The treaty of Guadalupe Hidalogo was followed by an extensive
_debandement_, which sent many thousands of sabres ringing back into
their scabbards--some of them soon after to spring forth in the cause of
freedom, calumniously called "filibustering;" others perhaps destined
never to be drawn again. Using a figurative expression, not a few were
converted into spades; and in this _pacific_ fashion, carried to the far
shores of the Pacific Ocean--there to delve for Californian gold--while
still others were suspended in the counting-house or the studio, to rust
in inglorious idleness. A three years' campaign under the sultry skies
of Mexico--drawing out the war-fever that had long burned in the bosoms
of the American youth--had satisfied the ambition of most. It was only
those who arrived late upon the field--too late to pluck a laurel--who
would have prolonged the strife.
The narrator of this tale, Edward Warfield--_ci-devant_ captain of a
corps of "rangers"--was not one of the last mentioned. With myself, as
with many others, the great Mexican campaign was but the continuation of
the little war--_la petite guerre_--that had long held an intermittent
existence upon the borders of Texas, and in which we had borne part; and
the provincial laurels there reaped, when interwoven with the fresher
and greener bays gathered upon the battle-fields of Anahuac, constituted
a wreath exuberant enough to content us for the time. For my part,
notwithstanding the portentous sound of my ancestral patronymic, I was
tired of the toils of war, and really desired a "spell" of peace: during
which I might indulge in the _dolce far niente_, and obtain for my
wearied spirit a respite of repose. My wishes were in similitude with
those of the poet, who longed for "a lodge in some vast wilderness--some
boundless contiguity of shade;" or perhaps, more akin to those of that
other poet of less solitary inclinings, who only desired the "desert as
a dwelling-place, with one fair spirit for his minister!" In truth, I
felt a strong inclination for the latter description of life; and, in
all likelihood, would have made a trial of it, but for the interference
of one of those ill-starred contingencies that often embarrass the best
intentions. A phrase of common occurrence will explain the circumstance
that offered opposition to my will: "want of the wherewith to support a
wife."
I had been long enough in the wilderness, to know that even a "dwelling
in the desert" cannot be maintained without expense; and that however
pure the desert air, the _fairest_ "spirit" would require something more
substantial to live upon. Under this prudential view of the case,
marriage was altogether out of the question. We, the _debandes_, were
dismissed without pension: the only reward for our warlike achievements
being a piece of "land scrip," good for the number of acres upon the
face of it--to be selected from "government land," wherever the holder
might choose to "locate." The scrip was for greater or less amount,
according to the term of the receiver's service. Mine represented a
"section" of six hundred and forty acres--worth in ordinary times, a
dollar and quarter per acre; but just then--on account of the market
being flooded by similar paper--reduced to less than half its value.
With this magnificent "bounty" was I rewarded for services, that
perhaps--some day--might be--never mind!--thank heaven for blessing me
with the comforting virtues of humility and contentment! This bit of
scrip then--a tried steed that had carried me many a long mile, and
through the smoke of more than one red fray--a true rifle, that I had
myself carried equally as far--a pair of Colt's pistols--and a steel
"Toledo," taken at the storming of Chapultepec--constituted the bulk of
my available property. Add to this, a remnant of my last month's pay--
in truth, not enough to provide me with that much coveted article, a
_civilian's suit_: in proof of which, my old undress-frock, with its
yellow spread-eagle buttons, clung to my shoulders like a second shirt
of Nessus. The vanity of wearing a uniform, that may have once been
felt, was long ago threadbare as the coat itself; and yet I was not
wanting in friends, who fancied that it might still exist! How little
understood they the real state of the case, and how much did they
misconstrue my _involuntary_ motives!
It was just to escape from such unpleasant associations, that I held on
to my "scrip." Most of my brother-officers had sold theirs for a
"song," and spent the proceeds upon a "supper." In relation to mine, I
had other views than parting with it to the greedy speculators. It
promised me that very wilderness-home I was in search of; and, having no
prospect of procuring a fair spirit for my "minister," I determined to
"locate" without one.
I was at the time staying in Tennessee--the guest of a campaigning
comrade and still older friend. He was grandson of that gallant leader,
who, with a small band of only forty families, ventured three hundred
miles through the heart of the "bloody ground" and founded Nashville
upon the bold bluffs of an almost unknown river! From the lips of their
descendants I had heard so many thrilling tales of adventures,
experienced by this pioneer band, that Tennessee had become, in my fancy
a region of romance. Other associations had led me to love this
hospitable and chivalric state; and I resolved, that, within its
boundaries, I should make my home. A visit to the Land-office of
Nashville ended in my selection of Section Number 9, Township --, as my
future plantation. It was represented to me as a fertile spot--situated
in the "Western Reserve"--near the banks of the beautiful Obion, and not
far above the confluence of this river with the Mississippi. The
official believed there had been some "improvement" made upon the land
by a _squatter_; but whether the squatter still lived upon it, he could
not tell. "At all events, the fellow will be too poor to exercise the
_pre-emption right_, and of course must move off." So spoke the land
agent. This would answer admirably. Although my Texan experience had
constituted me a tolerable woodsman, it had not made me a woodcutter;
and the clearing of the squatter, however small it might be, would serve
as a beginning. I congratulated myself on my good luck; and, without
further parley, parted with my scrip--receiving in return the necessary
documents, that constituted me the legal owner and lord of the soil of
Section 9. The only additional information the agent could afford me
was: that my new purchase was all "heavily timbered," with the exception
before referred to; that the township in which it was situated was
called Swampville; and that the section itself was known as "Holt's
Clearing"--from the name, it was supposed, of the squatter who had made
the "improvement."
With this intelligence in my head, and the title-deeds in my pocket, I
took leave of the friendly official; who, at parting, politely wished me
"a pleasant time of it on my new plantation!"