Volume One – Chapter Seven.
Choosing a Horse
The reader may justly say that I have dwelt too long on the incidents of my early years. As my excuse for having done so, I can only urge, that the first parts we play on the stage of life appear of more importance to us than what they really are; and are consequently remembered more distinctly and with greater interest than those of later occurrence.
I will try not to offend in the same way again; and, as some compensation for having been too tedious, I shall pass over nearly three years of my existence – without occupying much space in describing the incidents that transpired during this period. Circumstances aid me in doing so, for these three years were spent in a tranquil, happy manner. They produced no change in my situation: for I remained in the same employment – in the service of Captain Hyland.
The ship “Lenore,” owned and commanded by him, was a regular trader between Liverpool and New Orleans.
In our voyages, the captain took as much trouble in trying to teach me navigation – and all other things connected with the profession of the sea – as he could have done had I been his own son.
I appreciated his kindness; and had the gratification to know that my efforts to deserve it met with his warmest approbation.
At every return to Liverpool, and during our sojourn there, his house was my home. At each visit, my friendship for Mrs Hyland, and her beautiful daughter Lenore, became stronger. It was mutual too; and I came to be regarded almost as one of the family.
When in Liverpool, I had frequent opportunities of going to Dublin to see my mother, and with shame I confess that I did not make use of them. The attractions of my home in Liverpool proved too great for me to leave it – even for a short interval.
I often thought of going to Dublin; and reflected with pride on the fact that I was getting to be a man, and would be able to protect my relatives from any ill-treatment they might have received at the hands of Mr Leary. With all this, I did not go.
Aboard of the ship, I had one enemy, who, for some reason not fully understood, seemed to hate me as heartily, as one man could hate another. This was the first mate, who had been with Captain Hyland for several years.
He had witnessed with much disfavour the interest the captain took in my welfare, from the time of my first joining the ship; and jealousy of my influence over the latter might have had much to do in causing the mate’s antipathy towards myself.
The steward, sailmaker, and one or two others, who were permanently attached to the vessel, were all friends to the “Rolling Stone,” the name by which I was generally known; but the hostility of the first mate could not be removed by any efforts I made towards that end.
After a time, I gradually lost the nickname of the “Rolling Stone,” and was called by my proper name, Rowland. I suppose the reason was, that my actions having proved me willing and able to remain for some time in one situation, it was thought that I deserved to be called a “Rolling Stone” no longer.
I had been nearly three years with Captain Hyland, and we were in New Orleans – where the ship, lying at the wharf, was left under my charge. The captain himself had gone to stay at a hotel in the city; and I had not seen him for several days.
The first mate was at this time neglecting his duty, and frequently remained over twenty-four hours absent from the ship. On one occasion, just as the latter came aboard to resume his duties, I received intelligence, that the captain was very ill, and wished to see me ashore.
Notwithstanding this message from the captain himself – the mate, whose name was Edward Adkins – refused to allow me to leave the ship.
The season was summer; and I knew that many people were dying in the city – which was scourged at the time with yellow fever.
The captain had undoubtedly been taken ill of that disease; and, disregarding the commands of the mate, I went ashore with all haste to see him.
I found him, as I had anticipated, suffering from yellow fever. He had just sufficient consciousness to recognise, and bid me an eternal farewell, with a slight pressure of his hand.
He died a few minutes after; and a sensation came over me similar to that I had experienced a few years before – when bending over the cold inanimate form of my father.
Mr Adkins became the captain of the “Lenore,” and at once gave me a discharge. My box was sent ashore; and I was not afterwards allowed to set foot on board of the ship!
I appealed to the English Consul; but could obtain no satisfaction from him. I could not blame the official: for the mate was entitled to the command, and consequently had the right of choosing his crew.
My wages were paid me – besides some trifling compensation, for being discharged in a foreign port.
Again the new world was before me; and the question once more came up: “What am I to do?”
I wished to return to Liverpool to see Mrs Hyland and Lenore. They were to me as a mother and sister. Who should carry to them the sad news of their great misfortune? Who but myself?
The beautiful Lenore, I must see her again. I had been fancying myself in love with her for some time; but, now that her father was dead I reflected more sensibly on the subject, and arrived at the conclusion that I was a fool. I was but seventeen, and she only thirteen years of age! Why should I return to Liverpool? I had a fortune to make; and why should I return to Liverpool?
I thought of my mother, brother, and sister. They were under the ill-treatment of a man I had every reason to hate. They might need my protection. It was my duty to return to them. Should I go?
This question troubled me for some time; but in the end it was settled. I did not go.
Many will say that I neglected a sacred duty; but perhaps they have never been placed in circumstances similar to mine. They have never been in a foreign country, at the age of seventeen, in a city like New Orleans.
There was at this time a great commotion in the place. The fife and drum were continually heard in the streets; and flags were flying from houses in different parts of the city – indicating the localities of “recruiting stations.”
The United States had declared war against Mexico; and volunteers were invited to join the army.
Among other idlers, I enrolled myself.
It was probably a very unwise act; but many thousands have done the same thing; and I claim an equal right with others to act foolishly, if so inclined. We are all guilty of wise and foolish actions, or more properly speaking, of good and bad ones; and often, when desirous of doing the one, it ends by our committing the other.
After being “mustered into the service,” we were sent into the country to a rendezvous, where the corps to which I belonged, which was to form part of a cavalry regiment, received its allotted number of horses.
To have pointed out a particular horse to a particular man, and have said “that is yours,” would have given occasion for many to declare that partiality had been shown. For this reason, an arrangement was made by which each man was allowed to choose his own horse.
The animals were ranged in a line, by being tied to a rail fence; and then we were all mustered in rank, about two hundred and fifty yards to the rear. It was then made known, that on a signal being given, each one of us might take the horse that suited him best.
The word of command was at length given; and a more interesting foot race was perhaps never witnessed, than came off on that occasion.
I was good at running; but unfortunately but a poor judge of horse flesh.
Only three or four of the company reached the fence before me; and I had nearly all the horses from which to make my choice.
I selected one, with a short neck and long flowing tail. He was of coal-black colour; and, in my opinion, the best looking horse of the lot. It was an intellectual animal – a horse of character – if ever a horse had any mental peculiarities entitling him to such distinction.
It was the first steed I ever had the chance of bestriding; and the movement by which I established myself on his back must have been either very cleverly, or very awkwardly executed: since it greatly excited the mirth of my companions.
The horse had a knack of dispensing with any disagreeable encumbrance; and having been so long a “Rolling Stone,” I had not yet acquired the skill of staying where I was not wanted.
When I placed the steed between my legs, he immediately gave me a hint to leave. I know not whether the hint was a strong one or not; but I do know that it produced the result the horse desired: since he and I instantly parted company.
I was informed that the animal came from Kentucky; and I have not the least doubt about this having been the case, for after dealing me a sommersault, it started off in the direction of the “dark and bloody ground,” and was only stopped on its journey by a six foot fence.
Those who were dissatisfied with the result of their choice, had permission to exchange horses with any other with whom they could make an arrangement.
In the corps to which I belonged was a young man from the State of Ohio, named Dayton. When the scamper towards the horses took place, instead of running with the rest, Dayton walked leisurely along; and arrived where the horses were tied, after every other individual in the company had appropriated a steed. The only horse left for Dayton had also a character – one that can only be described by calling him a sedate and serious animal.
This horse had a sublime contempt for either whip or spurs; and generally exercised his own judgment, as to the pace at which he should move. 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.
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 soldiers have relatives whom they visit and with whom they correspond. The reader will easily understand that when such is the case, thousands of families in the United Kingdom have more than a national interest in the welfare of the army, and the manner its soldiers are treated. The sympathies of the people are with them; and a soldier, who may be ill-used, has the whole nation to advocate his cause.
The majority of American regular soldiers are isolated beings – so far as home and friends are concerned – and about the only interest the nation at large takes in their welfare is, that they do their duty, and earn their pay.
This difference is understood by the soldiers of both armies; and it has its effect on their character.
In England, the army is regarded as an important part of the nation.
In the United States, it is not; but only as a certain assemblage of men, employed by the people to do a certain work – for which they receive good wages, and plenty of food: for in these respects, the American soldier has an advantage over the English, almost in the ratio of two to one!
Volume One – Chapter Nine.
A Fruitless Search
There were speculators in New Orleans, engaged in buying land warrants from the returning volunteers. I sold mine to one of them, for one hundred and ten dollars. Besides this amount, I had about fifty dollars saved from my pay.
I shall now have the pleasure of recording the fact that I made one move in the right direction. I set sail for my childhood’s home.
Conscience had long troubled me, for having neglected to look after the welfare of my relatives; and I embarked for Dublin with a mind gratified by the reflection that I was once more on the path of duty.
So much pleasure did this give me, that I resolved ever after to follow the guiding of reason, as to my future course in life. The right course is seldom more difficult to pursue than the wrong one, while the wear and tear of spirit in pursuing it is much easier.
How many strange thoughts rushed into my brain – how many interrogations offered themselves to my mind, as we dropped anchor in Dublin Bay. Should I find my mother living? Should I know my brother William and my sister Martha? What had become of Mr Leary? Should I have to kill him?
Such questions, with many others of a similar nature, coursed through my soul while proceeding towards the city.
I hurried through the streets, without allowing anything to distract my thoughts from these themes. I reached the house that had been the home of my childhood.
At the door, I paused to recover from an unusual amount of excitement; but did not succeed in quelling the tumultuous emotions that thrilled my spirit with an intensity I had never experienced before.
I looked cautiously into the shop. It was no longer a saddle and harness-maker’s, but a dingy depot for vending potatoes, cabbages, and coals!
I thought a great change must suddenly have taken place in the whole city of Dublin.
It did not occur to me, that six years was a sufficient period of time for turning a saddler’s shop into a greengrocer’s – without any reason for being surprised at the transformation.
I stepped inside; and inquired of a stout, red-haired woman the whereabouts of a Mrs Stone, who formerly occupied the premises. The woman had never heard of such a person!
It suddenly occurred to me – and I heaved a sigh at the recollection – that my mother’s name was not Stone, but that she was Mrs Leary.
I renewed my inquiry, substituting the latter name.
“Mistress Leary?” said the vulgar-looking hag before me, “lift here five year ago.”
The vendor of cabbages did not know where Mrs Leary had gone. Neither did I; and this knowledge, or rather absence of knowledge, produced within me a train of reflections that were new and peculiar.
I turned out of the house, and walked mechanically up the street. A familiar name met my half-vacant gaze. It was painted on a sign, over the door of a cheese-monger’s shop – Michael Brady.
I remembered that Mrs Brady, the wife of the man whose name I saw, was the intimate acquaintance and friend of my mother. Perhaps, I might learn something from her; but what, I almost feared to ascertain.
I went into the shop, and found Mrs Brady seated among her cheeses. She did not look a day older than when I last saw her. When asked, if she remembered ever having seen me before, she gazed at me for some time, and made answer in the negative.
I was not astonished at her reply. I could easily understand her stupidity; my appearance must have greatly altered since she had seen me last.
“Do you remember the name of Rowland Stone?” I asked.
“What! the little Rolling Stone?” she exclaimed, gazing at me again. “I do believe you are,” said she, “Now when I look at you, I can see it is. How you have changed!”
“What has become of my mother?” I cried out, too impatient to listen longer to her exclamatory reflections.
“Poor woman!” answered Mrs Brady, “that’s what I have wished to know for many years.”
I was called upon to exercise the virtue of patience – while trying to obtain from Mrs Brady what information she could give concerning my family. With much time spent and many questions put, I obtained from her the following particulars:
After my departure, Mr Leary became very dissipated, and used to get drunk every day. Whenever he sold anything out of the shop, he would go to a public-house, and stay there until the money obtained for the article was spent. He would then return, abuse my mother, beat the children, take something else out of the shop; and pawn it for more money to spend in drink or dissipation. This game he had continued, until there was nothing left in the establishment that Mr Leary could sell for a shilling.
The neighbours remonstrated with my mother for allowing him to proceed in this manner; but the deluded woman seemed to think that everything done by her husband was right; and was even offended with her friends for interfering. No arguments could persuade her that Mr Leary was conducting himself in an improper manner. She appeared to think that the drunken blackguard was one of the best men that ever lived; and that she had been exceedingly fortunate in obtaining him for a husband!
When Mr Leary had disposed of everything in the shop, and had spent the proceeds in drink, he absconded – leaving my mother, brother and sister to suffer for the necessaries of life.
Instead of being gratified at getting clear of the scoundrel, my mother was nearly heart-broken to think he had deserted her!
Her first thought was to find out where he had gone. He had served his apprenticeship in Liverpool; and my mother had reasons to believe that he had betaken himself thither. The house in which she resided, had been leased by my father for a long term. At the time Mr Leary deserted her, the lease had several years to run. Since the time when it had been taken, rents in the neighbourhood had greatly risen in value; and my mother was able to sell the lease for ninety pounds. Obtaining this sum in cash, she left Dublin with her children; and proceeded to Liverpool to find Mr Leary, as Mrs Brady said, that she might give him the money to spend in drink!
My mother’s friends had advised her to remain in Dublin; and told her that she should be thankful her husband had deserted her; but their advice was either unheeded, or scornfully rejected. In spite of all remonstrance, she took her departure for Liverpool; and Mrs Brady had never heard of her again.
I was intensely interested in what was told me by Mrs Brady. For awhile, I believed that my poor beguiled parent deserved her fate, however bad it may have been; and I was half inclined to search for her no more. But when I came to reflect that nearly five years had elapsed since she left Dublin, I fancied that, if unfortunately successful in finding Mr Leary, she might by this time have recovered from her strange infatuation concerning him. Though for her folly, she deserved almost any fate Mr Leary might bring upon her, I believed it to be my duty to see her once more. Besides, I had a strong desire to renew the rudely broken links of affection, that had existed between myself and my sister and brother.
When a boy, I was very proud of having a sister like little Martha, she was so kind, affectionate, and beautiful. And William, too, I remembered him with a brother’s fondness. Although my mother had acted ever so foolishly, it was not the less my duty to look after her. Perhaps, for her unaccountable delusion, she had been by this time sufficiently punished. It was my desire to find her, if possible, and learn if such was the case. She was my mother, and I had no other wish than to act towards her as a son. I determined, therefore, to proceed to Liverpool.
I may confess that something more than duty summoned me thither – something even stronger than filial affection. It was the design of visiting Mrs Hyland – or, rather her daughter. I knew there would be danger to my happiness in again seeing Lenore; and I strove to strengthen my resolution by the belief that I was acting under a call of duty.
I had been with Captain Hyland when he died. I alone saw his eyes closed in death, and alone followed him to the grave. Why should I not visit his wife and child?
I could fancy that that pressure of the hand given me by the Captain in his dying struggle, was a silent command to me – to carry to them his last blessing.
Besides, Mrs Hyland had been very kind to myself; and during my sojourn in Liverpool, had made her home to me both welcome and pleasant. Why should I refrain from seeing her again – simply because her daughter was beautiful? I could think of no sufficient reason for denying myself the pleasure. The dread of its leading to pain was not enough to deter me; and I resolved to renew my acquaintance with Lenore.
Before leaving Dublin, I tried to get some information that would aid me in my search after Mr Leary and my relatives; but was unsuccessful. None of Mr Leary’s former acquaintances could give me any intelligence as to what part of the city of Liverpool he might be found in. I could only learn that my mother, before leaving, had some knowledge to guide her, which had probably been obtained, sometime or other, from Mr Leary himself.
In my search, therefore, I should have no other traces than such as chance might throw in my way.