“‘Dios de mi alma!’—what a moment was this!—said the poor creature. Her children were surrounded by the savages, brandishing their tomahawks, and she thought their last hour was come. But they all escaped with life, and returned to find their houses plundered and the corpses of friends and relations strewing the ground.
“‘Ay de mi!’—what a day was this! ‘Y los hombres,’ she continued, ‘qui no son hombres?’—And the men—who are not men—where were they? ‘Escondidos como los ratones’—hidden in holes like the rats. ‘Mire!’ she said suddenly, and with great excitement: ‘look at these two hundred men, well mounted and armed, who are now so brave and fierce, running after the poor bulls; if twenty Indians were to make their appearance where would they be? Vaya! vaya!’ she exclaimed, ‘son cobardes’—they are cowards all of them.
“The daughter, who sat at her mother’s feet during the recital, as the scenes of that day were recalled to her memory, buried her face in her mother’s lap, and wept with excitement.
“To return to the toros. In a large corral, at one end of which was a little building, erected for the accommodation of the lady spectators, were inclosed upwards of a hundred bulls. Round the corral were the horsemen, all dressed in the picturesque Mexican costume, examining the animals as they were driven to and fro in the inclosure, in order to make them wild for the sport—alzar el corage. The ranchero himself, and his sons, were riding amongst them, armed with long lances, separating from the herd, and driving into another inclosure, the most active bulls. When all was ready, the bars were withdrawn from the entrance of the corral, and a bull driven out, who, seeing the wide level plain before him, dashed off at the top of his speed. With a shout, the horsemen pursued the flying animal, who, hearing the uproar behind him, redoubled his speed. Each urges his horse to the utmost, and strives to take the lead and be first to reach the bull. In such a crowd, of course, first-rate horsemanship is required to avoid accidents and secure a safe lead. For some minutes the troop ran on in a compact mass—a sheet could have covered the lot. Enveloped in a cloud of dust, nothing could be seen but the bull, some hundred yards ahead, and the rolling cloud. Presently, with a shout, a horseman emerged from the front rank; the women cried ‘Viva!’ as, passing close to the stage, he was recognized to be the son of the ranchera, a boy of twelve years of age, sitting his horse like a bird, and swaying from side to side as the bull doubled, and the cloud of dust concealed the animal from his view. ‘Viva Pepito! viva!’ shouted his mother, as she waved her reboso to encourage the boy; and the little fellow struck his spurs into his horse and doubled down to his work manfully. But now two others are running neck and neck with him, and the race for the lead and the first throw is most exciting. The men shout, the women wave their rebosos and cry out their names: ‘Alza—Bernardo—por mi amor, Juan Maria—Viva Pepitito!’ they scream in intense excitement. The boy at length loses the lead to a tall, fine-looking Mexican, mounted on a fleet and powerful roan stallion, who gradually but surely forges ahead. At this moment the sharp eyes of little Pepe observed the bull to turn at an angle from his former course, which movement was hidden by the dust from the leading horseman. In an instant the boy took advantage of it, and, wheeling his horse at a right angle from his original course, cut off the bull. Shouts and vivas rent the air at sight of this skillful maneuver, and the boy, urging his horse with whip and spur, ranged up to the left quarter of the bull, bending down to seize the tail, and secure it under his right leg, for the purpose of throwing the animal to the ground. But here Pepe’s strength failed him in a feat which requires great power of muscle, and in endeavouring to perform it he was jerked out of his saddle and fell violently to the ground, stunned and senseless. At least a dozen horsemen were now striving hard for the post of honour, but the roan distanced them all, and its rider, stronger than Pepe, dashed up to the bull, threw his right leg over the tail, which he had seized in his right hand, and, wheeling his horse suddenly outwards, upset the bull in the midst of his career, and the huge animal rolled over and over in the dust, bellowing with pain and fright.”
Pushing northward through Mexico, Ruxton passed into a country with fewer and fewer inhabitants. It was the borderland of the Republic, where the Indians, constantly raiding, were killing people, burning villages, and driving off stock. The author’s adventures were frequent. He was shot at by his mozo, or servant, who desired to possess his property. He met wagon-trains coming from Santa Fé, owned and manned by Americans. He lost his animals, was often close to Indians, yet escaped without fighting them, assisted in the rescue of a number of American teamsters who had endeavored to strike across the country to reach the United States, and many of whom had perished from hunger and thirst; and finally, while on this good errand, was robbed of all his property by thieves in the little village where he had left it. His journal of travel is pleasantly interspersed with traditions of the country and accounts of local adventures of the time.
Reaching Chihuahua, he found the shops stocked with goods brought from the United States by way of Santa Fé, it being profitable to drive the wagon-trains south as far as Chihuahua, rather than to sell their loads in Santa Fé. This Santa Fé trade, always subject to great risks from attacks by Indians and other dangers of the road, was made still more difficult from the extraordinary customs duties laid by the Mexican officials, who, without reference to the nature of the goods carried, assessed a duty of $500 on each wagon, no matter what its size or its contents.
Of Chihuahua as it was in those days Ruxton writes with enthusiasm: “In the sierras and mountains,” he says, “are found two species of bears—the common black, or American bear, and the grizzly bear of the Rocky Mountains. The last are the most numerous, and are abundant in the sierras, in the neighbourhood of Chihuahua. The carnero cimarron—the big-horn or Rocky Mountain sheep—is also common on the Cordillera. Elk, black-tailed deer, cola-prieta (a large species of the fallow deer), the common red deer of America, and antelope, abound on all the plains and sierras. Of smaller game, peccaries (javali), also called cojamete, hares, and rabbits are everywhere numerous; and beavers are still found in the Gila, the Pecos, the Del Norte, and their tributary streams. Of birds—the faisan, commonly called paisano, a species of pheasant: the quail, or rather a bird between a quail and a partridge, is abundant; while every variety of snipe and plover is found on the plains, not forgetting the gruya, of the crane kind, whose meat is excellent. There are also two varieties of wolf—the white, or mountain wolf; and the coyote, or small wolf of the plains, whose long-continued and melancholy howl is an invariable adjunct to a Mexican night encampment.”
At the time that the author passed through Chihuahua that province was in a state of more or less excitement, expecting the advance of the “Americanos” from New Mexico, which province had been occupied by the United States forces (Santa Fé having been entered Aug. 18, 1846, by Gen. S. W. Kearny), and following the troops was a caravan of 200 traders’ wagons bound for Chihuahua. Ruxton was travelling northward, directly toward the American troops, and bore despatches for the American commander; he was therefore treated with extreme courtesy in Chihuahua and went on his way. He has something to say about the Mexican troops stationed here at Chihuahua, whom Colonel Doniphan, two or three months later, with 900 volunteers, defeated with a loss of 300 killed and as many wounded, capturing the city of Chihuahua, and without “losing one man in the campaign.” As a matter of fact, one man was killed on the United States side, while the Mexican losses were given as 320 killed, 560 wounded, and 72 prisoners.
It was in November that the author bade adieu to Chihuahua and set out for Santa Fé. Though the country through which he journeyed was infested with Indians, yet now and then a Mexican village was passed, occupied by people who were poor both in pocket and in spirit, and satisfied merely to live. When the Rio Grande, which in old times was commonly called the Del Norte, was passed, Ruxton was in what is now the United States. It was then Mexican territory, however, and at El Paso there were Mexican troops, and also a few American prisoners. From here, for some distance northward, Indian “sign” was constantly seen, chiefly of Apaches, who made it their business and their pleasure to ravage the region.
On the Rio Grande, a few days’ journey beyond El Paso, a surveying party under the command of Lieutenant Abert, of the United States Engineers, was met with, and near him was camped a great part of the traders’ caravan which was on its way to Chihuahua. The scene here must have been one of interest. The wagons were corralled, making a fort, from which Indians or Mexicans could be defied, and the large and wild-looking Missourians formed a striking contrast to the tiny Mexicans, with whom the author had so long been mingling. The American troops in this and neighboring camps were volunteers, each one of whom thought himself quite as good as his commanding officers, and anything like discipline was unknown. Ruxton was greatly impressed by this, and commented freely on it, declaring that—“the American can never be made a soldier; his constitution will not bear the restraint of discipline; neither will his very mistaken notions about liberty allow him to subject himself to its necessary control.”