Chapter VII: Voyage to Mexico

BOSTON, MASS., December 29, 1846.

MY DEAREST WIFE,--We reached Boston yesterday at half past twelve,
after a very pleasant journey from Bangor. The weather was unusually
mild, and we experienced very little fatigue. Nancy took the
afternoon cars for Providence. This afternoon the steamer Perry runs
to Newport and will take her home.

I shall not sail probably till Saturday.

I have determined to take out a complete equipment, even to a
servant. I am causing inquiries to be made this morning, and in case
I find no one to my mind, I shall send for Daniel Murphy. Daniel
would be so devoted to me. If I were sick he would take care of me.
Daniel, too, would feel with me perfectly secure from all harm. The
quartermaster will furnish me here with a camp equipage. I shall
provide myself with a saddle, india-rubber leggings, and everything
complete, so that not for a single instant shall I be delayed on
reaching my destination. Immediately on my landing I wish to be
ready for service. I may take out a horse. I wish some of my good
friends would present me one. I should want a horse worth three
hundred dollars.

I have sent for Oliver to spend the day with me to-morrow. I thought
it best not to send for father. It will be hard for him to part with
me, and he had better stay at home.

Since leaving you my mind has dwelt much upon my little family. I
know you will look on the bright side. In all candor, I consider my
life as safe in Mexico as in Maine. I hope to get a sound
constitution, and to come back to you, my dear Margaret, in due
season, sound in body and none the worse for wear. You have a
treasure in your own mother and brothers and sisters. Mary is with
you. I feel grateful to her for giving up so promptly her own
wishes to stay with you. I hope you will have a pleasant winter.
Keep up your spirits, and have faith in the future and in the God of
the future. I go to Mexico without a single foreboding. I have
faith, almost implicit faith, that I shall come back. Have faith
with me.

So long as I remain in Boston you shall hear from me every day. Love
to Mary and the chicks.

Affectionately yours,
ISAAC.

BOSTON, MASS., December 30, 1846.

MY DEAR MARGARET,--Oliver has come down to pass the day with me. We are hard at work preparing inventories and getting everything ready. We have a fine vessel, and I look forward to a pleasant passage.

Oliver brought me the sad intelligence of the death of Elizabeth on the 10th of December. Campbell wrote further a most feeling and excellent letter. Elizabeth suffered but little, and everything was done for her that could be suggested by the forethought of the most devoted of husbands.

Her child was very well. Mary, we expect, will return in the spring. I shall try and send you a little note every day. Write me at Brazos Santiago, and write often, commencing now. Write once a week, adding something to your letters each day.

Remember me to all.

Affectionately,
ISAAC.

Lieutenant Stevens's orders were to take charge of the pontoon and engineer trains, then being loaded on shipboard in Boston, and accompany the same to the headquarters of General Scott in Mexico, touching first at Brazos Santiago, Texas.

Notwithstanding the urgency of his orders, various delays occurred, and it was not until the 19th of January that the vessel sailed. During this period of waiting he had a visit from his father, and one from Oliver, also. His cousins Charles and Henry also came down from Andover to bid him good-by. He spent a day in New Bedford, calling upon his friends there. Daniel Murphy, having fallen sick, had to be sent home.

BOSTON, MASS., January 13, 1847.

MY DEAREST WIFE,--I wrote you a brief note yesterday, stating that I
should not probably sail for some days. Having nothing to do here,
yet obliged to remain to be in readiness to obey any new orders, I
shall endeavor to spend my time in some rational manner. There are
military matters to be looked into and old friends to visit.

I hope I shall hear from you, before I leave Boston, and very much
in full. I wish once more to look into the little details of your
daily life, before I commit myself to the broad bosom of the great
waters.

January 14. Yesterday I passed a portion of the day in Cambridge;
found Mrs. Breese and family all well. The children had grown much
since I last saw them. Mrs. Breese seemed very resigned, but she has
evidently been a great mourner. She was the same hospitable,
noble-hearted woman as of old. She expects to get to Newport about
May; will go to housekeeping in their old house.

I saw the forty-eight Viennese dancers last evening. It was
splendid. They are young girls from four years to sixteen, all
handsome and perfectly trained. Everybody goes to see them. Last
evening there was a great turn-out of the beauty and fashion of
Boston.

You shall hear from me again before I leave. There is no probability
of my sailing before Saturday. Love to Hazard and the babe.
Remembrances, and

Yours affectionately,
ISAAC.

BOSTON, MASS., January 15, 1847.

MY DEAREST WIFE,--There is now every prospect of my getting off
to-morrow. I may not reach the Brazos till the middle of February.
Colonel Totten left on the 12th for Mexico, and I shall without
doubt serve under his immediate direction. Eighteen officers of
engineers are either in Mexico, or on their way thither.

I trust I shall get a few lines from you to-morrow before I sail, as
otherwise a month must pass before any tidings reach me. Do not fall
to write quite often to me at the Brazos. I shall not object, you
know, to find a dozen letters, more or less.

To-day I dined at Mr. Eben Dale's, a nephew of aunt Cummings. Cousin
Charles Stevens dined there also. He designs going this evening to
see the Viennese dancers. I wish you could see them. Everybody is
charmed. Whole families go, children and all, and to-morrow there is
to be an afternoon exhibition for the particular benefit of the
children.

I will write you again before I sail.

Affectionately yours,
ISAAC STEVENS.

BOSTON, MASS., January 19, 1847.

MY DEAREST WIFE,--It is now ten o'clock in the morning, and I shall
in an hour take my departure for Mexico.

We have a fine vessel--good officers and crew--and it is a charming
day.

I hoped to have heard from you before I left, but no letter has
reached me.

God bless you and the little ones.

Yours affectionately,
ISAAC.

MY DEAREST WIFE,--It is now January 27, and the eighth day of our
being at sea. I wrote you a brief note on the day I sailed, Tuesday,
January 19. We left the wharf at three P.M., with a strong westerly
wind, which drove our bark through the water at the rate of eight
knots per hour. The weather was very cold, but with my cloak around
me, I remained on deck several hours. Soon Boston and its suburbs
vanished in the distance, and we were fairly embarked on our
journey's way. As I think it will interest you, I will jot down the
occurrences of each day since our departure. And first of all, my
ocean home is in a beautifully modeled and fast-sailing bark of
about two hundred tons, called the Prompt. There are twelve souls on
board: Captain Wellman, first officer Gallicer, second officer
Stebbins, six men before the mast, one man acting as cook and
steward, my servant, a nice Irish lad, Owen Clarke, nineteen years
of age, and your humble servant. The officers of the bark are a fine
set of fellows, and the crew perfectly cheerful and attentive to
their duty. Tuesday evening I was not much troubled with
sea-sickness, and I enjoyed a good night's rest; but Wednesday,
January 20, was a hard day, nothing but sea-sickness. In pursuance
of the advice of Captain Wellman, I remained on deck as much of the
time as possible. The weather was somewhat cold, but the wind
moderate. We drifted along the greater portion of the day, not
faster than two or three knots an hour. After suffering from
sea-sickness till noon, I went to my berth. There is an
inexpressible lassitude accompanying sea-sickness, that is worse
than anything else. It requires an effort to make the least
exertion.

Thursday, January 21. This day we had snow all the time. I remained
on deck twelve hours, and towards evening felt vigorous and well.
The weather begins to grow milder. I begin to relish food and to
enjoy sea fare. Our steward has been sick ever since we left port,
and we are in consequence obliged to do the best we can without a
cook. It is now evening, the breeze freshens, the bark dances along
merrily, and there are signs of a gale of wind. I remained up till
eight o'clock, and then retired for the night. As I awoke from time
to time, I could observe from the working of our vessel that it went
hard on deck. I took things quietly and remained in my berth, and
about sunrise of

Friday, January 22, I went on deck. The scene was wild and exciting.
The ocean tossed in wild confusion, and our brave bark riding the
crests of the waves like a sea-bird. The gale had been a severe one,
and the captain told me that at one time he expected he should be
obliged to lay to under bare poles. We pursued our way before the
wind, making nine and ten knots per hour.

Saturday, January 23. The sea has become much smoother and the
weather milder. Yesterday we were in the midst of the Gulf Stream,
and to-day we have passed it.

Sunday, January 24, was a beautiful day. The weather mild and lazy.
I was on deck all day,--part of the time reading, and part dozing
and sleeping. It is comfortable on deck without a coat. We are
getting rapidly into southern latitudes.

Monday, Tuesday, January 25, 26. Head wind and slow progress. Monday
we saw several sail. The weather exceedingly mild and soft. I never
enjoyed existence more than on these two days,--that is, mere
existence. I dreamed away many hours, and built and pulled down air
castles. The thought of home was uppermost. What a change in outward
things in six days. In Bucksport you wrap your cloaks and comforters
around you; at sea we pull off our coats. My health is perfect;
everything like sea-sickness has left me.

Wednesday, January 27. This is likewise a mild, soft, somewhat damp
day. We make exceedingly slow progress; the wind is dead ahead. I
fear we shall be a month reaching the Brazos. Shall I hear from you
there, and how many letters will await me? I trust I shall be with
you again in the course of the summer. I dwell much on my probable
duties in Mexico. In case the contest should be of short duration, I
shall certainly return in the course of the year. I fear that you
will take things hard in my absence. When I reach the Brazos, I may
be able to speak with some certainty of my duties in Mexico.

Thursday, January 28. Last evening we had a rough night. This
morning the sea is very rough, and our bark is pitching about in all
directions. I am fortunate in having no return of sea-sickness. My
boy, Owen, is not so fortunate. I observed his head over the
bulwarks a few moments since in no equivocal position. He is a nice,
willing lad. I picked him up in Boston, the very day we sailed. He
is now in the steward's hands learning to cook. On reaching the
Brazos, he will be quite accomplished in the culinary art.

Friday, January 29. To-day we are making fine progress, about nine
miles per hour; shall reach the Abaco Island, one of the Bahamas, on
Saturday (to-morrow night) at this rate. The weather is charming. I
have most of the day read in my military works, sitting on the deck
of the vessel. The weather is, indeed, rather warm.

Saturday, January 30. Last night there was a change of wind, and
to-day we are making little or no progress. The sea somewhat rough.
We shall not reach the Abaco this evening.

Sunday, January 31. Last evening the wind died away, and to-day we
have not moved one mile per hour. The sun has been warm; I have worn
nothing about my neck to-day. Several of the men are barefoot, and
all of us are in our shirt-sleeves. We are in about latitude 27°,
and some one hundred miles from the Bahamas. This calm weather is
very tedious, but we must be patient; we have now been out twelve
days.

Monday, February 1. This has been an exquisite day. Soon after
dinner our eyes were rejoiced with the sight of land, the first
since leaving Boston, thirteen days since. Our bark glides along
with scarcely any perceptible motion. Towards night we approached
the Great Abaco, and about seven saw the revolving light and the
Hole in the Wall, caused, according to the jolly sons of Neptune, by
the Devil's chasing a porpoise through the rock-bound shore of the
Great Abaco. The hole is, indeed, a small arched opening through the
rocks, admitting the passage of a small boat.

Friday, February 2. Another splendid day. Early in the morning we
made the Berry Islands, inhabited by some fifty or sixty blacks
under a black chief. We saw one of their boats returning from
turtle-fishing. About seven we commenced crossing the Bahama Banks
in soundings, nearly all the way of one hundred miles, from twelve
to twenty-four feet. We had a clean run, and went into deep water
about seven o'clock, running the one hundred miles in about twelve
hours. The evening was surpassingly lovely. I remained on deck till
ten, looking at the stars and thinking of home.

Wednesday, February 3. This day has fairly brought us into the
Mexican Gulf. In ten days, I trust, we shall reach the Brazos.
To-day I have been overhauling my clothes. My boy Owen has mended
some rents in my garments. He says he can wash like "fun." The
captain teases him a good deal about the bright Irish lass he left
in Ann Street. Owen wants me, when I reach Mexico, not only to buy a
mule for his use, but a little cart for the things; quite an idea.
To-day we are in latitude 24° 13'. The weather very warm. I have
found the heat quite oppressive.

Thursday, February 4. Nothing of consequence has occurred to-day. We
are moving on quickly with prosperous though gentle winds.

Friday, February 5. Everything has moved on lazily to-day. We have
seen several vessels.

Saturday, February 6. Same as yesterday. A vessel is in sight,
apparently bound to the north. It is now nearly three o'clock, and
we have been out eighteen days. I shall seal up and send this letter
by the vessel, if she prove to be bound north, and I trust it will
find you well. We are now about five hundred and sixty miles from
the Brazos. Shall I hear from you there? Love to the children, to
Mary; remembrances to Mr. Osgood, Kidder, Mr. and Mrs. Tinkham.

The vessel did not send her boat, and no opportunity was offered to
send this letter. We passed directly under her stern. She was a brig
of two hundred tons, and bound to New York. This letter must remain
on my hands till I reach the Brazos.

Sunday, February 7. A most melancholy event occurred on board today.
As I was lying in my berth, about a quarter before twelve o'clock,
Captain Wellman came into the cabin, somewhat agitated, and said to
me, "Our steward is not to be found." All hands were on deck in a
moment, and a thorough search was made in all parts of the ship. The
steward was not to be found anywhere. The appearance of the galley
was conclusive as to his having thrown himself overboard. He was
seen at half past eleven, and yet little or no preparation had been
made for dinner. He had been observed to be moody and absent-minded
in the course of the morning. We could assign no cause for the act.
He had been treated well, and his duties were light. My servant had
assisted him throughout the passage. His sudden disappearance whilst
four men were on deck, in good smooth weather, caused us all to feel
melancholy. We ate very little dinner. Our thoughts were sad, and we
passed much of our time through the remainder of the day in
recalling every little incident of the voyage having any connection
with the unfortunate steward. The only thing which gave any light
was certain expressions he had made use of, showing a melancholy and
restless spirit. We found out, moreover, that he was suffering very
severely from the bad disorder, contracted some two months since in
Liverpool. This may have been the cause of his making way with
himself.

Monday, February 8. We none of us passed a quiet night, in
consequence of the distressing event of yesterday. One of the crew
has been put into the galley, and things go on in the accustomed
manner. This evening the effects of the steward were disposed of to
the crew at auction; and so he has gone to his account, and our bark
is pursuing her destined course. Our vessel has gone on very quietly
the last two days.

Tuesday, February 9. We still have quiet times, and are gradually
approaching the Brazos. With tolerable good luck we shall arrive
there in two or three days. It is now evening and seven o'clock.
There is every appearance of a norther. The captain has been
somewhat anxiously pacing the deck for the last hour. It is now
eight o'clock, and I will turn in for the night.

Wednesday, February 10. A severe norther came up about nine last
evening, and is now sweeping over the Gulf. Our bark works
admirably. Occasionally she ships a sea. But her deck for the most
part is dry. The weather is very cold, and I have kept my berth
nearly all day.

Thursday, February 11. The norther did not commence to abate till
noon to-day. It is now six P.M. The water is comparatively smooth. I
have been somewhat unwell for two or three days, but hope to become
well with smoother weather.

Friday, February 12. We had a quiet night, and this morning we have
scarcely a breath of wind. Our estimated distance from the Brazos is
about sixty miles. We shall not arrive till to-morrow. I fear I
shall not hear from you. There is some, yes, great doubt, whether
letters to the army are forwarded by mail beyond New Orleans, in
which event all your letters to me will remain in the New Orleans
office; nor can they be forwarded till I can send for them by some
ship going there.

Saturday, February 13. It is now about two P.M., and we are in
direct view of the Brazos, which is some six miles distant. We are
beating up against a head wind, and there is considerable doubt as
to whether we shall make our anchorage to-night. The wind has
gradually subsided, and it is now nearly a calm. Unless a fresh
breeze should spring up, we shall require another day. This is our
twenty-fifth day.

Sunday, February 14, five P.M. I have just reached the Brazos, and
find General Worth, Colonel Totten, Lieutenants Mason and Tower, and
many other officers here. An opportunity offers to send this letter.
I will write again in a few days. I shall remain at the Brazos a few
days longer. Remember me to Kidder and his wife, Mr. and Mrs.
Tinkham, Mr. Osgood, and love of course to the children and Mary.

Affectionately yours,
ISAAC.

BRAZOS SANTIAGO, February 21, 1847.

MY DEAREST MARGARET,--It is now Sunday, one week since I landed.
Your letter and Mary's have reached me, and I have had the
inexpressible pleasure of hearing from home. How happy it made me to
hear from you all! My little children are doing well, your health is
good, and you are passing a quiet and comfortable winter. It is the
greatest joy to me to learn all this. I knew you would find Mr.
Osgood a great addition to our little circle, and with Mary as your
companion, who has always sympathized with you entirely, I did not
anticipate a very tiresome winter.

Since reaching here I have had little or nothing to do. It was
fortunate I reached the Brazos as early as I did. I saw and had some
conversation with Colonel Totten. On Monday, the day after my
arrival, General Scott and a portion of his staff departed for
Tampico. There were left behind four officers of engineers, of
General Scott's staff, with directions to follow by the first
opportunity. These officers are Lieutenants Mason, Trapier, Tower,
and myself. Mason is in fine health, full of animation and
conversation, and very popular with his brother officers. Tower is
the same as ever, a man of great native power, but entirely
unobtrusive. Trapier is an officer you have never seen, a man of
fine address and considerable ability. We all like him very much
indeed.

The general left in excellent spirits. On taking leave of the
engineer officers he made some very complimentary remarks in
reference to the importance of our duties, and his expectations in
regard to us. He will remain in Tampico a few days and then proceed
to the Island of Lobos, where a large expedition is to concentrate
to land and attack Vera Cruz. It is expected that a force of
fourteen thousand men will effect a landing. General Worth is in
command of three thousand regulars at this point, most of whom have
embarked. General Worth and staff are still here. He is somewhat
delicate in health, but full of life and energy. He is thought to be
our great man to handle troops on a battlefield.

I have seen a good deal of my old friend Hunt the last few days. He
is attached to Colonel Duncan's battery, and is now in my room
talking with Mason. He is a man I esteem very much, and he is as
worthy of it as ever. Colonel Duncan has just come in. He is a noble
fellow, not in the least elated by the enviable position he occupied
in the army and before the whole country. He is a man of
extraordinary energy of character, great decision, and great
sagacity. His name and his battery are a terror to the Mexicans, and
he is emphatically thus far the great man of the young officers. He
is modest, amiable, mild, as he is far-sighted, decisive,
indomitable. He is what his friends knew him to be years ago. Mason
and himself are great friends.

Captain Saunders of the engineers is here on General Worth's staff,
and will probably be brevetted for distinguished services at
Monterey.

I shall probably sail on Wednesday next for Tampico, and thence to
the island of Lobos. Lobos is about sixty miles south of Tampico,
and affords an ample protection against northers. At Tampico I shall
probably find General Scott and staff. There I hope to meet Tilden,
Carpenter, and other old friends.

Everything is in the greatest confusion here; a thousand laborers
and teamsters are employed to manage teams, take care of animals and
stores, and load and discharge lighters. Ever since my arrival,
there has been the greatest hurry in embarking troops. There is
great want of system. Most of the men here in government employ are
not business men. Some of the quartermasters are inefficient. There
are some good men. The best business man in the quartermaster's
employ is Lawton, of Newport, brother-in-law of the Turners (Colonel
Robert R. Lawton). He is harbor master, and in receipt of one
hundred and fifty dollars per month. Everybody speaks of him in the
highest terms. He is energetic, intelligent, and perfectly
temperate. He looks in admirable condition. He has applied for, and
will probably receive, a captain's commission in one of the new
regiments. I have seen and conversed with him here. He is full of
hope, life, and energy.

General Butler has just arrived from Monterey, on his return to the
States, and in consequence of his wound not healing. General Taylor
occupies a position in advance of Saltillo, with eighteen
field-pieces, a small body of regular infantry, and some six
thousand volunteers.

My dearest girl, I know nothing certain of ulterior operations.

We have great abundance of supplies and some seven thousand choice
regular troops. We cannot expect the same conduct from the
volunteers as from the regulars, but we hope they will gain laurels.
I shall endeavor to do my duty in whatever circumstances I may be
placed. I trust I shall have full strength to do my full duty. I
know this will accord with all the wishes of your own heart. I know
you would rather never see me than that I should return to your arms
with infamy on my brow. This latter would be terrible. The former
can be borne.

As regards our dear children, I wish Hazard to go to school this
summer, and I am glad he continues to be so promising. Of all
things, I wish him to be obedient. Not the obedience of fear, but of
love and confidence. Our little Susan I know must be a bright, merry
child. Would that I could witness daily her youth, growth, and
development!

Preserve a tranquil spirit; let hope at all times animate and
strengthen you. Have courage, have faith; we shall come together
again, all the better for the trials of separation. I shall write a
note to Mary to accompany this. The mail leaves to-morrow for New
Orleans. Write often, and continue to direct your letters to Brazos
Santiago.

Remember me to all my Bucksport friends, to Kidder and his wife,
Osgood, Mr. and Mrs. Tinkham. Of course all the love in the world
for Hazard and Sue.

Affectionately yours,
ISAAC.

TAMPICO, Wednesday Evening, March 10, 1847.

MY DEAREST WIFE,--We left the Brazos this evening week, and shall
leave this place to-morrow morning. Our passage of only two hundred
and fifty miles thus occupied us seven days. We are somewhat
apprehensive that we shall not reach Vera Cruz till General Scott
shall have effected a landing. Mason, Tower, and three other
officers are with me. Our ship now lies three miles outside the bar.
Our passage up the river Tampico to this place (six miles above the
bar) was a fairy scene. Beautiful views met our eyes, and the
picturesque country about this place perfectly enchanted us. The
atmosphere is delightful. We see few but Mexicans about us. Every
one looks friendly. News has just reached Tampico that General
Taylor has had a hard-fought battle with Santa Anna. All the
accounts came through Mexican channels. Santa Anna claims a victory.
He states that Taylor is shut up in Monterey. But he admits that he
himself has not advanced. We infer and believe that Santa Anna has
been defeated, and will soon return to San Luis Potosi. I feel
sanguine that a decisive success on the part of General Scott may
terminate the war. I hope so.

There is a chance to send this letter in the morning. I of course
write in haste. You shall hear from me again on my arrival at Vera
Cruz.

Affectionately yours,
ISAAC.

The landing took place on Tuesday and Wednesday last (March 9 and
10), and the investment was completed on Thursday. The heavy
ordnance is still on board ship. The debarkation is said to have
been a most splendid affair. The first division landed in two hours.
General Worth was the first man to jump on shore. The city will
undoubtedly fall in a few days. No opposition whatever was made by
the Mexicans to the landing. There was a little skirmishing during
the investment.

At the Brazos I lost my servant Owen. He found he could get much
better wages than I had agreed to give him, and in consequence
thereof he deserted me on the day I left, and I had not time to
recover him. I shall find some difficulty in procuring a good
servant here.

I was very thankful that you wrote father and Mary. I wish you to
keep up some little correspondence with them during my absence. They
will always be glad to hear from you. My father has had his full
share of sorrow, and has suffered as much as most men I know. I have
never had so true and so disinterested a friend as he. He is
absorbed in his children, and, though he expresses little, he feels
much. His daughters have left him one by one, and but one is left. I
feel very sad when I think of him. I trust that Mary will be spared
to him for many years.

We hope to get on shore to-morrow, but as a strong norther has been
blowing since last evening, and is not yet entirely abated, it is
possible we may not land till Tuesday.

I shall keep this letter open till the last moment. The mail is
forwarded by vessels sailing to New Orleans, and is not very
regular.

Thursday morning, March 18. We reached the anchorage off the island
of Sacrificios on Sunday, and did not get on shore till last evening
(Wednesday). We found the headquarters of General Scott some half a
mile from the place of landing. On our way thither we met Colonel
Totten and Captain Lee going out of camp on a reconnoissance.

The camp occupies a circuit of some eight or ten miles. We find
every one in high spirits. The fact is considered unquestioned that
General Taylor has utterly defeated Santa Anna and driven him across
the desert. I meet many friends in camp.

Sunday, March 21. I have now been on shore four days. We are busily
employed on the works preparatory to opening our fire on the place.
Everything is going on finely. My duties interest me much. The
climate is very fine. The colonel and his officers form one mess,
and we have a pleasant time. Don't believe the many idle reports in
regard to losses. Thus far we have lost only one man. The army is in
fine spirits.

Love to every one of my friends, my dear children, and you, my dear
Margaret. I long to embrace you. I shall write again by next mail.

Your affectionate
ISAAC.