Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone. Майн Рид

That judgment equally forbade him to indulge in eccentric actions.

      Dayton proposed that we should exchange steeds—an offer that I gladly accepted. When my absconding horse was brought back to the camp, I made him over to Dayton, by whom he was at once mounted.

      The animal tried the same movements with Dayton that had proved so successful with me; but they failed. He was a good rider, and stuck to his horse, as one of the men declared, “like death to a dead nigger.”

      The creature was conquered, and afterwards turned out one of the best horses in the troop.

Volume One—Chapter Eight.

       Table of Contents

      An Episode of Soldier-Life.

      American authors have written so much about the Mexican war, that I shall state nothing concerning it, except what is absolutely necessary in giving a brief account of my own adventures—which, considering the time and the place, were neither numerous nor in any way remarkable.

      While in the service of the United States during that campaign, I was the constant companion of Dayton. On the march and in the field of strife, we rode side by side with each other.

      We shared many hardships and dangers, and such circumstances usually produce firm friendships. It was so in our case.

      Dayton was a young man who won many friends, and made almost as many enemies, for he took but little care to conceal his opinions of others, whether they were favourable or not. Although but a private, he had more influence among his comrades than any other man in the company. The respect of some, and the fear of others, gave him a power that no officer could command.

      I did not see much of the war: as I was only in two actions—those of Buena Vista and Cerro Gordo.

      I know that some of the people of Europe have but a very poor opinion of the fighting qualities of the Mexicans, and may not dignify the actions of Buena Vista and Cerro Gordo by the name of battles. These people are mistaken. The Mexicans fought well at Buena Vista, notwithstanding that they were defeated by men, said to be undisciplined.

      It has been stated in a London paper that the Mexicans are more contemptible, as an enemy, than the same number of Chinamen. The author of that statement probably knew nothing of either of the people he wrote about; and he was thus undervaluing the Mexicans for no other reason, than that of disparaging the small but brave army to which I belonged.

      The Mexicans are not cowards. An individual Mexican has as much moral and physical courage as a man of any other country. As a general thing they have as little fear of losing life or limb as any other people. “Why then,” some may ask, “were they beaten by a few thousand American volunteers?”

      Without attempting to answer this question, I still claim that the Mexicans are not cowards.

      In the battle of Buena Vista I lost the horse obtained by exchange from Dayton. The animal had been my constant care and companion, ever since I became possessed of him; and had exhibited so much character and intellect, that I thought almost as much of him, as I did of Dayton, my dearest friend.

      In my opinion, it is not right to take horses on to the field of battle. I never thought this, until I had my steed shot under me—when the sight of the noble animal struggling in the agonies of death, caused me to make a mental vow never again to go on horseback into a battle.

      This resolve, however, I was soon compelled to break. Another horse was furnished me the next day—on which I had to take my place in the ranks of my corps.

      One day the company to which I belonged had a skirmish with a party of guerilleros.

      We were charging them—our animals urged to their greatest speed—when Dayton’s horse received a shot, and fell. I could not stop to learn the fate of the rider, as I was obliged to keep on with the others.

      We pursued the Mexicans for about five miles; and killed over half of their number.

      On returning to camp, I traced back the trail over which we had pursued the enemy—in order to find Dayton. After much trouble I succeeded; and I believe no person ever saw me with more pleasure than did Dayton on that occasion.

      The dead horse was lying on one of his legs, which had been broken. He had been in this situation for nearly three hours; and with all his exertions had been unable to extricate himself.

      After getting him from under the terrible incubus, and making him as comfortable as possible, I sought the assistance of some of my companions. These I fortunately found without much trouble, and we conveyed our wounded comrade to the camp. Dayton was afterwards removed to a hospital; and this was the last I saw of him during the Mexican war.

      I had but very little active service after this: for my company was left behind the main army; and formed a part of the force required for keeping open a communication between Vera Cruz, and the capital of Mexico.

      The rest of the time I remained in the army, was only remarkable for its want of excitement and tediousness; and all in the company were much dissatisfied at not being allowed to go on to the Halls of Montezuma. The duty at which we were kept, was only exciting for its hardships; and American soldiers very soon become weary of excitement of this kind. We were only too delighted, on receiving orders to embark for New Orleans.

      On the Sunday before sailing out of the port of Vera Cruz, I went in search of some amusement; and commenced strolling through town in hopes of finding it. In my walk, I came across a man seated under an awning, which he had erected in the street, where he was dealing “Faro.” A number of people were betting against his “bank,” and I lingered awhile to watch the game.

      Amongst others who were betting, was a drunken mule-driver, who had been so far unfortunate as to lose all his money—amounting to about one hundred dollars.

      The “MD”—as the mule-drivers were sometimes styled—either justly, or not, accused the gambler of having cheated him. He made so much disturbance, that he was at length forced away from the table by others standing around it—who, no doubt, were interested in the game.

      The “MD” went into a public-house near by; and soon after came out again, carrying a loaded rifle.

      Advancing within about twenty paces of the table where the gambler was engaged, he called out to the crowd to stand aside, and let him have a shot at the “skunk,” who had cheated him.

      “Yes,” said the gambler, placing his hand on a revolver, “stand aside, gentlemen, if you please, and let him have a chance!”

      Those between them, obeyed the injunction in double quick time; and, as soon as the space was clear enough to give a line for his bullet, the gambler fired—before the “MD” had raised the rifle to his shoulder.

      The mule-driver was shot through the heart; and the game went on!

      We had an interesting voyage from Vera Cruz to New Orleans. The hardships of the march and camp were over. Some were returning to home and friends; and all were noisy—some with high animal spirits, and some with strong ardent spirits, known under the name of rum.

      There was much gambling on the ship, and many rows to enliven the passage; but I must not tarry to describe all the scenes I have met, or the narrative of the Life of a Rolling Stone will be drawn out too long for the patience of my readers.

      We landed in New Orleans, were paid what money was due to us, and disbanded—each receiving a bounty warrant for one hundred and sixty acres of land.

      In the company to which I belonged, were some of my countrymen, who had been in the English army; and I often conversed with them, as to the comparative treatment of the soldiers of the English and American armies. I shall give the conclusion we came to upon this subject.

      A majority of English