History of the War Between Mexico and the United States, with a Preliminary View of its Origin, Volume 1

CHAPTER III.

On the 8th of March, 1846, the joyous news ran through the American camp, at Corpus Christi, that the tents were at last to be struck. The worn out soldiery had nothing to regret in quitting a spot where their eyes were only relieved by looking from the dreary sea in front to the desolate prairie in the rear. General Taylor had already taken means to prepare the Mexicans for his advance, although he scarcely expected resistance. Respectable citizens from Matamoros had frequently visited his camp; and to all of those who were represented as possessing influence at home he proclaimed the unhostile feelings of our government towards their country, and that when our army marched southward it would not pass the Rio Grande unless Mexico provoked war. He invariably apprized these strangers of his resolution to protect the peaceful inhabitants in all their rights and usages, as well as to pay for every thing needed by his forces instead of plundering the country for support.

Accordingly, on the morning of the 8th of the month, the advanced guard, composed of the cavalry and Major Ringgold's light artillery,—the whole under the command of Colonel Twiggs, and numbering twenty-three officers and three hundred and eighty-seven men,—took up its line of march towards Matamoros. This corps was succeeded by the brigades of infantry, the last of which departed on the 11th followed immediately by the commander in chief with his staff. The weather was favorable; the roads in tolerable order; the troops in good condition notwithstanding the winter's hardships; while a general spirit of animation pervaded the whole body, inspired as it was with the hope of adventure in the neighborhood of an enemy. All, therefore, departed on this day from Corpus Christi by land, except the command of Major Monroe, who was to reach the Brazos de Santiago in transports under convoy of the United States brig Porpoise and the Woodbury. This officer was to embark with a siege train and field battery, in season to reach his destination when the army would be in the vicinity of Point Isabel.

The last adieus of our forces to their dreary winter quarter were by no means tearful, as with colors flying and music playing, they crossed the sandy hills that concealed it forever from their sight. The first day's march passed through alternate patches of prairies and timber to the Nueces; but, on the two next, these sad wastes were exchanged for splendid fields blossoming with flowers of every hue. A delicious fragrance filled the air, and the whole surface of the earth as far as the eye could reach, seemed covered with a beautiful carpet. The edge of the horizon, in every direction, was crowded with wild animals. On one side thousands of mustangs curvetted over the gentle elevations of the rolling prairie; on another herds of deer might be seen standing for a moment filled with wonder at the unwonted sight of human beings, and then bounding off until they were lost in the vast distance. Beautiful antelopes, nimble as the wind, were beheld in countless numbers, while pecarys and wild bulls rushed in droves across the path of our men. But, on the fourth day of the march, this scene of enchantment suddenly vanished. Uncultivated prairies and immense herds of savage beasts had already testified the abandoned state of the country; yet the region our forces now entered disclosed the frightful "nakedness of the land." The water became exceedingly bad, and there was scarcely fuel enough for culinary purposes. The blooming vegetation of the preceding days was exchanged for sands through which the weary men and cattle toiled with extreme difficulty. Salt lagunes spread out on every side. At each step the fatigued soldier plunged ankle-deep in the yielding soil, while a scorching sun shone over him and not a breath of air relieved his sufferings. At times, a verdant forest loomed up along the heated horizon, fringed by limpid lakes, and our wearied columns moved on gaily, cheated, again and again, by the hope of shade and water. Suddenly the beautiful groves dwindled into jagged clumps of thorns or aloes, and the fairy lakes changed to salt and turbid lagunes. "The wormwood star had fallen on every thing and turned the waters to bitterness." The plant whose piercing spines and sword-like leaves have entitled it to the name of the "Spanish bayonet," was the hermit shrub of this dreadful Zaharah. Around its roots the snakes lurked and crawled. Whenever the soldiers' path was unimpeded by these annoyances, scarifying his limbs as he advanced, the ground seemed heated and sinking like the scoriæ of Vesuvius. Man and beast sank exhausted and panting on the earth. The want and value of delicious water are never known till we pass a day like this under the burning rays of a tropical sun, toiling on foot over a scorched and arid soil without refreshment! At length the word ran along the line that it was approaching a lake whose waters were not salt. "Under the excitement of hope the faint and exhausted infantry pressed onward with renewed life, while, some miles ahead, the artillery were seen to halt enjoying the luxury of water. As the soldiers reached it all discipline was forgotten; their arms were thrown down, and they rushed boldly in, thrusting their heads beneath the waves in their desire to quench the thirst that was consuming their vitals."[98]

Such is the natural aspect and character of the desolate region between the Nueces and the Rio Grande,—a chequered wilderness of sand and verdure,—fit only for the wild beasts that inhabit it, and properly described in former days, as a suitable frontier between the great republics of North America.

On the 21st of March, all our forces concentrated on the Arroyo Colorado,—a salt stream or lagune nearly one hundred yards broad, and so deep as to be scarcely fordable,—situated about thirty miles north of Matamoros. Had the enemy attacked us here his assault would have been formidable, wearied as were our troops with the distressing marches of previous days. Bold, bluff banks, twenty or thirty feet high, hem in the stream, whose borders, on both sides, are lined, for a considerable breadth, with impervious thickets of chapparal. These thorny groves are to be found in all sections of the south, varying in size from a few yards to a mile in thickness, so closely interlaced and matted with briers and bushes as to prevent the passage of animals larger than a hare. They are the sorest annoyances of travellers in Mexico, and often force the wayfarer to make a long circuit to pass their limits, though they reward him for his trouble by supplying an abundance of the tuna—a luscious fruit of the prickly pear,—which grows luxuriantly on these natural and impenetrable walls.

Such, with the barrier of the stream, was the fortification nature had interposed for the safe guard of Mexico at the Arroyo Colorado. But the inert natives seemed indisposed to take advantage of those rare defences, though not without some hostile demonstration which the resolute conduct of Taylor soon overcame.

When our advanced corps encamped near the banks of the stream on the 19th, an armed reconnoisance was sent forward to examine the country. On reaching the river, our scouts discovered that the opposite side was lined with a body of ranchero cavalry, from whom they learned, although no opposition was made to our examination of the ford, that we should be treated as enemies if we attempted to pass it. Impossible as it was to ascertain accurately the amount of the opposing force, our men were prepared for the worst, and, at an early hour of the 20th, the cavalry and first brigade of infantry were thrown in position, at the ford, while the batteries of field artillery were formed so as to sweep the opposite bank. All was now anxiety and eagerness among our gallant men. Far along the borders of the river, above and below, the bugles of the enemy were heard ringing out in the clear morning air. But the hope of frightening our men by overwhelming numbers was of no avail. Our pioneers worked steadily on the road they were cutting to the brink of the river; and, when all was ready for the passage, the adjutant general of the Mexican forces appeared on the ground for a final effort of intimidation. With Spanish courtesy, he informed our general that positive orders were given to his men to fire upon our forces if they attempted to cross, and that our passage of the river would be considered a declaration of war. At the same time he placed in Taylor's hands a warlike proclamation issued by Mejia at Matamoros on the 18th, containing unequivocal manifestations of the intention of the Mexicans to molest us.

Our commander-in-chief, however, was not to be deterred by these threats from the fulfilment of the orders he had received to pass the Rio Grande. He answered the officer that he would "immediately cross the river, and that if his hostile party showed itself on the other bank after our passage was commenced, it would unquestionably receive the fire of our artillery." In the meantime the second brigade, which had encamped some miles in our rear, came up and formed on the extreme right; and, as the road to the river bank was by this time completed, the order to advance was given.

It was a moment of intense excitement. What forces might not lurk behind the dense walls of chapparal, ready to dash upon our ranks as they deployed on the other side? Our artillerists stood to their aimed and loaded guns. The Mexicans were doubtless eager and panting for resistance in the rear of the bristling plants that lined the lofty parapet of the river's bank. Every eye was strained upon the first daring rank that was to plunge into the stream as a "forlorn hope." Mexico would fight now if ever; for her mettle was as yet untried! For an instant, profound silence reigned along the anxious line which the next moment might be involved in the fire of battle. Suddenly the gallant Worth spurred to the head of our troops, and dashing boldly into the flood, waved them on to the further shore. But not a shot was fired by the recreant foe, and as our men rose shouting from the water and rushed up the steeps of the opposite bank they beheld the valiant Mexicans in brisk retreat towards Matamoros! The fugitives were unmolested;—a laugh of scorn and pity ran through our ranks;—and, before nightfall, the first and second brigades of infantry, with a train of two hundred wagons had crossed the stream and encamped three miles from its banks.

This was an important affair, as it was the first in which the Mexicans showed themselves in a decidedly hostile attitude; and it furnished an excellent opportunity to try the mettle of our men both in spirit and discipline. Not a soldier faltered.

On the morning of the 23d of March, General Taylor departed with his whole army from the camp near the Colorado. After a march of fifteen miles he reached, on the 24th, a position on the route from Matamoros to Point Isabel,—distant about eighteen miles from the former and ten from the latter,—where he left the infantry brigades under the command of General Worth, with instructions to press on in the direction of Matamoros until a suitable position for encampment was obtained, at which he might halt, holding the route in observation, whilst the commander-in-chief proceeded with the cavalry to Point Isabel. At that post General Taylor expected to meet the transports from Corpus Christi with the force under Major Monroe, and to make the necessary arrangements for the establishment and defence of a depot.

As soon as the army left the Colorado a new object, of more interest in natural history than military memoirs, presented itself to the notice of our troops. The soil was covered with a long wiry grass among which glided immense numbers of huge rattlesnakes, more appalling to our soldiers than the Mexicans. The country literally swarmed with serpents. From the Colorado to within a few miles of Point Isabel their warning rattle was heard on all sides. They crept between the ranks as our men marched through the long herbage, and at night coiled themselves comfortably under their blankets for warmth.

Familiar as we are with the campaigns of Frederick and Napoleon, and willing to record as classical the great deeds of the old world's heroes, we are still often loath to do justice to the brave men in our own country who have served the State so zealously in Florida and Mexico. It is not simple bravery in battle that commends a soldier to admiration, for few are cowards when the excitement of action hurries them headlong among their foes amid the shouts and thunder of actual carnage. But it is the preparatory discipline that tests a military character. The camp and the march are the soldier's training. The dreary winter-quarter passed in patient service, and the wearying advance over burning plains or snowy mountains, are the real touchstones of courage, and prove those powers of endurance and subordination which make resistance staunch and stubborn. These are the sources of discipline; and it was with troops that had borne the winter hardships at Corpus Christi, I have described, and made the short but arduous march to Point Isabel, that Taylor felt sure of victory. They had encountered extraordinary fatigue, and yet were ready at a moment's notice for battle without flinching. With such schooling an army becomes a gigantic instrument moving with the accuracy of clock-work, put in motion by the general's genius. It can endure as well as perform all he requires, and he knows that the result of a battle depends alone on his numbers, his position, or his individual skill in military combination. The common soldier and the officer thus react upon each other, and the electric chain of mutual confidence makes success an impulse.

The American and the Mexican soldier are essentially different, though both, according to the report of distinguished officers, are almost equally brave. In the anglo-saxon race bravery is the balance between prudence and courage, exercised with an indomitable resolution to achieve a desired end. The American soldier is fearless, yet he values life and seeks to protect it. His object is to subdue or slay his foe, still he determines to avoid, if possible, a fatal catastrophe. This renders him intrepid while it teaches the importance of discipline and obedience to resolute and skilful officers. He perceives at once the object to be secured or the thing to be done, and he marches on with the mingled caution and spirit requisite for success.

It may be said that a certain degree of timidity is necessary in every balanced character in order to ensure reflection, for natural courage, unaided by sensitiveness, would render it rash. But the Mexican soldier seems to be guided by a different system, and to be brave without either prudence or enduring discipline. He is trained in manœuvres; and, believing that when he masters his manual he is equal to all military emergencies, he supposes that a battle is little more than a parade. As Mexican troops are rather political engines, designed for the domestic police of cities, than for actual service in the field, the soldier is more of a plaything than a tool or weapon. Vague, ideal notions of Roman patriotism, are infused into his mind by the demagogues of the army in bombastic proclamations, and he imagines it better to perish than surrender to his foe. But this murderous doctrine of "revenge or death" serves rather to animate him before battle than to carry him steadily through its perils. He has the ability to perceive the beauty of abstract virtue, but lacks the sustained energy, the profound endurance, to realize it. He rushes onward without deliberation, or regard of consequences. An international war is, in his estimation, a personal not a political quarrel. A brutal ferocity marks every headlong movement, and deprives him of the control of reason. Besides this, life, has not the same value to a Mexican as to an American warrior, for the objects and hopes of their lives are incapable of comparison. One lives for practical liberty and progress, the other's existence is a mere strife for bread under military despotism. A Mahomedan fatalism—derived, perhaps, from his Moorish kindred—tinges the nature of a Mexican, and the impulsive blood of a tropical climate subjects him almost exclusively to his instincts. Hence Spanish wars have been long and sanguinary butcheries, while their civil dissensions are the feted ferment of corruption.

The Mexican, hot and fretful in controversy, is ever quick and sometimes secret, in ridding himself of his foe;—the American is equally prompt with his pistol, but gives his insulting enemy an equal chance. A sudden conflict with knives ends a Spanish rencontre or dispute; while periods of deliberation and cool arrangements precede the fatal field between our countrymen. The American officer is scientifically educated in military schools and leads his men to battle. The Mexican is ignorant of all but ordinary drills, and either follows his impulsive squadrons, or, flies at the approach of personal danger. The one has nerve and endurance, the other impulse and passion; hence, while the Mexican strikes his blow and retreats to his lair if foiled, the American, equally unchanged by victory or defeat, moves onward with indomitable purpose until his object is successfully accomplished. The one dwindles too often into the cruel assassin or relentless persecutor,—the other, as frequently, attains the dignity of a clement hero.

These general observations apply, of course, only to the masses, for truly brave and patriotic men exist in all countries, and nowhere are the examples of heroic qualities more conspicuous than among the Spanish races. The fault lies more in temperament than in soul. An equipoise between intellect and passion is alone deficient in the nature of the Mexican people, for the savage has not been entirely extirpated from the mingled blood of Indian and Spaniard.

When the remarkable energy of men, born in genial climates, is tempered by self restraint, it produces that urbane and chivalrous character which once made war the school of gentlemen. But the modern ideas of liberty and patriotism have deprived standing armies of all exclusive claim to national protection; and, as long as each citizen feels that the defence of his native land or of his country's rights depends upon himself, the volunteer as well as the regular will be prompt to discharge his military duty with skill, alacrity and irresistible resolution.

FOOTNOTE:

CHAPTER IV.

The qualities which characterize the Mexican soldier, as described in the last chapter, mark also the statesman of that country. Their loud and vain-glorious professions of resolve; their bombastic proclamations; their short, passionate and revolutionary governments; their personal rivalries and universal anarchy, denote impulsive tempers utterly incapable of sustained self-rule or resistance. To those who are familiar with Mexican history, this is not a novel fact, yet it has been astonishingly manifested in the war between our countries. It would be a tedious task to recount the various manifestos and despatches that were written to control and satisfy public sentiment in regard to the pending difficulties. Diplomacy is the weapon of weak powers, and the pen is a most important implement when defeat, inaction or incompetency are to be excused to the Mexicans. There is something perhaps in the genius of the Spanish language that renders it peculiarly appropriate to appease the vanity of those who speak it. The natural vehicle of eloquence, its magic words, its magnificent phrases and its sonorous sentences march along in solemn and pompous procession, and compel the attention of every listener. Simple sentiments, clothed in the expressions of this beautiful tongue assume new and striking shapes, and the judgment is charmed or swayed by sympathy with the ear.

The statesmen of Mexico are aware of these extraordinary advantages, and whether they have to account for a lost battle, tranquillize a passionate mob, or satisfy an importunate diplomat, they are equally ready to resort to the armory of their resounding language for defence.

We have already seen that Paredes overthrew Herrera's administration by means of the Texan question and opposition to negotiation with our government. When General Taylor advanced towards the Rio Grande this chieftain was still president and quite as unable to fulfil the promises to repel us as his predecessors had been in 1844 and 1845. Feeling, under the peculiar views of the controversy they entertained, that the honor of their country required our expulsion from Texas, they had announced and pledged this auspicious result to the people. But at the moment when all these extraordinary boasts were made, they were, doubtless, designed only to serve a temporary purpose, under the hope that some fortuitous circumstance might occur which would exonerate them from war. I have heretofore stated that the Mexicans were encouraged in resistance by the belief of impending difficulties with England. In addition to this, Paredes probably relied on foreign interference in consequence of his monarchical schemes; nor was it until the spring and summer of 1846, that all these prospects were blighted by the energetic course of our senate and the discretion the British cabinet in regard to Oregon. But it was then too late to retreat, for hostilities had already commenced.

Loud as were the Mexicans in their fulminations against our alleged usurpation, I am inclined to believe they never seriously contemplated the invasion of Texas, but hoped either to let the question sleep for many years in the portfolios of negotiators whilst a rigorous non-intercourse was preserved, or to solicit, finally, the mediatorial influence of Great Britain and France in order to prevent war if our congress intimated a disposition to declare it. This opinion is founded upon the remarkable proclamation issued in Mexico on the 21st of March, 1846, by General Paredes.[99] His language is still decided in regard to Mexican rights over Texas; but he asserts that "the authority to declare war against the United States is not vested in him," and that the congress of the nation, which is about to assemble, must consider what is necessary in the approaching conflict. This proclamation was issued in the capital after it was known that our army was advancing to the Rio Grande, and on the very day when Mr. Slidell's passports were sent him at Jalapa by the Mexican government. But between the 21st of March and the 23d of April the provisional president's opinion of his rights underwent a change, for, on that day, he published another proclamation in which he asserts that he had "sent orders to the general in chief of the division of the northern frontier to act in hostility against the army which is in hostility against us; to oppose war to the enemy which wars upon us;" though, in conclusion, he announces that still he "does not declare war against the government of the United States of America."[100] Thus, under the masked name of hostilities, the Mexican government authorised the first warlike blows to be struck, because, as it alleged, we had invaded the national domain by marching to Matamoros. It was the forced realization of all those gasconading manifestos, which for the last two years had breathed war and defiance against the United States. Such, then, was the actual origin of the collision, for the troops and officers of General Taylor religiously abstained from acts of military violence, and confined themselves exclusively to the defence of the territory they were directed to hold. That mere protection was the undoubted purpose of our government, will not be questioned by the reader when he recollects the smallness of our army, and its entire want of preparation to molest or invade a nation of more than seven millions of inhabitants.

In the last chapter, General Taylor was left on his way to Point Isabel, while Worth moved in the direction of Matamoros.[101] During the march of our column towards the sea shore it was approached, on its right flank, by a party of Mexicans bearing a white flag, which proved to be a civil deputation from Matamoros desiring an interview with the commander-in-chief. General Taylor apprised the representatives of Tamaulipas that he would halt at the first suitable place on the road to afford them a reception; but it was found necessary to pass on to Point Isabel without delay in consequence of the want of water elsewhere on the route. The deputation, however, declined accompanying our forces towards their destination, and halting a few miles from the Point, sent a formal protest of the prefect of the northern district of Tamaulipas against our occupation of the disputed country. At this moment it was discovered that the buildings of Point Isabel were in flames. The retreating Mexicans had set fire to the edifices to prevent our occupation; and, as General Taylor considered this a direct and vexatious evidence of hostility, and was unwilling to be trifled with by the tools of the military authorities of Matamoros, he dismissed the deputation with the information that he would answer the protest when he was opposite the city.

The cavalry was forthwith pushed on to the burning town in time to arrest the fire which consumed but three or four houses; yet the inhabitants had already fled, and the officer, who committed the incendiary act under the orders, it is said, of General Mejia, was nowhere to be found.

As our troops entered the village they were gratified to find that the transports from Corpus Christi had exactly answered their land movement, and that the steamers had arrived in the harbor with the convoy close in their rear, only a few hours before our forces entered from the desert. General Taylor immediately directed the engineers to examine the ground with a view of tracing lines of defence and strengthening a position, which he decided should form the great depot of our forces.

Point Isabel is approached from the sea through the Brazos de Santiago. It is a wild and desolate sea coast, defended by bars and strewn with wrecks. In former years, a small Mexican village and fort, containing a couple of cannons, stood upon the Brazos Point, but during one of those terrific storms which ravage the Mexican coast, the sea rose above the frail barrier of shifting sand, and when the tempest subsided, it was discovered that the village and fortification had been engulfed beneath the waves. Few places are more inhospitable on the American coast than the bar of Brazos. There is no friendly shore under whose protecting lee ships may seek safety during the awful hurricanes that so often descend upon them without a moment's warning. But when a vessel has fairly passed the entrance, she moves along securely over the waters of the bay, and anchors under cover of the sand hills to the left whilst her passengers and freight are landed in boats or lighters.

On a bluff promontory jutting out into the bay and sloping gradually inland, stands the village of Isabel. Its houses denoted the character of its people. The spars of wrecked vessels, a few reeds, and the debris of a stormy shore, thatched with grass and sea weed, formed the materials of which they were built, while a vagabond race, fifty or sixty in number, constituted the official but smuggling population, which was prepared to protect the revenue of Mexico or receive bribes from contrabandists, as their interests might dictate. A certain Señor Rodriguez was the captain of this important port at the period of our occupation; and, being a person equally ready to take pay from importers or exporters of goods as well as to receive further compensation for concealing his roguery from the government, he deemed it his duty, as a faithful officer, to destroy the custom house by the conflagration that incensed General Taylor against the prefect of Tamaulipas.[102] Such was Point Isabel and its vagrant inhabitants, when abandoned to our forces, and adopted as a depot.

While the engineers were engaged in fortifying a position, which was soon to become of so much importance in the war, General Taylor rejoined the division under Worth's command, and on the morning of the 28th of March, the order was given for all the columns to advance towards Matamoros. At half past six the movement began. The arms were closely inspected, and every man was directed to be on the alert in case of sudden attack. Yet no symptom of fear was exhibited in our ranks, while the squadrons pressed on gaily, with merry songs and pleasant chat. About a mile from the Rio Grande they saw the first house on their route of more than one hundred and fifty miles from Corpus Christi. The dark eyed Mexicans were lounging with apparent indifference about their doors, and returned civil answers to our inquiries. Soon after, the city of Matamoros came in sight; and, with bands playing, and regimental colors flying to the wind, we arrived opposite the town at noon. From the head quarters of General Mejia, the Mexican standard was displayed, and, in a short time a temporary flagstaff, prepared by the eighth regiment, under the superintendence of Lieut. Col. Belknap, was raised aloft bearing the American ensign; but no other manifestation of joy was given than by the national airs which were pealed forth from our regimental bands. The moment our flag was displayed, it was saluted, from Matamoros, by the consulate flags of France and England; while the absence of our own banner from the opposite shore denoted the departure or restraint of the commercial representative of our Union.[103]

As soon as our colors were raised on the eastern bank of the Rio Grande, General Worth and his staff descended to the water's edge, bearing a white flag and a communication from the commander-in-chief, announcing formally the purpose of our advance to the dividing stream. General Taylor believed that this would be the means either of establishing friendly relations between the posts, or of eliciting the final decision of the Mexican government. As soon as Worth and his companions were perceived from the opposite bank two cavalry officers crossed with an interpreter. After some delay in parleying, it was announced that General La Vega would receive our messenger on the right bank of the river, to which he immediately passed, accompanied by his aid-de-camp Lieutenant Smith, and Lieutenants Magruder, Deas, and Blake, attached to his staff, and Lieutenant Knowlton as interpreter.

On arriving at the Mexican quarters, General Worth was courteously received by La Vega and introduced to Don Juan Garza, oficial de defensores, and to the Licenciado Césares, who represented the authorities of Matamoros. La Vega informed General Worth that he had been directed to receive such communications as might be presented, and accompanied his tender with the remark that the march of the United States troops through a portion of Tamaulipas was considered by his country as an act of war.

This was no time to discuss the international question, and Worth, properly refraining from conversation upon so vexatious a topic, proceeded, as an act of courtesy, to read the open document he bore, which he afterwards withdrew inasmuch as it had not been received personally by General Mejia the commander-in-chief at Matamoros.

A demand to see our consul was refused by the Mexicans, and although we learned that he was not under restraint but still continued in the exercise of his official duties, all communication with that functionary was peremptorily denied. Thus terminated, unsatisfactorily, another effort on our part to employ diplomacy in the establishment of harmonious feelings with the local authorities of Matamoros; and notwithstanding General Worth was assured that "Mexico had not declared war against the Union," and that "the countries were still at peace," he returned to the American camp with gloomy forebodings for the future.[104]

If there was little to hope from the people of Mexico, or little attractive in the prospect of social intercourse between the camp and town, there was much to gratify the eye of our fatigued soldiers in the scenery that lay before them. On their long and toilsome march they had been relieved from the dreary wastes of Texas as soon as they beheld the blue haze hanging over the distant windings of the Rio Grande. The city of Matamoros, as seen from the opposite side of the river, skirts the stream for more than a mile with its neat and comfortable dwellings. As the trade of this town is chiefly carried on with the interior, there has been no need of encroaching with wharves and walls on the margin of the river. Hence the city is somewhat removed from the banks, and embowered amid extensive groves and gardens, from the midst of whose luxuriant foliage its towers and dwellings rise in broken but graceful lines. There is but little timber near the river, which traverses beautiful prairies as it approaches the sea. The hand of culture has taken these waving meadows under its protection; and, on all sides the landscape is dotted with abundant vegetation. The grass covered banks are screened by shrubbery or grazed by cattle; while the stream, winding along in easy curves, is so narrow near the city that conversation may be easily carried on from its opposite sides. "The rich verdure of the shores,—the cultivated gardens scattered around,—the clustering fig and pomegranate trees," contrasted with the desert through which our troops had passed, converted this land into a scene of enchantment. The fatigued soldiers were repaid for all their toils. Existence, alone, in so beautiful a climate and with such delicious prospects, was sufficient recompense for our men, and they gazed with delight at the hostile shore as martial don and gay donzella poured out in crowds from the walls of Matamoros to behold the foreign flag and the bold intruders clustered beneath its folds.

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