knot, and self-willed as a pig. He was moreover exceedingly lazy,
as well as prone to have his own way, and take his own
jog--preferring a walk or gentle trot to a canter; and so
deep-rooted were his prejudices in favor of the former methods of
getting over the ground, that neither whip nor spur could drive
him from them. He possessed a commendable faculty of taking most
especial good care of himself, which he manifested by being always
found where water was nearest and the grass best, and on the whole
might be termed, in the language of those who consider themselves
judges of horse flesh, a 'tolerable chunk of a pony' for a long
journey.
'He had one bad quality however, which was continually putting his
master to serious inconvenience, and on more than one occasion
came near resulting seriously to all. One day we stopped to 'noon'
close by a spring of water, and had simply taken the bridles from
our horses to give them a chance to graze, when he improved the
occasion to show off one of his eccentricities. Falconer had a
way, as I have before stated, of packing all his scientific,
cooking, and other instruments upon his horse, and on the occasion
to which I have alluded, some one of them chanced to chafe or gall
the pony, inducing him to give a kick up with his hinder limbs.
The rattling of the pots and pans started him off immediately, and
the faster he ran the more they rattled. We immediately secured
our horses by catching up the _lariats_, and then watched the
fanciful antics of the animal that had raised all the commotion.
'He would run about ten jumps and then stop and kick up about as
many times; then he would shake himself violently, and then start
off again on a gallop. Every now and then a culinary or scientific
instrument would be detached from its fastenings, when the
infuriated pony would manage to give it a kick before it struck
the ground and send it aloft again. The quadrant took the
direction toward the sun without taking it; the saucepan was
kicked into a stew; the thermometer was up to an hundred--inches
above the ground, and fell to--worth nothing. To sum it all up,
what with rearing, pitching, kicking, and galloping about, the
pony was soon rid of saddle and all other incumbrances, and then
went quietly to feeding, apparently well satisfied with all the
trouble he had given his owner.
'The whole affair was ludicrous in the extreme, defying
description. The rattling of the tin, earthen, and other ware, as
the pony snorted, kicked, and pranced about, made a noise
resembling that produced at a _charivari_. His antics were of the
most unseemly nature, too--and the cool philosophy of Mr.
Falconer, as he quietly followed in the wake of the vicious
animal, picking up the fragments scattered along, completed a
picture which would have made the fortune of Cruikshank, had he
been on the spot to take it down. Some time after this adventure
the Indians stole the horse, but they made a bad bargain of it.'
There are scores of passages, describing the burning of a prairie, hunting
buffaloes, fighting the Indians, camping out at night under a deluge of
rain, and other scenes by which their journey was marked; but we must pass
to the following account of the feelings which attend starvation, which we
copy for its intrinsic interest, and as an instance of the fearful
extremities to which the expedition was sometimes reduced:
'I have never yet seen a treatise on dissertation upon starving to
death; I can speak _feelingly_ of nearly every stage except the
last. For the first two days through which a strong and healthy
man is doomed to exist upon nothing, his sufferings are, perhaps,
more acute than in the remaining stages; he feels an inordinate,
unappeasable craving at the stomach, night and day. The mind runs
upon beef, bread, and other substantials; but still, in a great
measure, the body retains its strength. On the third and fourth
days, but especially on the fourth, this incessant craving gives
place to a sinking and weakness of the stomach, accompanied by
nausea. The unfortunate sufferer still desires food, but with loss
of strength he loses that eager craving which is felt in the
earlier stages. Should he chance to obtain a morsel or two of
food, as was occasionally the case with us, he swallows it with a
wolfish avidity; but five minutes afterward his sufferings are
more intense than ever. He feels as if he had swallowed a living
lobster, which is clawing and feeding upon the very foundation of
his existence. On the fifth day his cheeks suddenly appear hollow
and sunken, his body attenuated, his color an ashy pale, and his
eye wild, glassy, cannibalish. The different parts of the system
now war with each other. The stomach calls upon the legs to go
with it in quest of food: the legs, from very weakness, refuse.
The sixth day brings with it increased suffering, although the
pangs of hunger are lost in an overpowering languor and sickness.
The head becomes giddy; the ghosts of well-remembered dinners pass
in hideous procession through the mind. The seventh day comes,
bringing increased lassitude and farther prostration of strength.
The arms hang listlessly, the legs drag heavily. The desire for
food is still left, to a degree, but it must be brought, not
sought. The miserable remnant of life which still hangs to the
sufferer is a burden almost too grievous to be borne; yet his
inherent love of existence induces a desire still to preserve it,
if it can be saved without a tax upon bodily exertion. The mind
wanders. At one moment he thinks his weary limbs cannot sustain
him a mile--the next, he is endowed with unnatural strength, and
if there he a certainty of relief before him, dashes bravely and
strongly onward, wondering whence proceeds this new and sudden
impulse.
'Farther than this, my experience runneth not. The reader may
think I have drawn a fancy sketch--that I have colored the picture
too highly: now, while I sincerely trust he may never be in a
situation to test its truth from actual experience, I would in all
sober seriousness say to him, that many of the sensations I have
just described I have myself experienced, and so did the
ninety-and-eight persons who were with me from the time when we
first entered the grand prairie until we reached the flock of
sheep, to which more pleasing subject I will now return.'
The history of the base betrayal of the party to the Mexicans by one of
their members named LEWIS, gives us a picture of Mexican duplicity most
vivid and striking: but it is only the prelude to cruelties more barbarous
and revolting than have recently stained the acts of any but the most
savage and uncultivated natives. After being disarmed, under pretence that
it was only a formality, and then promised that their arms would be at
once restored, they were seized and ordered to be _shot_; but from this
they were saved by the interference of one of the Mexican officers less
blood-thirsty than the rest. They were immediately started off for Santa
Fe, half-starving and worn down by fatigue, and heard the bloody order
given to the armed guard which attended them: 'If any one of them pretends
to be sick or tired on the road, '_Shoot him down and bring back his
ears_.'' The following extracts describe some of the scenes they were
forced to witness:
'A walk, or rather a hobble of two hours, for we were so stiff and
foot-sore that we could not walk, brought us once more to the
plaza or public square of San Miguel. The place was now literally
filled with armed men--a few regular troops being stationed
immediately about the person of Armijo, while more than
nine-tenths of the so-called soldiers were miserably deficient in
every military appointment. A sergeant's guard of the regular
troops was immediately detailed to take charge of our little
party, and after bidding adieu to Don Jesus, as we hoped forever,
we were marched to a small room adjoining the soldiers' quarter.
This room fronted on the plaza, and had a small window looking out
in that direction; but the only entrance was from a door on the
side. Sentinels were immediately placed at the little window and
door, leading us to suppose that this was to be our regular
prison-house; but we had scarcely been there ten minutes before a
young priest entered at the door, and said that one of our party
was to be immediately shot! While gazing at each other with looks
of eager inquiry, wondering that one was to be shot and not all,
and while each one of us was earnestly and painfully speculating
on the question which of his fellows Armijo had singled out for a
victim, the young priest raised himself on tiptoe, and looking
over our heads, pointed through the windows of our close and
narrow prison. We hurriedly turned our eyes in that direction, and
were shocked at seeing one of our men, his hands tied behind his
back, while a bandage covered his eyes, led across the plaza by a
small guard of soldiers. Who the man was we could not ascertain at
the time, but that he was one of the Texans was evident enough
from his dress. The priest said that he had first been taken
prisoner, that while attempting to escape he had been retaken, and
was now to suffer death. A horrible death it was, too! His
cowardly executioners led him to a house near the same corner of
the square we were in, not twenty yards from us, and after
heartlessly pushing him upon his knees, with his head against the
wall, six of the guard stepped back about three paces, and at the
order of the corporal _shot the poor fellow in the back_! Even at
that distance the executioners but half did their barbarous work;
for the man was only wounded, and lay writhing upon the ground in
great agony. The corporal stepped up, and with a pistol ended his
sufferings by shooting him through the heart. So close was the
pistol that the man's shirt was set on fire, and continued to burn
until it was extinguished by his blood!
'Howland's hands were tied closely behind him, and as he
approached us we could plainly see that his left ear and cheek had
been cut entirely off, and that his left arm was also much hacked,
apparently by a sword. The guard conducted their doomed prisoner
directly by us on the left, and when within three yards of us the
appearance of his scarred cheek was ghastly; but as he turned his
head to speak, a placid smile, as of heroic resignation to his
fate, lit up the other side of his face, forming a contrast almost
unearthly. We eagerly stepped forward to address him, but the
miscreants who had charge of us pushed us back with their muskets,
refusing even the small boon of exchanging a few words with an old
companion now about to suffer an ignominious death. Howland saw
and felt the movement on our part. He turned upon us another look,
a look full of brave resolution as well as resignation, and, in a
low but distinct tone, uttered: '_Good-bye, boys; I've got to
suffer. You must_----' But the rest of the sentence died on his
lips, for he was now some yards in the rear of us, and out of
hearing.
'The guard who had charge of us now wheeled us round, and marched
us in the same route taken by our unfortunate guide, and within
ten yards of him. A more gloomy procession cannot be imagined.
With Howland in advance, we were now conducted to the plaza, and
halted close by the spot where, in plain sight, lay the body of
our recently-murdered companion. A bandage was placed over the
eyes of the new victim, but not until he had seen the corpse of
his dead comrade. Worlds would we have given could we be permitted
to exchange one word with our unoffending friend--to receive his
last, dying request--yet even this poor privilege was denied us.
After the cords which confined his arms had been tightened, and
the bandage pulled down so as to conceal the greater part of his
face, Howland was again ordered to march. With a firm, undaunted
step he walked up to the place of execution, and there, by the
side of his companion, was compelled to fall upon his knees with
his face towards the wall. Six of the guard then stepped back a
yard or two, took deliberate aim at his back, and before the
report of their muskets died away poor Howland was in eternity!
Thus fell as noble, as generous, and as brave a man as ever walked
the earth.'
The following passage narrates another barbarity of the same character:
'Just as we were starting, a man named John McAllister, a native
of Tennessee and of excellent family, complained that one of his
ankles was badly sprained, and that it was utterly impossible for
him to walk. The unfortunate man was naturally lame in the other
ankle, and could never walk but with difficulty and with a limp.
On starting, he was now allowed to enter a rude Mexican cart,
which had been procured by the Alcalde of Valencia for the purpose
of transporting some of the sick and lame prisoners; but before it
had proceeded a mile upon the road it either broke down or was
found to be too heavily loaded. At all events, McAllister was
ordered by Salazar to hobble along as best he might, and to
overtake the main body of prisoners, now some quarter of a mile in
advance. The wretch had frequently told those who, from inability
or weakness, had fallen behind, that he would shoot them rather
than have the march delayed; not that there was any necessity for
the hot haste with which we were driven, but to gratify his brutal
disposition did he make these threats. Although he had struck, and
in several cases severely beaten, many of the sick and lame
prisoners, we could not believe that he was so utterly destitute
of feeling, so brutal, as to murder a man in cold blood whose only
fault was that he was crippled and unable to walk. He could easily
have procured transportation for all if he had wished, and that he
would do so rather than shoot down any of the more unfortunate we
felt confident: how much we mistook the man!
'On being driven from the cart, McAllister declared his inability
to proceed on foot. Salazar drew his sword and peremptorily
ordered him to hurry on, and this when he had half a dozen led
mules, upon either of which he could have placed the unfortunate
man. Again McAllister, pointing to his swollen and inflamed ankle,
declared himself unable to walk. Some half a dozen of his comrades
were standing around him, with feelings painfully wrought up,
waiting the _denouement_ of an affair which, from the angry
appearance of Salazar, they now feared would be tragical. Once
more the bloodthirsty savage, pointing to the main body of
prisoners, ordered the cripple to hurry forward and overtake
them--_he could not_! 'Forward!' said Salazar, now wrought up to a
pitch of phrenzy. 'Forward, or I'll shoot you on the spot!' 'Then
shoot!' replied McAllister, throwing off his blanket and exposing
his manly breast, 'and the quicker the better!' Salazar took him
at his word, and a single ball sent as brave a man as ever trod
the earth to eternity! His ears were then cut off, his shirt and
pantaloons stripped from him, and his body thrown by the roadside
as food for wolves!'
In the following extract, of a different description, we have a sketch of
a real 'character:'
'Entering an _estanquillo_, or shop licensed to sell cigars, we
met two or three faces so decidedly Anglo-Saxon in complexion and
feature that we at once accosted them in English, and were
answered by one of the party with a drawl and twang so peculiarly
'Down East,' that Marble, Hackett, or Yankee Hill, might have
taken lessons from him. We soon ascertained that they belonged to
the American circus company then performing at San Luis, and on
telling them who we were, they at once invited us to their _meson_
to supper. The first speaker, who proved to be a regular
Vermonter, was not a little surprised to see us out without a
guard, and asked if we had received permission to that effect. His
astonishment was removed when we told him that we were allowed to
leave our quarters on parole.
'In five minutes after our arrival at the hotel of the
equestrians, I found that our Vermont acquaintance was one of the
quaintest specimens of the Yankee race I had ever seen, and not a
few examples had I met previous to my encounter with him. He had a
droll impediment in his speech which gave to his actions and
gestures a turn irresistibly comic, and then he told an excellent
story, played the trombone, triangle, and bass viol, spoke Spanish
well, drove one of the circus wagons, translated the bills, turned
an occasional somerset in the ring, cracked jokes in Spanish with
the Mexican clown, took the tickets at the entrance with one hand,
while with the other he beat an accompaniment to the orchestra
inside on the bass-drum, and, in short, made himself 'generally
useful.' After partaking of an excellent supper, we spent an
agreeable hour in his room, listening to story after story of his
adventures. He 'come out' to Mexico, to use his own words, by way
of Chihuahua, accompanying the traders from Jonesborough, on Red
River, in the first and only expedition across the immense
prairies. They were some six or eight months on the road, and
suffered incredible hardships for want of water and provisions.
Our Yankee was a stout man when we saw him, but he told us that he
was a perfect transparency when he first arrived at the Mexican
settlements--so poor, in fact, that according to his own account,
'a person might have read the New-England Primer through him
without specs.'
'When ten o'clock came we rose to depart; but the droll genius
insisted that we should first partake of a glass of egg-nog with
him, and then help him to sing 'Old Hundred' in remembrance of old
times. There are few persons in the New-England States who cannot
go through this ancient and well-known psalm-tune after some
fashion; and although neither time nor place was exactly
befitting, we all happened to be from that quarter, and could not
resist complying with his comico-serious request. He really had a
good voice, and, for aught I know, may have led the singing in his
native village church. After humming a little, apparently to get
the right pitch, he started off with a full, rich tone; but
suddenly checking himself in the middle of the first line, said
that the thing was not yet complete. Taking a double-bass from its
resting-place in one corner of the room, he soon had the
instrument tuned, and then recommenced with this accompaniment.
Never have I heard a performance so strangely mingling the grave
and the comic. It was odd enough to see one of his vocation in a
strange land thus engaged; and then the solemnity and zeal with
which he sawed and sang away were perfectly irresistible. I did
not laugh; but thoughts arose in my mind very little accordant
with the earnest and devotional spirit with which our strange
companion went through his share of the performance. This curious
scene over, a scene which is probably without a parallel in the
history of San Luis Potosi, we took leave of our singular
acquaintance, who promised to call at the convent early the next
morning, and do every thing in his power to assist those among the
Texans who were the most destitute.'
But we have space only for one more extract, an account of certain 'extra
observances,' which, in the order of their devotion, the prisoners while
in Puebla, introduced into the service of the Catholic church:
'Every Sunday morning, the prisoners confined at Puebla were
compelled to attend mass, in chains, at one of the churches. The
floors of all the religious establishments of note in Mexico are
of stone or marble, without seats of any kind, and those in
attendance must either kneel or stand during the ceremonies. In
the present instance, the Texans were paraded in rows before the
altar, and compelled to fall upon their knees while mass was said;
but they were not obliged to go through all the little forms and
ceremonies which the Catholic Church in Mexico exacts of its
votaries, such as crossing themselves, smiting their breasts, and
other outward observances. Well drilled, however, were they in all
the minutiae of these demonstrations; and in addition, one of the
jokers, who had acted as the prosecuting attorney at San
Cristobal, and who was a great mimic, taught them a few original
'extras' and 'fancy touches,' which he had ingrafted upon the
regular Catholic ceremonials. So well had he disciplined his
brother prisoners, that they could go through all his ritual with
as much promptness and precision as could the best military
company in existence go through its simplest manoeuvres.
'On arriving at the church, and after kneeling in front of the
altar, the well-drilled Texans awaited the usual signal from the
officiating priest to commence. There probably was not a Catholic
among them; yet the assumed air of grave devotion to be seen in
their faces would have done credit to the most rigid of that
creed. At the given signal, and at the proper time, the chained
prisoners would cross themselves with all seeming humility,
closely imitating every motion of the priest and of the Mexicans
around them; but instead of stopping with their Catholic
neighbors, they wound up by placing the right thumb to the tip of
their noses, and then, with a mock gravity which might have drawn
a smile from an Egyptian mummy, circled the fingers about, and all
this directly in the face of the officiating priest, and without a
smile upon their countenances. When the proper time came for again
crossing themselves, the mischievous leader of the Texans would
pass the word for his men to 'come the double compound action,' as
he called it. This resembled the first movement, with the
exception that it was more complicated and more mysterious to the
surrounding Mexicans. After the right hand had gone its usual
round, from forehead to breast and from shoulder to shoulder, the
thumb again settled on the tip of the nose; but this time the left
thumb was joined to the little finger of the right hand, and then
commenced a series of fancy gyrations with all the fingers, the
like of which was probably never before seen in a Catholic church.
Sam Weller, I believe, or if not he, some modern philosopher of
his school, defines the movement I have just described as meaning
something like 'This may be all very true, but we don't believe a
word of it.' What the Mexicans thought of it, or whether they
noticed it or not, I am unable to say: it may be that they
considered it as simply 'a way' the Texans had, and thought no
more of it. Such is the story told of the pranks played by the
prisoners confined in Puebla.'
We must here end our notice of this amusing book. It will be found highly
entertaining, and to contain also much information concerning the
character of the country through which Mr. KENDALL passed. It will attain
a wide popularity, for it is decidedly the best and most readable book of
the season. . . . SINCE the foregoing was placed in type, we learn from
Mr. KENDALL'S journal, the well known New-Orleans '_Picayune_,' that the
tyrant SALAZAR, whose cruelties are recorded in preceding extracts, met
recently with an awful death. He escaped from prison at Santa Fe, and fled
to the woods, where he was killed and scalped by the Indians, and his body
left a prey to wild beasts. Just retribution!
ADDRESS AND POEM, DELIVERED BEFORE THE MECHANIC APPRENTICE'S LIBRARY
ASSOCIATION on the twenty-second of February. By FREDERICK W. LINCOLN,
Jr., and GEORGE COOLIDGE. Boston: THE ASSOCIATION.