An American named Hayden resided there, and followed the trade of a shoemaker. He was a Protestant, but carefully observed all proper and decorous respect for the Catholic ceremonies and institutions of the country. One day, the Host was passing his house to the dwelling of some dying person, with all the usual pomp and parade of ringing bells and chanting boys; and, as the shops are generally open to the street, Hayden quietly arose from his work-bench, and coming forward, knelt on the sill of his door. He had scarcely prostrated himself, when a person (who is believed to have been an officer,) accosted him, demanding in a rude tone "why he did not advance into the street and kneel?" Hayden replied, that he thought it proper for him to kneel where he was. Scarcely had he uttered this when the soldier laid his hand on the hilt of his sword as if to draw. Hayden perceived this, and stepped toward his counter to seize a boot-tree for defence; but before he could reach it, the soldier had plunged his sword through the poor man's back, directly into the heart, and he fell dead on the spot.
An American, who was in the shop at the time, rushed to arrest the murderer and give the alarm, but the villain had fled—the crowd closed round him, no one pursued, and no one took means to recognize him!
Nor was this all. Difficulty was first experienced in obtaining permission from the authorities to bury our unfortunate countryman; next, no coachman would take the body in his carriage, and the Consul was obliged to receive it in his private coach; next, the funeral procession was pursued by a crowd, which, gathering in formidable numbers as the train moved along the streets of Plateros and San Francisco, pelted it with stones and other missiles, until Mr. Black (who is now our Consul in Mexico,) was obliged to halt the procession at the Accordada, and ask a guard of soldiers from the commanding officer as an escort to the grave at Chapultepec. The guard was given, ordered to load with ball-cartridges, and as they departed the officer exclaimed—"Blessed is the land where there are no friars!"
Notwithstanding the presence of the guard, the Consul was struck on the breast by a stone while reading the solemn service at the grave.
Crowds had followed the funeral from the city, even to the distant graveyard; and when they returned, it was rumored among the léperos that the "American had been buried with a quantity of clothing, bottles of wine, and money to pay the expenses of his journey." This superstitious tale had the due effect; and although a man had been hired to watch the grave, yet soon after the interment it was broken open, and the body was found stripped of its clothes and flung naked on the ground. A reward of $2000 was offered by the foreigners, but no traces of the murderer or of the human hyenas were ever discovered.
