Chapter IX: Part 9

{176} My prison was a cell eight or ten feet square, with walls and floor of stone. A door with iron bars an inch square crossed over each other, like the bars of window sashes, and it grated on its iron hinges, as it opened to receive me. Over the external front of this prison was inscribed in capital letters _Destinacion de la Cattivo_. Our blankets were given us to lie upon. My father had a small package of medicines which he gave in charge to the sergeant, binding him on his word of honor not to part with it to any one. My door was locked, and I was left to reflect upon our position and my past misfortunes; and to survey the dreary walls of my prison. Here, I thought, was my everlasting abode. Liberty is dear to every one, but doubly dear to one, who had been from infancy accustomed to free range, and to be guided by his own will. Put a man, who has ranged the prairies, and exulted in the wilderness, as I have for years, in a prison, to let him have a full taste of the blessings of freedom, and the horror of shackles and confinement! I passed the remainder of the day in fierce walking backwards and forwards over my stone floor, with no object to contemplate, but my swarthy sentinel, through the grate. He seemed to be true to his office, and fitly selected for his business, for I thought I saw him look at me through the grate with the natural exultation and joy of a bad and malicious heart in the view of misery.

When the darkness of night came to this dreary place, it was the darkness of the grave. Every ray of light was extinct. I spread my blankets on the stone floor, in hopes at least to find, for a few hours, in the oblivion of sleep, some repose from the agitation of my thoughts. But in this hope I was disappointed. With every other friend and solace, sleep too, fled from me. My active mind ranged every where, and returned only to unavailing efforts to imagine the condition and feelings of my father and what would be our ultimate fate. I shut my eyes by an effort, but nature would have her way, and the eyelids would not close.

At length a glimmer of daylight, through my grate, relieved this long and painful effort to sleep. I arose, went to my grate, {177} and took all possible survey of what I could see. Directly in front of it was the door of the general's office, and he was standing in it. I gazed on him awhile. Ah! that I had had but my trusty rifle well charged to my face! Could I but have had the pleasure of that single shot, I think I would have been willing to have purchased it by my life. But wishes are not rifle balls, and will not kill.

The church bell told eight in the morning. The drum rolled. A soldier came, and handed me in something to eat. It proved to be dried beans and corn cooked with rancid tallow! The contents were about a pint. I took it up, and brought it within the reach of my nostrils, and sat it down in unconquerable loathing. When the soldier returned in the evening to bring me more, I handed him my morning ration untasted and just as it was. He asked me in a gruff tone why I had not eaten it? I told him the smell of it was enough, and that I could not eat it. He threw the contents of the dish in my face, muttering something which amounted to saying, that it was good enough for such a brute as I was. To this I answered, that if being a brute gave claims upon that dish, I thought he had best eat it himself. On this he flung away in a passion, and returned no more that night, for which I was not sorry. Had the food even been fit to eat, my thoughts were too dark and my mind too much agitated to allow me appetite. In fact, I felt myself becoming sick.

At night I was visited by the serjeant, who asked me about my health and spirits in a tone and manner, that indicated real kindness of feeling. I trusted in the reality of his sympathy, and told him, I was not well. He then questioned me, if I had eaten any thing? I told him no, and explained to him the double reason, why I had eaten nothing. He answered that he would remove one of the causes, by sending me something good. I then asked him if he had seen my father? He said he had, though he had been unable to hold any conversation with him, for want of his understanding Spanish. I thanked him for this manifestation of friendship, and he left me. In a {178} short time he returned with two well cooked and seasoned dishes. I begged him to take it first to my father, and when he had eaten what he wished, he might bring the remainder to me, and I would share it among my companions. He assured me that my father was served with the same kind of food, and that my companions should not be forgotten in the distribution. While I was eating, he remained with me, and asked me, if I had a mother, and brothers, and sisters in my own country? My heart was full, as I answered him. He proceeded to question me, how long it had been since I had seen them or heard from them, and in what I had been occupied, during my long absence from my country? My misfortunes appeared to affect him. When I had finished eating, he enquired how I had passed the preceding night? In all his questions, he displayed true humanity and tenderness of heart. When he left me, he affectionately wished me good night. This night passed as sleepless and uncomfortable as the preceding one. Next day the kind serjeant brought my dinner again, though from anxiety and growing indisposition I was unable to eat. At night he came again with my supper, and to my surprise accompanied by his sister, a young lady of great personal beauty. Her first enquiry was that of a kind and affectionate nature, and concerned my father. She enquired about my age, and all the circumstances that induced me to leave my country? I took leave to intimate in my answer, my extreme anxiety to see my relatives, and return to my country, and in particular, that it was like depriving me of life, in this strange land, and in prison, to separate me from my old and infirm father. She assured me that she would pray for our salvation, and attempt to intercede with the general in our behalf, and that while we remained in prison, she would allow us to suffer nothing, which her power, means or influence could supply. She then wished me a good night, and departed. I know not what is the influence of the ministration of a kind spirit, like hers, but this night my sleep was sound and dreamless.

She frequently repeated these kind visits, and redeemed to the letter all her pledges of kindness. For I suffered for nothing {179} in regard to food or drink. A bed was provided for me, and even a change of clothing. This undeviating kindness greatly endeared her to me. About this time, Captain John Bradshaw, of the ship Franklin, and Rufus Perkins, his supercargo, asked leave of the general, to come and visit us. The general denied them. But Captain Bradshaw, like a true hearted American, disregarded the little brief authority of this miserable republican despot, and fearless of danger and the consequences, came to see me without leave. When I spoke to him about our buried furs, he asked me about the chances and the means we had to bring them in? And whether we were disposed to make the effort, and if we succeeded, to sell them to him? The prisoners, as he separately applied to them, one and all assured him, that nothing would give them more pleasure. He assured us, that he would leave nothing in his power undone, in making efforts to deliver us from our confinement. We thanked him for this proffered friendship, and he departed.

His first efforts in our favor were directed to gaining the friendship of the general, in order to soften his feelings in regard to us. But in this he entirely failed. He then adopted an innocent stratagem, which was more successful. He informed the general that he had business with a Spanish merchant in port, which he could not transact for want of some one who could speak the language fluently, who would interpret for him, that he understood that one of the American prisoners could speak the language perfectly well, and that if he would allow that prisoner to come and interpret for him a few hours, he would bind himself in a bond to any amount, that the prisoner at the expiration of his services, would return voluntarily to his prison. To this the general gave his consent. Captain Bradshaw came to my prison, and I was permitted by the general's order to leave my prison.

When I went abroad, Captain Bradshaw conducted me to the office of an old captain, who had charge of the arms. We begged him to intercede with the general to obtain his permission, that we might go out and bring in our furs. We informed {180} him, that Captain Bradshaw and the supercargo, Rufus Perkins, would be our security in any amount, that the general was disposed to name, that we would return, and surrender ourselves to him, at the close of the expedition. He was at once satisfied of our honor and integrity, and that we were by no means those spies, whom the general took us for, and he promised to use all his influence with the general, to persuade him to dispatch us for our furs. We assured him, that in addition to our other proofs, that we were bonafide Americans, and true republicans, we had documents under the proper signature of the President of the United States, which we hoped, would be sufficient to satisfy him, and every one, who we were. He asked to see those papers, of which I spoke. I told him they were my father's commission of first lieutenant in the ranging service, during the late war with England, and an honorable discharge at the close of the war. He promised to communicate this information to the general, and departed, proposing to return in half an hour. During this interval, we walked to my father's cell, and I had the satisfaction of speaking with him through the grates. He asked me if I had been visited by a beautiful young lady? When I assented, he replied, that this charming young woman, as a ministering angel, had also visited his cell with every sort of kindness and relief, which she had extended to each one of our companions. I had the satisfaction afterwards, of speaking with each one of our companions. I need not add, how much delighted we were to speak with one another once more. From these visits I returned to the office of the captain of arms.

We found him waiting with the most painful intelligence. Nothing could move the general, to allow us to go out and bring in our furs. He expressed a wish, notwithstanding, to see the commission of which I had spoken, and that I should return to my cell. I gave the papers to Captain Bradshaw, requesting him to return them to my father, after the general should have examined them. This he promised, and I took my leave of him, returning to my dreary prison, less buoyant and more completely desponding of my liberty than ever.

{181} In a few moments Captain Bradshaw and Perkins came again to my cell, and said that the general had no faith in our papers, and could not be softened by any entreaty, to give us our liberty. As he said this, the sentinel came up, and stopped him short in his conversation, and ordered them off affirming, that it was the general's express command, that he should not be allowed to see or speak with me again. They however pledged their honor as they left me, that whenever an occasion offered, they would yield us all the assistance in their power, and wishing me better fortune, they departed.

A fortnight elapsed in this miserable prison, during which I had no other consolation, than the visits of the young lady, and even these, such was the strictness of the general's orders, were like all angel visits, _few and far between_. At length a note was presented me by the serjeant, from my father. What a note! I appeal to the heart of every good son to understand what passed within me. This note was written on a piece of paste board torn from his hat. The characters were almost illegible, for they were written with a stick, and the ink was blood, drawn from his aged veins! He informed me that he was very ill, and without any hope of recovery, that he had but one wish on this side the grave, and that was, to see me once more before he died. He begged me to spare no entreaties, that the general would grant me permission to come and see him a last time; but, that if this permission could not be obtained, to be assured, that he loved me, and remembered me affectionately, in death.

This letter pierced me to the heart. O, could I have flown through my prison walls! Had I possessed the strength of the giants, how soon would I have levelled them, even had I drawn down destruction on my own head in doing it. But I could own nothing in my favour, but a fierce and self devouring will. In hopes that the heart of the general was not all adamant, I entreated the serjeant to go and inform him of my father's illness, and his desire to see me once more, and to try to gain permission that I might have leave to attend upon him, or if that might not be, to visit him once more, according to his wish. He went {182} in compliance with my entreaties, and in a few minutes returned with a dejected countenance, from which I at once inferred what was the fate of my application. His voice faltered as he related that the general absolutely refused this request. Oh God! of what stuff are some hearts made! and this was a republican officer! What nameless tortures and miseries do not Americans suffer in foreign climes from those miserable despots who first injure and oppress, and then hate the victims of their oppression, as judging their hearts by their own, and thinking that their victims must be full of purposes of revenge.

The honest and kind hearted serjeant hesitated not to express manly and natural indignation, in view of this inhuman brutality of the general, in refusing a favor, called for by the simplest dictates of humanity, a favor too, in the granting which there could be neither difficulty nor danger. All he could do in the case he promised to do, which was to see that my father should want no sort of nourishment, or aid which he could render him. I tried to thank him, but my case was not of a kind to be alleviated by this sort of consolation. When I thought of our expectations of relief, when we threw ourselves in the power of these vile people, when I took into view our innocence of even the suspicion of a charge that could be brought against us, when I thought of their duplicity of disarming us, and their infamous oppression as soon as we were in their power, and more than all, when I thought of this last brutal cruelty and insult, my whole heart and nature rose in one mingled feeling of rage, wounded affection, and the indignation of despair. The image of my venerable father, suffering and dying unsolaced and unrelieved, and with not a person, who spoke his language, to close his eyes, and I so near him, was before me wherever I turned my eyes.

What a horrible night ensued at the close of this day! As the light was fading, the excellent young lady presented herself at my grate. She repeated all that her brother had related to me, in regard to the cruel refusal of the general. While she discussed this subject, the tears fell from her eyes, and I had the consolation to know, that one person at least felt real sympathy {183} for my distress. She added, in faltering tones, that she was well aware that in a case like this words were of but little avail, but that I might be assured of the kindest attention to all the wants of my father, that she could relieve; and that if it was the will of God, to take him out of this world of sorrow and change, that he should be buried decently and as if he were her own father. Judge what I must have felt towards this noble minded and kind hearted young lady! As she withdrew, my prayers at this time were hearty, if never before, that God would reward her a thousand fold in all good things, for her sympathy with our sufferings.

Thus passed away these days of agony and suspense. The young lady visited me as often as it was understood the general's orders would permit, that is, once in two or three days, bringing me food and drink, of which in the present state of my thoughts, I had little need. In fact, I had become so emaciated and feeble that I could hardly travel across my prison floor. But no grief arrests the flight of time, and the twenty-fourth of April came, in which the serjeant visited me and in a manner of mingled kindness and firmness told me that my father was no more. At these tidings, simple truth calls on me to declare, my heart felt relieved. I am a hunter, and not a person to analyze the feelings of poor human nature. My father now was gone, gone where the voice of the oppressor is no more heard. Since the death of my mother, I have reason to think, that life had been to him one long burden. He had been set free from it all, and set free too, from the cruelty of this vile people, and the still viler general. I felt weak, and exhausted myself, and I expected to rejoin him in a few days, never to be separated from him. Life was a burden of which I longed to be relieved.

After I had given vent to natural feelings on this occasion, the serjeant asked me touching the manner in which we bury our dead in our country? I informed him. He then observed that the reason why he asked that question was, that his sister wished, that my father's body might be interred in a manner conformable to my wishes. I could only thank him for all this {184} kindness and humanity to me, as he left me. I passed the remainder of this day in the indulgence of such reflections as I have no wish to describe, even had I the power.

At night the serjeant's sister again visited my prison. She seemed neither able nor disposed to enter upon the subject before us, and reluctant to call up the circumstance of my father's death to my thoughts. At length she presented me with a complete suit of black, and begged that I would wear it on the following day at my father's funeral. I observed, in astonishment, that she could not doubt what a melancholy satisfaction it would be to me to follow the remains of my father to the grave, but that between me and that satisfaction were the walls of my prison, through which I could not break. She remarked, that by dint of importunity, she had prevailed on the general to allow me to attend the funeral. The fair young lady then undertook the duties of minister and philosopher, counselling me not to grieve for that, for which there is no remedy, proving to me that it was the will of God, that he should thus obtain deliverance from prison, and all the evils of this transitory life, and abundance of common place language of this sort, very similar to what is held in my own country on like occasions. Having finished her kindly intended chapter of consolations, she wished me a good night and left me to my own thoughts. The night I spent in walking the floor of my prison.

At eight in the morning, a file of six soldiers appeared at the door of my prison. It was opened, and I once more breathed the fresh air! The earth and the sky seemed a new region.--The glare of light dazzled my eyes, and dizzied my head. I reeled as I walked. A lieutenant conducted the ceremonies: and when I arrived at the grave he ordered the crowd to give way, that I might see the coffin let down, and the grave filled. I advanced to the edge of the grave, and caught a glimpse of the coffin that contained the remains of the brave hunter and ranger. The coffin was covered with black. No prayers were said. I had scarce time to draw a second breath, before the grave was half filled with earth. I was led back to my prison, {185} the young lady walking by my side in tears. I would gladly have found relief for my own oppressed heart in tears, if they would have flowed. But the sources were dried, and tears would not come to my relief. When I arrived at the prison, such a horrid revulsion came over me at the thoughts of entering that dreary place again, that I am sure I should have preferred to have been shot, rather than enter it again. But I recovered myself by reflecting that my health was rapidly declining, and that I should be able in a short time to escape from the oppressor and the prison walls, and rejoin my father, and be at rest.

This thought composed me, and I heard the key turn upon me with a calm and tranquilized mind. I lay down upon my bed, and passed many hours in the oblivion of sleep. The customary habit of sleep during the night returned to me; and my strength and appetite began to return with it. I felt an irresistible propensity to resume my former habit of smoking. I named my inclination to my friend the serjeant. He was kind enough to furnish me cigars. This was a new resource to aid me in killing the time. Apart from the soothing sensation of smoking, I amused myself for hours in watching the curling of my smoke from the cigar. Those who have always been free, cannot imagine the corroding torments of thoughts preying upon the bosom of the prisoner, who has neither friend to converse with, books to read, or occupation to fill his hours.

On the 27th of June, Captain Bradshaw's vessel was seized, on the charge of smuggling. There were other American vessels in this port at the same time, the names of the captains of which, as far as I can recollect, were Seth Rogers, Aaron W. Williams, and H. Cunningham. These gentlemen, jointly with their supercargoes, sent me five ounces of gold, advising me to keep this money secret from the knowledge of the Spaniards, and preserve it as a resource for my companions and myself, in case of emergencies.

About this time the general received several packages of letters in English, the contents of which, not understanding the {186} language, he could not make out. There was no regular translator at hand; and he sent orders to the serjeant to have me conducted to the office for that purpose. When I entered the office he asked me if I could read writing? When I told him yes, he procured a seat, and bade me sit down. He then presented me a letter in English, requesting me to translate it into Spanish. Though I put forth no claims on the score of scholarship, I perfectly comprehended the meaning of the words in both languages. I accomplished the translation in the best manner in my power; and he was pleased entirely to approve it. He proceeded to ask me a great many questions relative to my travels through the Mexican country; how long I had been absent from my own country, and what had been my occupation, during that absence? To all which questions I returned satisfactory answers. When he bade the guard return me to prison, he informed me that he should probably call for me again.

I returned to my prison somewhat cheered in spirits. I foresaw that he would often have occasion for my services as a translator, and if I showed an obliging disposition, and rendered myself useful, I hoped to obtain enlargement for myself and my companions. As I expected, I was summoned to his office for several days in succession. On my entering the office he began to assume the habit of saluting me kindly, giving me a seat, enquiring after my health, and showing me the other customary civilities. When I found him in his best humor, I generally took occasion remotely to hint at the case of our being detained as prisoners. I tried, gently and soothingly, to convince him of the oppression and injustice of treating the innocent citizens of a sister republic, as if they were spies. He generally showed a disposition to evade the subject; or alleged as a reason for what he had done, that he regretted exceedingly that circumstances on our part seemed so suspicious, that, obliged as he was, to execute the laws of his country, he felt himself compelled to act as he had done; that it was far from his disposition to desire to punish any one unjustly, and without cause; and that he would be glad if we could produce any substantial {187} evidence to acquit us from the suspicion of being spies.

Though, as a true and honest man, I knew that every word he pronounced was a vile and deceitful lie, yet such is the power of the oppressor, I swallowed my rising words, and dissembled a sort of satisfaction. Waiving the further discussion of our imprisonment, I again recurred to the subject of permission to bring in our furs, persuading him, if he had any doubts about our good faith in returning to this place, to send soldiers to guard us; assuring him, that on obtaining our furs we would pay the soldiers, and indemnify him for any other expense he might incur on the occasion; and that, moreover, we would feel ourselves as grateful to him as if he had bestowed upon us the value of the furs in money. He heard me to the close, and listened with attention; and though he said he could not at present give his consent, he promised that he would deliberate upon the subject, and in the course of a week, let me know the result of his resolution. He then bade his soldiers remand me to prison. I begged him to allow me to communicate this conversation to my companions. This he refused, and I re-entered my prison.

From these repeated interviews, I began to acquaint myself with his interior character. I perceived, that, like most arbitrary and cruel men, he was fickle and infirm of purpose. I determined to take advantage of that weakness in his character by seeming submissive to his wishes, and striving to conform as far as I could to his capricious wishes; and more than all, to seize the right occasions to tease him with importunities for our liberty, and permission to bring in our furs. Four days elapsed before I had another opportunity of seeing him. During this time I had finished the translation of a number of letters, some of which were from Capt. Bradshaw, and related to the detention of his ship and cargo, and himself. When I had finished these translations, and was re-admitted to his presence, I asked him if he had come to any determination in regard to letting us go to bring in our furs? He answered in his surliest tone, no! How different were my reflections on returning to my prison from those with which I had left it! How earnestly I wished that {188} he and I had been together in the wild woods, and I armed with my rifle!

I formed a firm purpose to translate no more letters for him. I found that I had gained nothing by this sort of service; nor even by dissembling a general disposition to serve him. I was anxious for another request to translate, that I might have the pleasure of refusing him, and of telling him to his face that though I was his prisoner, I was not his slave. But it was three days before he sent for me again. At their expiration I was summoned to his office, and he offered me a seat, according to former custom. When I was seated, with a smiling countenance he handed me a packet of letters, and bade me translate them. I took one, opened it, and carelessly perused a few lines, and returning the packet back, rose from my seat, and told him I wished to return to my prison; and bowing, I moved towards the door. He darted a glance at me resembling that of an enraged wild beast; and in a voice, not unlike the growl of a wounded, grizzly bear, asked me why I did not put myself to the translation of the letters? Assuming a manner and tone as surly as his own, I told him my reasons were, that I did not choose to labor voluntarily for an oppressor and enemy; and that I had come to the determination to do it no longer. At this he struck me over the head such a blow with the flat of his sword, as well nigh dropped me on the floor; and ordered the soldiers to return me to prison, where he said I should lay and rot. The moment I recovered from the stunning effect of the blow I sprang toward him; but was immediately seized by the guards, and dragged to the door; he, the while, muttered abundance of the curses which his language supplies. In return, I begged him to consider how much it was like an officer and gentleman to beat an unarmed prisoner in his power, but that if I only had a sword to meet him upon equal terms, I could easily kill as many such dastards as he was, as could come at me. He bade me be silent, and the soldiers to take me off. They shoved me violently on before them to prison. When it closed upon me I never expected to see the sun rise and set again.

{189} Here I remained a week without seeing even the young lady, who was justly so dear to my heart. She was debarred by the general's orders not only from visiting me, but even sending me provisions! I was again reduced to the fare of corn boiled in spoiled tallow, which was brought me twice a day. At this juncture came on Capt. Bradshaw's trial. The declaration of the Captain, supercargo and crew was to be taken, and all the parties separately interrogated by a Spaniard. Not an individual of them could speak a word of Spanish, except the Captain, and he was not allowed to translate in his own case. The general supposed that by interrogating the parties separately, he should be able to gain some advantage from the contradictions of the testimony, and some positive proof of smuggling. Capt. Bradshaw being denied the privilege of interpreting for his crew, requested the general to procure some one who might be allowed to perform that office for him. The general told him that I was capable of the office, if I could be gained to the humor; but that he would as willingly deal with a devil, as with me, when out of humor. Capt. Bradshaw asked him if he might be allowed to converse with me on the subject? He consented, and Capt. B. came to my prison. In reference to the above information, he asked me what had taken place between me and the general which had so exasperated him against me? I related all the circumstances of our last interview. He laughed heartily at my defiance of the general. I was ready, of course, to render any service by which I could oblige Capt. B. He returned to the general, and informed him that I was ready to undertake to translate or interpret in his case.

In a short time my door was opened, and I was once more conducted to the office of the general. Capt. B. was sitting there in waiting. The general asked me if I had so far changed my mind, as to be willing to translate and interpret again? I told him I was always ready to perform that office for a _gentleman_. I placed such an emphasis on the word gentleman, as I purposed, should inform him, that I intended that appellation for the {190} Captain, and not for him. Whether he really misunderstood me, or dissembled the appearance of misunderstanding me, I know not. He only named an hour, in which he should call on me for that service, cautioning me to act in the business with truth and good faith. I told him that my countrymen in that respect, had greatly the disadvantage of his people; for that it was our weakness, not to know how to say any thing but the truth. At this he smiled, ordering me back to prison, until I should be called for next day.

At eight the next morning, I was again summoned to his office, where he proceeded, through me, to question Captain B. touching the different ports at which he had traded, and what was his cargo, when he left the U.S.? He added a great many other questions in relation to the voyage, irrelevant to the purposes of this journal. The clerk on this occasion was an Indian, and a quick and elegant writer. Capt. B. produced his bill of lading, and the other usual documents of clearing out a ship; all which I was obliged to translate. They being matters out of the line of my pursuits, and I making no pretensions to accurate acquaintance with either language, the translation, of course, occupied no inconsiderable time. It was nearly twelve, when he bade us withdraw, with orders to meet him again at his office at two in the afternoon. Capt. B. accompanied me to prison, and as we went on, requested me to make the testimonies of his crew as nearly correspond, and substantiate each other, as possible; for that some of them were angry with him, and would strive to give testimony calculated to condemn him. I assured him that I would do any thing to serve him, that I could in honor. I entered my prison, and slept soundly, until the bells struck two.

I was then reconducted to the general's office; where he continued to interrogate Capt. B., until three. The Supercargo, Mr. R. Perkins, was then called upon to produce his manifesto, and cautioned to declare the truth, in relation to the subject in question. This manifesto differed in no essential respect from the account of the Captain. At sunset they were {191} dismissed, and I remanded to my prison. Day after day the same task was imposed, and the same labors devolved upon me. I at length summoned courage to resume the old question of permission to go out and bring in our furs. To my surprise he remarked, that as soon as he had finished taking all the evidence in relation to Capt. Bradshaw's ship and cargo, he would not only allow us to go, but would send soldiers to prevent the Indians from molesting us. I informed him, that his intended kindness would be unavailing to us, if he did not allow us to depart before the month of August; for that in that month the melting of the snow on the mountains at the sources of Red river caused it to overflow, and that our furs were buried in the bottom, so that the river, in overflowing, would spoil them. He replied, that it was out of his power to grant the consent at this time, which was the 19th of July.

On the 28th he had finished taking all the depositions, and I again asked him for permission to go and bring in our furs. He still started delays, alleging that he had made no arrangements for that purpose yet. Capt. B. was present, and asked him to allow me to stay with him on board his vessel, promising that he would be accountable for me. To my astonishment the general consented. I repaired to the house of the young lady, who had been so kind to me. She received me with open arms, and manifested the most unequivocal delight. She congratulated me on being once more free from my dismal prison, and asked me a thousand questions. The Captain and myself spent the evening with her; and at its close, I repaired with him on board his beautiful ship, the first sea vessel I had ever been on board. It may be imagined what a spectacle of interest and eager curiosity the interior of this ship, the rigging, masts, awning, in short, every thing appertaining to it, would be to a person raised as I had been, and of a mind naturally inquisitive. What a new set of people were the sailors! How amusing and strange their dialect! They heartily shook me by the hand, and commenced describing the several punishments they would inflict upon the general, if they had him in their {192} power. Among the different inflictions purposed, none seemed to please them better, than the idea of tarring and feathering him, all which I would gladly have seen him endure, but the worst of it was, after all, the general was not in their power.

I spent the greater part of the night with the captain and supercargo, conversing about the oppressions and cruelties of the general, and the death of my father, for, during the time of his sickness, Captain Bradshaw had sailed to Monte el Rey, and had not returned, until after his death. He intended, he said, if his vessel was condemned, to slip his anchors, and run out of the harbor, at the risk of being sunk, as he passed the fort. He promised me, if I would take passage with him, that I should fare as he did, and that, when we should arrive at Boston, he would obtain me some situation, in which I could procure a subsistence. I thanked him for his very kind offer, but remarked, that my companions had suffered a great deal with me, that we had had many trials together, and had hazarded our lives for each other, and that now I would suffer any thing rather than desert them, and leave them in prison, probably, to have their sufferings enhanced, in consequence of my desertion.

In the morning we all three went on shore together, and took breakfast at the house of my friend, the brother of the young lady. We passed from breakfast, to the office of the general. I asked leave of him to visit my companions in prison. His countenance became red with anger, and he ordered the guard to search me, and take me to prison. I perceived that he thought I had arms concealed about me, and assured him I had none. This did not hinder the guard from searching me, before they put me in prison.

I heard no more from him, and remained shut up in prison until the 28th of August. On that day the general ordered me again to be conducted to his office, where, according to his request, I translated some letters for him. When I had finished, he asked me if I still had an inclination to go for my furs? I replied, that I had reason to suppose that they had been covered {193} before this time, with the waters of Red river, and were all spoiled; but that nevertheless, I should be glad to be certain about it, and at least we should be able to bring in our traps. He asked me what adequate security I could give for our good behavior, and the certainty of our return, provided he should allow us the use of our arms for self defence? I replied, that I knew no one, who could give the security required, but that the soldiers he would send with us, would be his security for our return; but that it was out of the question to think of sending us on a trip, so dangerous under any circumstances, without allowing us to go armed. He remanded me to prison, saying, that he would reflect upon it, and let me know the result of his reflections in the morning. I reflected as I walked to prison, that I could have procured the security of Captain Bradshaw, merely for the asking. But I knew the character of my companions, and was so well aware, how they would feel when all should be once free again, and well armed, that I dared not bind any one in security for us. Such had been the extent of the injuries we had suffered, and so sweet is revenge, and so delightful liberty, when estimated by the bondage we had endured, that I was convinced that Mexico could not array force enough to bring us back alive. I foresaw that the general would send no more than ten or twelve soldiers with us. I knew that it would be no more than an amusement to rise upon them, take their horses for our own riding, flea some of them of their skins, to show them that we knew how to inflict torture, and send the rest back to the general on foot. Knowing that the temptation to some retaliation of this sort would be irresistible, I was determined that no one of my countrymen should be left amenable to the laws on our account. Such thoughts passed through my mind as I told the general, I could offer him no security.

Next morning, immediately after eight, I was allowed to walk to the general's office without being guarded. What a fond feeling came back to my heart with this small boon of liberty! How much I was exalted in my own thoughts, that I {194} could walk fifty yards entrusted with my own safe keeping! When I entered the general's office, he saluted me with ceremonious politeness. 'Buenas dias, don Santiago,' said he, and showed me to a seat. He proceeded to make known his pleasure, in respect to me and my companions. In the first place he told us, we were all to be allowed the use of our arms, in the next place, that he would send fifteen of his soldiers with us; and in the third place, that we should all be allowed a week, in which to exercise ourselves, before we set out on our expedition. All this good fortune delighted us, and was more almost, than we would have dared to wish. My companions, in an ecstacy of satisfaction, soon joined us from their prisons. We met with as much affection and gladness of heart, as if we had been brothers. They looked more like persons emancipated from the prison of the grave, than human beings; and I am perfectly aware, that my spectre like visage must have been equally a spectacle to them. We had the privilege of walking in the vicinity of the port, accompanied by a guard of soldiers. Our only immediate restriction was the necessity of returning to our guard house to sleep at night. In this way our time passed pleasantly.

On the 3d of September, the general sent for me to his office. When I entered, he presented me a note, and bade me accompany a soldier to a mission at the distance of thirty miles, where he stated I was to deliver this note to a priest, and that he perhaps would be able to furnish us with horses and mules for our expedition to bring in our furs. I started with the soldier, each of us well mounted. The note was unsealed, and I read it of course. The contents were any thing, rather than encouraging. It contained no demand for the horses, as I had hoped. It simply stated to the priest, what sort of person the general supposed me to be, that we had furs buried on Red river, and wished horses on which to ride out and bring them in, and that if the priest felt disposed to hire his horses to us, he would send soldiers with us to bring us back.

{195} Discouraging as the note was, we pushed ahead with it, and arrived at the priest's mission some time before night. I handed the note to the old priest, who was a very grave looking personage. He read the note, and then asked me to come in and take some wine with him, of which they have great plenty. I followed him into a large parlor, richly adorned with paintings of saints, and several side boards, abundantly stored with wines, which I took it for granted, were not unacceptable to the holy man. The glass ware, the decorations of the parlor, and the arrangement of every thing showed me at a glance, that this priest was a man of taste and fashion. So I was on my guard not to let any of my hunting phrases and back-wood's dialect escape me. He asked me a great many questions about the circumstances of my passage across the continent, to all which I responded in as choice and studied words as I could command. He then asked me how many beasts we should want? I replied that there were seven of us, and that we should each need a pack mule, and a horse to ride upon, which would be fourteen in all. He then asked how many days it would require to go, and return? I answered, that this was a point upon which I could not pronounce with certainty, since I was unacquainted with the road, and accidents might change the issue. He then proposed to charge what was tantamount to 25 cents of our money a day for each mule, that carried a saddle, during the expedition, longer or shorter. To this I consented, and he drew an article of agreement to that effect. He then wrote a note to send by me to the general, in reply to his. By this time the sun was setting, and the church bells began to strike. On this he knelt, and commenced his prayers. He was repeating the Lord's prayer. According to the customs of his church, when he had commenced a member of a sentence, I finished it, by way of response. Such are their modes of repeating their prayers, when there are two or more in company. When we had finished, he turned to me, and asked me why I had prayed? I answered for the salvation of my soul. He said, that it had a Christian appearance, but that he had been {196} informed, that the people of our country did not believe that man had a soul, or that there is a Saviour. I assured him, that he had been entirely misinformed, for that we had churches on every side through all the land, and that the people read the Scriptures, and believed all that was taught in the Gospel, according to their understanding of it. But he continued, 'your people do not believe in the immaculate conception of the Virgin Mary.' I replied, that what the general faith of the people upon this point was, I could not say, and that for myself, I did not pretend to have sufficiently studied the Scriptures, to decide upon such points. My assumed modesty soothed him, and he told me, that it was evident, I had not studied the Scriptures, for that if I had, I could not be in doubt about such obvious articles of faith. I acquiesced in his supposition, that I had not studied the Scriptures, remarking, that I was aware that they contained many mysteries, about which the people in my country entertained various opinions. He said that he was truly sorry, that I was not more conversant with the Scriptures, for that if I had been, I could not have been led astray by the Protestants. His time, however, he added was now too limited to enlighten me, but he laughed, as he said he hoped to have the pleasure of baptising me on my return. To this I replied with a smile, for the truth was, I was fearful of disgusting him, and breaking off the bargain. Glad was I, when he dismissed this subject, and began to chat about other matters. We had an excellent supper, and I was shown to my bed.

In the morning I took leave of the old father, and arrived on the following evening at San Diego. My companions were delighted with the apparent complete success of my mission. The general informed us, that we should have permission to start on the 6th, and that our beasts would be ready for an early start on that day. On the evening of the 5th, he called us to his office, and asked us, how many days we thought the expedition would require? We informed him, as near as we could conjecture. He then said, that he could not spare any soldiers to accompany us. We answered, that it was a point of {197} indifference to us, whether he did or not. 'To insure your return however,' he rejoined, 'I shall retain one of you as a hostage for the return of the rest,' and pointing to me, he informed me, 'that I was the selected hostage,' and that I must remain in prison, during their absence, and that if they did not return, it would convince him, that we were spies, and that in consequence he would cause me to be executed.

At this horrible sentence, breaking upon us in the sanguine rapture of confidence, we all gazed at each other in the consternation of despair. Some of our company remarked, that they had better abandon the expedition altogether, than leave me behind. Others stood in mute indecision. We had all in truth confidently anticipated never to return to this place again. My indignation, meanwhile, had mounted to such a pitch, as wholly to absorb all sense of personal danger, or care about myself. It seemed as if Providence had put the unrelenting seal of disappointmont to every plan I attempted to devise. I told them to go, and not allow my detention to dishearten, or detain them, for that I had no fear of any thing, the general could inflict, that I had little left, but life to relinquish, and that their refusal to go, as things now were, would be taken for ample proofs, that we were spies, and would ensure our condemnation and the conviction, that we never had intended to return.