looking down at us with a timorous yet
confiding wonder. This was strange, after the stories of our barbarity,
in which they had been so well drilled; but we had become accustomed to
the high courage of the Mexican females, and it was a saying amongst us,
that "the women were the best men in the country." Jesting aside, I am
satisfied, that had they taken up arms instead of their puny countrymen,
we should not have boasted so many easy victories.
Our bivouack lasted about an hour. The reconnaissance having been at
length completed, the enemy was discovered in a fortified position
around the convent and bridge of Churubusco. Twigg's division was
ordered forward to commence the attack, just as the distant booming of
cannon across the lava fields, told us that our right wing, under Worth,
had sprung the enemy's left, at the hacienda of San Antonio, and was
driving it along the great national road. Both wings of our army were
beautifully converging to a common focus--the pueblo of Churubusco. The
brigade to which I was attached, still held the position where it had
halted in San Angel. We were to move down to the support of Twigg's
division, as soon as the latter should get fairly engaged. Our place in
the line had thrown us in front of a house somewhat retired from the
rest, single storied, and, like most of the others, flat roofed, with a
low parapet around the top. A large door and two windows fronted the
street. One of the windows was open, and knotted to the reja was a
small white handkerchief, embroidered along the borders and fringed with
fine lace. There was something so delicate, yet striking, in the
appeal, that it at once attracted the attention of L--and myself. It
would have touched the compassion of a Cossack; and we felt at the
moment that we would have protected that house against a general's order
to pillage.
We had seated ourselves on the edge of the banquette, directly in front
of the window. A bottle of wine, by some accident, had reached us; and
as we quaffed its contents, our eyes constantly wandered upon the open
reja. We could see no one. All was dark within; but we could not help
thinking that the owner of the kerchief--she who had hurriedly displayed
that simple emblem of truce--could not be otherwise than an interesting
and lovely creature.
At length the drums beat for Twigg's division to move forward, and,
attracted by the noise, a grey-haired old man appeared at the window.
With feelings of disappointment, my friend and I turned our glances upon
the street, and for some moments watched the horse artillery as it swept
past. When our gaze was again directed to the house, the old man had a
companion--the object of our instinctive expectation; yet fairer even
than our imagination had portrayed.
The features indicated that she was a Mexican, but the complexion was
darker than the half-breed; the Aztec blood predominated. The crimson
mantling under the bronze of her cheeks, gave to her countenance that
picturelike expression of the mixed races of the western world. The
eye, black, with long fringing lash, and a brow upon which the jetty
crescent seemed to have been painted. The nose slightly aquiline,
curving at the nostril; while luxuriant hair, in broad plaits, fell far
below her waist. As she stood on the sill of the low window, we had a
full view of her person--from the satin slipper to the _reboso_ that
long loosely over her forehead. She was plainly dressed in the style of
her country. We saw that she was not of the aristocracy, for, even in
this remote region, has Paris fashioned the costume of that order. On
the other hand, she was above the class of the "poblanas," the
demoiselles of the showy "naguas" and naked ankles. She was of the
middle rank. For some moments my friend and myself gazed in silent
wonder upon the fair apparition.
She stood a while, looking out upon the street, scanning the strange
uniforms that were grouped before her. At length her eye fell upon us;
and as she perceived that my comrade was wounded, she turned towards the
old man.
"Look, father, a wounded officer! ah, what a sad thing, poor officer."
"Yes, it is a captain, shot through the arm."
"Poor fellow! He is pale--he is weary. I shall give him sweet water;
shall I, father?"
"Very well, go, bring it."
The girl disappeared from the window; and in a few moments she returned
with a glass, containing an amber-coloured liquid--the essence of the
pine-apple. Making a sign towards L--, the little hand that held the
class was thrust through the bars of the rejo into his hand. I rose,
and taking the glass, I handed it to my friend. L--bowed to the window,
and acknowledging his gratitude in the best Spanish he could muster, he
drank off the contents. The glass was then returned; and the young girl
took her station as before.
We did not enter into conversation,--neither L--nor myself; but I
noticed that the incident had made an impression upon my friend. On the
other hand, I observed the eyes of the girl, although at intervals
wandering away, always return, and rest upon the features of my comrade.
L--was handsome; besides, he bore upon his person the evidence of a
higher quality--courage; the quality that, before all others, will win
the heart of a woman.
All at once, the features of the girl changed their expression, and she
uttered a scream. Turning towards my friend, I saw the blood dripping
through the sash. His wound had reopened.
I threw my arms around him, as several of the soldiers rushed forward;
but before we could remove the bandage L--had swooned.
"May I beseech you to open the door?" said I, addressing the young girl
and her father.
"_Si--si, Senor_," cried they together, hurrying away from the window.
At that moment the rattle of musketry from Coyoacan, and the roar of
field artillery, told us that Twigg was engaged. The long roll echoed
through the streets, and the soldiers were speedily under arms.
I could stay no longer, for I had now to lead the company; so leaving
L--in charge of two of the men, I placed myself at its head. As the
"Forward" was given, I neared the great door swing upon its hinges; and
looking back as we marched down the street, I saw my friend conducted
into the house. I had no fears for his safety, as a regiment was to
remain in the village... In ten minutes more I was upon the field of
battle, and a red field it was. Of my own small detachment every second
soldier "bit the dust" on the plain of Portales. I escaped unhurt,
though my regiment was well peppered by our own artillerists from the
_tete du pont_ of Churubusco. In two hours we drove the enemy through
the _garita_ of San Antonio de Abad. It was a total rout; and we could
have entered the city without firing another shot. We halted, however,
before the gates--a fatal halt, that afterwards cost us nearly 2,000
men, the flower of our little army. But, as I before observed, I am not
writing a history of the campaign.
An armistice followed, and gathering our wounded from the fields around
Churubusco, the army retired into the villages. The four divisions
occupied respectively the pueblos of Tacubaya, San Angel, Mixcoac, and
San Augustin de les Cuevas. San Angel was our destination; and the day
after the battle my brigade marched back, and established itself in the
village.
I was not long in repairing to the house where I had left my friend. I
found him suffering from fever--burning fever. In another day he was
delirious; and in a week he had lost his arm; but the fever left him,
and he began to recover. During the fortnight that followed, I made
frequent visits; but a far more tender solicitude watched over him.
Rafaela was by his couch; and the old man--her father--appeared to take
a deep interest in his recovery. These, with the servants, were the
only inmates of the house.
The treacherous enemy having broken the armistice, the burning of the
Palace-castle of Chapultepec followed soon arter. Had we failed in the
attempt, not one of us would ever have gone out from the valley of
Mexico. But we took the castle, and our crippled forces entered the
captured city of the Montezumas, and planted their banners upon the
National Palace. I was not among those who marched in. Three days
afterwards I was carried in upon a stretcher, with a bullet-hole through
my thigh, that kept me within doors for a period of three months.
During my invalid hours, L--was my frequent visitor; he had completely
recovered his health, but I noticed that a change had come over him, and
his former gaiety was gone.
Fresh troops arrived in Mexico, and to make room, our regiment, hitherto
occupying a garrison in the city, was ordered out to its old quarters at
San Angel. This was welcome news for my friend, who would now be near
the object of his thoughts. For my own part, although once more on my
limbs, I did not desire to return to duty in that quarter; and on
various pretexts, I was enabled to lengthen out my leave until the
treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.
Once only I visited Saint Angel. As I entered the house where L--lived,
I found him seated in the open _patio_, under the shade of the orange
trees. Rafaela was beside him, and his only hand was held in both of
hers. There was no surprise on the part of either, though I was
welcomed cordially by both--by her, as being the friend of the man she
loved. Yes, she loved him.
"See," cried L--, rising, and referring to the situation in which I had
found them. "All this, my dear H--, in spite of my misfortunes!" and he
glanced significantly at his armless sleeve. "Who would not love her?"
The treaty of Guadalupe was at length concluded, and we had orders to
prepare for the route homeward. The next day I received a visit from
L--.
"Henry," said he, "I am in a dilemma."
"Well, Major," I replied, for L--as well as myself had gained a
"step"--"what is it?"
"You know I am in love, and you know with whom. What am I to do with
her?"
"Why, marry her, of course. What else?"
"I dare not."
"Dare not!"
"That is--not now."
"Why not? Resign your commission, and remain here. You know our
regiment is to be disbanded; you cannot do better."
"Ah! my dear fellow, that is not the thing that hinders me."
"What then?"
"Should I marry her, and remain, our lives would not be safe one moment
after the army had marched. Papers containing threats and ribald jests
have, from time to time, been thrust under the door of her house--to the
effect that, should she marry `el official Americano'--so they are
worded--both she and her father will be murdered. You know the feeling
that is abroad in regard to those who have shown us hospitality."
"Why not take her with you, then?"
"Her father, he would suffer."
"Take him too."
"That I proposed, but he will not consent. He fears the confiscation of
his property, which is considerable. I would not care for that, though
my own fortune, as you know, would be small enough to support us. But
the old man will go on no terms, and Rafaela will not leave him."
The old man's fears in regard to the confiscation were not without good
foundation. There was a party in Mexico, while we occupied the city,
that had advocated "annexation"--that is, the annexing of the whole
country to the United States. This party consisted chiefly of pure
Spaniards, "ricos" of the republic, who wanted a government of stability
and order. In the houses of these many of our officers visited,
receiving those elegant hospitalities that were in general denied us by
Mexicans of a more patriotic stamp. Our friends were termed
"Ayankeeados," and were hated by the populace. But they were marked in
still higher quarters. Several members of the government, then sitting
at Queretaro--among others a noted minister--had written to their agents
in the city to note down all those who, by word or act, might show
kindness to the American army. Even those ladies who should present
themselves at the theatre were to be among the number of the proscribed.
In addition to the Ayankeeados were many families--perhaps not otherwise
predisposed to favour us--who by accident had admitted us within their
circle--such accident as that which had opened the house and heart of
Rafaela to my friend L--. These, too, were under "compromisa" with the
rabble. My comrade's case was undoubtedly what he had termed it--a
dilemma.
"You are not disposed to give her up, then?" said I, smiling at my
anxious friend, as I put the interrogation.
"I know you are only jesting, Henry. You know me too well for that.
No! Rather than give her up, I will stay and risk everything--even
life."
"Come, Major," said I, "there will be no need for you to risk anything,
if you will only follow my advice. It is simply this--come home with
your regiment; stay a month or two at New Orleans, until the excitement
consequent upon our evacuation cools down. Shave off your moustache,
put on plain clothes; come back and marry Rafaela."
"It is terrible to think of parting with her. Oh!--"
"That may all be; I doubt it not; but what else can you do?"
"Nothing--nothing. You are right. It is certainly the best--the only
plan. I will follow it." And L--left me.
I saw no more of him for three days, when the brigade to which he and I
belonged, entered the city on its road homeward. He had detailed his
plans to Rafaela, and had bid her, for a time, farewell.
The other three divisions had already marched. Ours was to form the
rear-guard, and that night was to be our last in the city of Mexico. I
had retired to bed at an early hour, to prepare for our march on the
morrow. I was about falling asleep when a loud knock sounded at my
door. I rose and opened it. It was L--. I started as the light showed
me his face--it was ghastly. His lips were white, his teeth set, and
dark rings appeared around his eyes. The eyes themselves glared in
their sockets, lit up by some terrible emotion.
"Come!" cried he, in a hoarse and tremulous voice. "Come with me,
Henry, I need you."
"What is it, my dear L--? A quarrel? A duel?"
"No! no! nothing of the sort. Come! come! come! I will show you a
sight that will make a wolf of you. Haste! For God's sake, haste!"