was strengthened by the humble style in which he lived. He did not live in the city, but had a house between two and three miles from it, in quite a lonely situation, and his friends frequently urged him to give it up, on account of the number of vagabond ruffians who were always to be found in and about the city, waiting for something to turn up, and always ready to sell themselves to an adventurer who appeared to have a chance of forcing his way into the capital, without caring greatly whether he gained his object or not, so that it gave them a chance of gaining theirs, which was simply one of plunder. To all these solicitations the old man turned a deaf ear, and only laughed at their fears, assuring them that he never even locked his doors at night, though his house had been repeatedly entered and searched by thieves. The fact was, there was nothing in it which a thief could carry away which was likely to be of any use to him; and when this became generally known among the brigands, they left the old man unmolested, probably supposing that he left his money in the city, as the man who did not think it necessary to secure his house at night in a country like Mexico could not possibly have anything in it worth the taking; which was precisely the inference he desired them to draw, no doubt.
Mr. Van Hoogen being determined to land at all risks, I ordered a boat to be got ready, and as soon as he had settled his account with the steward, he was rowed ashore, and I concluded that I had seen the last of that gentleman—for this voyage, at all events.
There is an awful waste of powder and ball in these Mexican outbreaks. So far from “every bullet having its billet,” the mass of them meet with the fate of Mr. Winkle’s shot, and are unfortunate foundlings cast loose upon the world, and billeted nowhere, instead of finding a location in a Mexican’s body. I sincerely believe that nothing would tend more to the preservation of peace in that country than the introduction of a few hundreds of Enfield rifles, with the like number of men able and willing to develope their capabilities to the utmost, on one side or the other, it does not matter which, provided they adhere consistently to the side they choose, and do not fight on Harry Wynd’s principle.[1] At present there is an immense amount of firing and very little execution in these affairs, the combatants appearing to derive a kind of stimulant from the noise they make, and think more of discharging their muskets rapidly than of doing execution.
As soon as the firing had slackened sufficiently to show that the advantage had declared itself on one side, and that there was a fair probability that a European uniform would be respected, I went ashore to look after the consignees, in order to get rid of the cargo on board as quickly as possible, so that I might be in a position to sail with the least delay, the rates for passengers commonly ruling high after these occasions. There were a few dead bodies lying about the streets here and there, but not sufficient to induce me to believe there had been such an immense slaughter, as was represented in the newspapers afterwards, according to which “the gutters ran with human blood;” a phenomenon that might very well occur without the sacrifice of life being at all in proportion to what the imagination would conceive from reading the expression. I found most of the consignees in their offices in the city, and I accepted the invitation of one of them to spend a few days at his house, leaving the ship in charge of the chief officer during my absence. The evening of my return on board, while I was receiving his report, I happened to run my eye down the passenger list, and among many foreign names which had no interest for me, I came to that of Van Hoogen.
“Van Hoogen!” I said. “Is he come on board again? I do not see his uncle’s name here. Do you know if anything has happened to the old man?”
“No, I don’t, sir; but something has happened to Mr. Van Hoogen, for he looked like a bale of rags when he was brought on board. If I had known the condition he was in when the man came to take his berth, I would have refused the money.”
“Has he got a fever, do you suppose?”
“No. I stopped him till I was satisfied that he had nothing of that sort the matter with him. I could only make out, from what his attendant said, that he had been wounded, for you know I don’t speak their language much, nor understand it either.”
“Very well. So long as he has got no fever to frighten the other passengers, there can be no objection to his being on board, poor fellow. Tell Robert to give him as much of his time as he can spare, for if his servant can only speak Mexican, he is not likely to be of much use to him.
The arrangements made by my representative while I was ashore were so advantageous, that there was no necessity for my waiting to take in more cargo than was brought down by the passengers on board, and to their great gratification we were in a few hours at sea, till which time they seemed to live in a continual dread of being torn from their sanctuary.
We had been several days at sea before Van Hoogen had recovered sufficiently to be brought upon deck. He was a pitiful object in comparison with the strong, healthy-looking passenger who had come out with us. Instead of the round, full face, there was the face of a skeleton, over which a piece of parchment had been tightly drawn, while the shape of the body from chin to heel was completely hidden by bandages. That I should ask him what had befallen him to reduce him to this miserable condition was only natural, but his explanation, which follows without a break, was the result of many conversations.
Mr. Van Hoogen’s Narrative.
- ↑ This was written before the intervention of the European powers was thought of.
