Harper's New Monthly Magazine. No. XVI.—September, 1851—Vol. III

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!"

I hurried on my clothes.

"Bring your arms!" cried L – , "you may require them."

I buckled on my sword and pistol-belt, and followed hastily into the street. We ran down the Calle Correo toward the Alameda. It was the road to the Convent of San Francisco, where our regiment had quartered for the night. As yet I knew not for what I was going. Could the enemy have attacked us? No – all was quiet. The people were in their beds. What could it be? L – had not, and would not explain; but to my inquiries, continually cried, "Haste – come on!" We reached the convent, and, hastily passing the guard, made for the quarters occupied by my friend. As we entered the room – a large one – I saw five or six females, with about a dozen men, soldiers and officers. All were excited by some unusual occurrence. The females were Mexicans, and their heads were muffled in their rebosos. Some were weeping aloud, others talking in strains of lamentation. Among them I distinguished the face of my friend's betrothed.

"Dearest Rafaela!" cried L – , throwing his arms around her – "it is my friend. Here, Henry, look here! look at this!"

As he spoke, he raised the reboso, and gently drew back her long black hair. I saw blood upon her cheek and shoulders! I looked more closely. It flowed from her ears.

"Her ears! O God! they have been cut off!"

"Ay, ay," cried L – , hoarsely; and dropping the dark tresses, again threw his arms around the girl, and kissed away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks – while uttering expressions of endearment and consolation.

I turned to the other females; they were all similarly mutilated; some of them even worse, for their foreheads, where the U.S. had been freshly burned upon them, were red and swollen. Excepting Rafaela, they were all of the "poblana" class – the laundresses – the mistresses of the soldiers.

The surgeon was in attendance, and in a short time all was done that could be done for wounds like these.

"Come!" cried L – , addressing those around him, "we are wasting time, and that is precious; it is near midnight. The horses will be ready by this, and the rest will be waiting; come, Henry, you will go? You will stand by us?"

"I will, but what do you intend?"

"Do not ask us, my friend, you will see presently."

"Think, my dear L – ," said I in a whisper, "do not act rashly."

"Rashly! there is no rashness about me – you know that. A cowardly act, like this, can not be revenged too soon. Revenge! what am I talking of! It is not revenge, but justice. The men who could perpetrate this fiendish deed are not fit to live on the earth, and, by heavens! not one of them shall live by the morning. Ha, dastards! they thought we were gone; they will find their mistake. Mine be the responsibility – mine the revenge. Come, friends! Come!" And so saying, L – led the way, holding his betrothed by the hand. We all followed out of the room, and into the street.

On reaching the Alameda a group of dark objects was seen among the trees. They were horses and horsemen; there were about thirty of the latter, and enough of the former to mount the party who were with L – . I saw from their size that the horses were of our own troops, with dragoon saddles. In the hurry L – had not thought of saddles for our female companions, but the oversight was of no consequence. Their habitual mode of riding was à la Duchess de Berri, and in this way they mounted. Before summoning me, L – had organized his band – they were picked men. In the dim light I could see dragoon and infantry uniforms, men in plain clothes, followers of the army, gamblers, teamsters, Texans, desperadoes, ready for just such an adventure. Here and there I could distinguish the long-tailed frock – the undress of the officer. The band in all mustered more than forty men.

We rode quietly through the streets, and, issuing from the gate of Nino Perdido, took the road for San Angel. As we proceeded onward, I gathered a more minute account of what had transpired at the village. As soon as our division had evacuated, a mob of thirty or forty ruffians had proceeded to the houses of those whom they termed "Ayankeeados," and glutted their cowardly vengeance on their unfortunate victims. Some of these had been actually killed in attempting to resist; others had escaped to the Pedregal which runs close to the village; while a few – Rafaela among the number – after submitting to a terrible atrocity, had fled to the city for protection.

On hearing the details of these horrid scenes, I no longer felt a repugnance in accompanying my friend. I felt as he did, that men capable of such deeds were "not fit to live," and we were proceeding to execute a sentence that was just though illegal. It was not our intention to punish all; we could not have accomplished this, had we so willed it. By the testimony of the girls, there were five or six who had been the promoters and ringleaders of the whole business. These were well known to one or other of the victims, as in most instances it had been some old grudge for which they had been singled out as objects of this cowardly vengeance. In Rafaela's case it was a ruffian who had once aspired to her hand, and been rejected. Jealousy had moved the fiend to his terrible revenge.

It is three leagues from Mexico to San Angel. The road runs through meadows and fields of magueys. Except the lone pulqueria, at the corner where a cross-path leads to the hacienda of Narvarte, there is not a house before reaching the bridge of Coyoacan. Here there is a cluster of buildings – "fabricas" – that, during the stay of our army, had been occupied by a regiment. Before arriving at this point we saw no one; and here only people who, waked from their sleep by the tread of our horses, had not the curiosity to follow us.

San Angel is a mile further up the hill. Before entering the village we divided into five parties, each to be guided by one of the girls. L – 's vengeance was especially directed toward the ci-devant lover of his betrothed. She herself, knowing his residence, was to be our guide.

Proceeding through narrow lanes, we arrived in a suburb of the village, and halted before a house of rather stylish appearance. We had dismounted outside the town, leaving our horses in charge of a guard. It was very dark, and we clustered around the door. One knocked – a voice was heard from within – Rafaela recognized it as that of the ruffian himself. The knock was repeated, and one of the party who spoke the language perfectly, called out:

"Open the door! Open, Don Pedro!"

"Who is it?" asked the voice.

"Yo," (I) was the simple reply.

This is generally sufficient to open the door of a Mexican house, and Don Pedro was heard within, moving toward the "Saguan."

The next moment the great door swung back on its hinges, and the ruffian was dragged forth. He was a swarthy, fierce-looking fellow – from what I could see in the dim light – and made a desperate resistance, but he was in the hands of men who soon overpowered and bound him. We did not delay a moment, but hurried back to the place where we had left our horses. As we passed through the streets, men and women were running from house to house, and we heard voices and shots in the distance. On reaching our rendezvous, we found our comrades, all of whom had succeeded in making their capture.

There was no time to be lost; there might be troops in the village – though we saw none – but whether or not, there were "leperos" enough to assail us. We did not give them time to muster. Mounting ourselves and our prisoners we rode off at a rapid pace, and were soon beyond the danger of pursuit.

Those who have passed through the gate of Nino Perdido will remember that the road leading to San Angel runs, for nearly a mile, in a straight line, and that, for this distance, it is lined on both sides with a double row of large old trees. It is one of the drives (paseos) of Mexico. Where the trees end, the road bends slightly to the south. At this point a cross road strikes off to the pueblito of Piedad, and at the crossing there is a small house, or rather a temple, where the pious wayfarer kneels in his dusty devotions. This little temple, the residence of a hermitical monk, was uninhabited during our occupation of the valley, and, in the actions that resulted in the capture of the city, it had come in for more than its share of hard knocks. A battery had been thrown up beside it, and the counter-battery had bored the walls of the temple with round shot. I never passed this solitary building without admiring its situation. There was no house nearer it than the aforementioned "tinacal" of Narvarte, or the city itself. It stood in the midst of swampy meadows, bordered by broad plats of the green maguey, and this isolation, together with the huge old trees that shadowed and sang over it, gave the spot an air of romantic loneliness.

On arriving under the shelter of the trees, and in front of the lone temple, our party halted by order of their leader. Several of the troopers dismounted, and the prisoners were taken down from their horses. I saw men uncoiling ropes that had hung from their saddle-bows, and I shuddered to think of the use that was about to be made of them.

"Henry," said L – , riding up to me, and speaking in a whisper, "they must not see this." – He pointed to the girls. – "Take them some distance ahead and wait for us, we will not be long about it, I promise."

Glad of the excuse to be absent from such a scene, I put spurs to my horse, and rode forward, followed by the females of the party. On reaching the circle near the middle of the paseo I halted.

It was quite dark, and we could see nothing of those we had left behind us. We could hear nothing – nothing but the wind moaning high up among the branches of the tall poplars; but this, with the knowledge I had of what was going on so near me, impressed me with an indescribable feeling of sadness.

L – had kept his promise; he was not long about it. In less than ten minutes the party came trotting up, chatting gayly as they rode, but their prisoners had been left behind!..

As the American army moved down the road to Vera Cruz, many traveling carriages were in its train. In one of these were a girl and a gray-haired old man. Almost constantly during the march a young officer might be seen riding by this carriage, conversing through the windows with its occupants within.

A short time after the return-troops landed at New Orleans, a bridal party were seen to enter the old Spanish cathedral; the bridegroom was an officer who had lost an arm. His fame, and the reputed beauty of the bride, had brought together a large concourse of spectators.

"She loved me," said L – to me on the morning this his happiest day; "she loved me in spite of my mutilated limb, and should I cease to love her because she has – no, I see it not; she is to me the same as ever."

And there were none present who saw it; few were there who knew that under those dark folds of raven hair were the souvenirs of a terrible tragedy…

The Mexican government behaved better to the Ayankeeados than was expected. They did not confiscate the property; and L – is now enjoying his fortune in a snug hacienda, somewhere in the neighborhood of San Angel.

THE POOLS OF ELLENDEEN

Joel Jerdan was a thriving retail hosier, in a close street at the eastern end of the vast metropolis. He had a snug little shop, and a nice, snug little wife, together with an annually increasing nice little family; and Joel himself, if we except one weakness, was the most diligent and steady little fellow to be found within the circuit where the musical bells of Bow are heard. Small in person, pleasing in exterior, and scrupulously neat in his attire, Joel Jerdan was always considered a peculiarly dapper, civil, smart tradesman. His father had pursued the same business in the same house; and though there were not large profits, there was certainly contentment, which Joel very wisely judged was far better. It did not require any vivid stretch of imagination to form a comparison between the venerable Izaak Walton, of piscatorial celebrity, and our hosier; for, like that immortal angler, Joel was devoted to his calling and usually confined to precincts of no large dimensions, but making his escape whenever he could to enjoy the sole recreation of his existence – that recreation being the sport with which Izaak's name is ever associated.

Joel Jerdan was a worthy disciple of this renowned piscator – at least, he would have been had he strictly followed that master's injunctions; but, if truth must be all confessed, the one weakness already alluded to in our little hosier, consisted of indulgence beyond the bounds of strict sobriety, when any prolonged or favorable "sport" more than usually elated his spirits. On such occasions, Patty, his faithful wife, of course lectured the recreant hosier most severely; while he, shocked and humbled, meekly promised "never to do so any more," and kept his word until betrayed into temptation again. Being a water-drinker at home, from motives of prudence, not to say necessity, it did not require much in the way of stimulus to render poor little Joel addle-headed. Whenever he could spare an hour or two on the long summer evenings, after the business of the day was pretty well over, leaving the shop to Patty's care, away sallied Joel to the docks, there to watch his float and forget his cares, until night's sombre shadows warned him that all sober citizens were retiring bedward. It was only at rare intervals that Joel enjoyed a whole day's fishing; for, in the first place, he could not absent himself from pressing daily duties, and, in the second, he had no friend resident in the country within easy access, to whom he could resort for an introduction to babbling streams and flowery meads. He had toiled early and late, as his excellent father had done before him; and when Patty's brother retired from official life (he was a nobleman's butler), and became proprietor of a small public-house about fifty miles from London, situated on the banks of a river much resorted to by anglers, and sent a hearty invitation to Joel to come and visit him, what words may paint the bright anticipations of the exulting hosier? He had not been well of late – needed summer holidays; and, in short Joel could not resist the tempting offer.

Patty urged her husband with affectionate solicitude, to "keep watch" over himself; but she loved him too well, and was too unselfish, to object to his accepting her brother's hospitality. "Make hay while the sun shines, my dear," she said; "you may never have such another opportunity. Business is slack just now – besides, baby is weaned, and I can mind the shop with Charlie; only – " here there was a private whispered admonition, the tenor of which may be inferred from Joel's answer, accompanied by a hearty kiss: "I promise you, my ducky, that I will never taste a drop, except when I get wet-footed, and then only just enough to keep the cold out."

"Ah, that cold, Joel!" replied Patty, "it's a queer thing, that cold is! always trying to gain a footing; and nothing but a sip of brandy to keep it out!" And the wife shook her head.

It was too much felicity for Joel Jerdan! – the gathering together his scanty assortment of rods and tackle – the laying out his hard-earned money to purchase more – the packing his portmanteau and setting out on a gay summer's morning!

Yet his dreams fell short of reality when Joel first beheld the paradise of greenerie wherein "The Swan" nestled on the picturesque beauties of Wood End. Here he could fish off the bank from a variegated flower-garden, whose roses hung over the broad, deep waters, where monsters of the finny tribes abounded. Here he did fish off the emerald bank; but, alas! the fish were strangely shy or cunning. Joel labored most assiduously; but somehow, he caught nothing. There was always something wrong; either it was too hot, or the water was too clear, or the fish wouldn't take the particular bait at that particular spot, and they must be sought up or down stream for miles. And so Joel followed the river's course patiently, day by day striving most manfully to ensnare the wary inhabitants of the treacherous element, on whose tranquil bosom wan lilies reposed as peacefully as primroses on the hill-side graves reflected nigh. "Try the pools of Ellendeen," said one; and "Try the pools of Ellendeen," said another, until Joel determined he would try these far-famed still waters, though it was a good way up stream to reach them. However, a farmer offered to give him a lift in his cart, and drop him on the road to market, leaving Joel to work his way back to Wood End as might suit his sport or inclination; and well supplied with refreshing viands, stowed away in his basket, slung across his shoulder sportsman-like with leathern belt, Joel set forth to try his luck in the "bottomless pit," for so the deepest pool of Ellendeen was significantly named by the peasant-folk, with whom the domain bounding the water was in ill-repute.

Solemn and stately were the neighboring woods, and a gray castellated mansion frowned on the summit of a high hill overhanging the water. It was uninhabited now, the family were extinct, and, of course, there was a legend attached.

A former lord of Ellendeen was most anxious for a son and heir; but on his unhappy lady presenting him with nothing but daughters, he swore that on the birth of the next he would throw it into the pool beside the wood. He did so with his own wicked hands more than once; and tradition said that no less than four baby daughters of the ancient race of Ellendeen were engulfed in those deep, dismal waters, which refused to yield their dead, and, in short, proved to be "bottomless." However, whether it was that they were left very much to themselves, or that the fish in Ellendeen Pools were really finer than elsewhere, report had not exaggerated their abundance and size; and Joel, to his infinite satisfaction, managed to capture some "splendid fellows," according to his own phrase.