After the storming of Chapultepec--the "summer palace of the
Moctezumas;" in which I had the honour of leading the forlorn hope--do
not mistake a plain statement of fact for a baseless boast--after a
seclusion of three months within the walls of a sick chamber, caused by
wounds in that action received; I stepped forth upon the streets of the
Mexican capital fully restored to health.
Three months more were spent in partaking of those joys--the reward of
the victorious soldier, who has completed a campaign.
As in the "City of the Angels," so was it in that of the Moctezumas.
The officers of the invading army were excluded from the "interiors"--
such of them as were worth entering.
But as it was no longer an army of invaders, but _conquerors_, the
exclusion was neither so strict nor general. There were exceptions on
both sides--extending to a limited number of courageous hosts and
welcome guests.
It was my fortune to be among the favoured few. One or two incidents
had occurred along the route--one more especially during the march upon
Mexico--in which I had the opportunity of bestowing favour and
protection. They were reciprocated tenfold by _proteges_--who chanced
to be of the _familias principales_ of Mexico.
During the three months that I lay upon the couch of convalescence, I
was surrounded by luxuries brought me by grateful brothers. In the
three months that followed I was overwhelmed by the caresses of their
sweet sisters; all, of course, in an honest way.
It was a pleasant time; and, if anything could have made me forget
Dolores Villa-Senor, this should have done it.
It did not. The sweetest smile I received in the Valley of Tenochtitlan
did not, and could not, stifle within my breast the bitter souvenir I
had brought with me from the other side of the Cordillera.
Six months after the capture of the Summer Palace, my life in the city
of the Moctezumas became dull indeed.
The theatres, slimly attended by the feminine _elite_ of the place; the
balls not attended at all, or only by questionable _poblanas_, and the
plain wives and daughters of the foreign residents (why are they always
plain in such places?) soon became unbearable.
Even dissipation could not redeem the dulness of the times.
For me the _monte_ table had no longer an attraction. The green cloth
was spread out in vain; and I could stand by and hear, without the
slightest emotion, "_Cavallo mozo_!" "_Soto en la puerta_!"
In truth my interest in all things appeared gone--all upon earth, with
the exception of Dolores Villa-Senor; and she I could scarce think a
thing of earth.
Just at this crisis there came a chance of distraction. I hailed it
with a feeling of gladness.
The stray troops of the enemy had forsaken the roads that surrounded the
capital--as had also their guerilleros. But still the ways were not
safe. Partisans had disappeared, to be succeeded by _salteadores_!
From all sides came rumours of robbers--from Puebla on the east, Toluca
on the west, Cuernavaca on the south, and the Llanos de Apam, that
extend northward from the Valley of Tenochtitlan. Scarce passed a day
without "novedades" of the bandits, and their devilish audacity:
stage-coaches stopped; travellers commanded to lie flat along the earth,
while their pockets were being turned inside out; and some stretched
upon the ground never more to stand in an erect attitude!
An escort of our dragoons could have prevented this--that is, upon any
particular occasion. But to have sent an escort with every traveller,
who had need to go forth out of the capital, would have required a score
of squadrons of well-appointed cavalry. At the time we chanced to be
short in this arm; and the distribution of our troops to Cuernavaca and
Toluca, the strong force necessary to garrison Puebla--and the numerous
detachments required to accompany the commissariat trains, left no
cavalry disposable for eccentric service.
Till we should receive from Uncle Sam a reinforcement of dragoons, the
robbers must be allowed to stop travellers and capture stage-coaches at
discretion.
This was the condition of things, six months after the _second conquest_
of Mexico.
I, for one, did not like it. It was but a Christian instinct to hate
robbers, wherever found; but in the town of Puebla I had imbibed for
this class of mankind a peculiar antipathy.
Experience and suspicion both formed its basis. I remembered Captain
Carrasco, and I could not help remembering _Captain Moreno_!
A young artist who had accompanied our army throughout the campaign--and
whose life-like pictures were the admiration of all who looked upon
them--had been imprudent enough to risk travelling by _diligencia_ from
Mexico to La Puebla. It was not his destiny to arrive at the City of
the Angels--on earth; though it is to be hoped he has reached the abode
of truer angels in heaven! He was murdered among the mountains of the
_mal pais_--between the "venta" of Rio Frio and that of Cordova.
I had formed a strong attachment to this unfortunate youth. He had oft
partaken of the hospitality of my tent; and, in return I suppose for
such slight acts of kindness, in his great picture of the storming of
Chapultepec, he had fixed my face upon the canvas, foremost--far
foremost--of those who on that day dared to look over the well-defended
walls.
The consciousness of having performed the feat did not render me less
sensible of the kindness of its being recorded. I, a homeless,
nameless, adventurer, with no one to sing my praise--save those who had
witnessed my deeds--could not feel otherwise than grateful.
He saw, and sang them; in that verse in which he was a master--the
poetry of the pencil.