The writer found that long familiarity with such scenes resulted in a demoralization of noble sentiment and refined feelings; so that at last one came to regard human life not much above the level of brutes, and to feel that there is no virtue except in name, and that the distinction of right and wrong is only relative and conventional, having no absolute and universal foundation in truth and equity. Indeed the Romish Church of Mexico—and no other is there—seemed to act and move on this broad assumption, as she does everywhere, when permitted to act out her nature freely, that truth and right are not absolute things as they relate to mankind, but are to be held subject to her dictum and disposal. Hence the same thing may be right or wrong at the same time, depending only on the circumstance of being allowed or disallowed by the Church. Here comes in the plausible, yet mischievous doctrine and dispensation of indulgences. There is but a step betwixt truth and error, betwixt the sublime and the ridiculous.
The Rev. Dr. L——n, from Nashville, Tennessee, a Cumberland Presbyterian divine, and the writer, joined in a petition to his Imperial Majesty, Maximilian, for a free permit to hold religious services as Protestants in the city of Matamoras. The petition was granted, and soon after it was followed by a proclamation from the Emperor, decreeing religious freedom to all throughout the Empire, including foreigners. This was doubtless a species of religio coup d'etat, intended for effect; but more abroad than at home, particularly in the United States. However we took advantage of it for a few weeks in the city; and held services in the "Varieties' Theater," each Sunday morning, for the benefit of the Anglo-American population. But after the fourth Sunday we began to feel the bitterness of the native population toward us. And this, in connection with the danger that the city might fall into the hands of the Liberals, who were less liberal in religion than the Imperials, caused us to discontinue the religious services. And though so soon defeated, yet we felt a little wholesome pride in the fact that we were the first Protestant heretics that ever bearded the Romish Lion in his Mexican den. The city remained in Imperial hands till we left.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A PLOT AGAINST THE WRITER'S LIFE—MORE ABOUT TEXAS.
In July, 1864, being in trade at B——m, and having been for two years doing a commission, receiving, and forwarding business, besides buying and selling on his own account, the writer called one day at the Collector's office, in the court-house, to pay the quarter's two and a half per cent. taxes on sales. The Collector being absent, he inquired of a squad of men at one of the front doors of the court-house—among whom was his Honor District Judge S——d—if they had seen the Collector. Just then a man came hurriedly pressing through the squad, and approaching us asked if our name was N——. We had no sooner said yes, than he struck us over the mouth, cutting both lips nearly through on the teeth, accompanying the blow with the denunciatory charge: "You d—d scoundrel and thief, you have stolen $23 from my wife."
In quick succession six or eight more blows followed the first, when, bringing into requisition the little knowledge of the "gloves" obtained in boyhood, we succeeded in warding them off. His poor success as a pugilist drove him to the use of an office chair, whose blows were received with another. Then he changed to hurling the chair at us with all vengeance, which we received as before, until both chairs were demolished. By this time we were in the court-house yard, when our personal friend, Deputy-sheriff Hardin, came to the rescue, caught Mr. T——d, our assailant, under his powerful right arm, and held him as in a vise. By this time our assailant's brother appeared on the field, and ordered the Sheriff to release his brother, saying: "It is all right to whip the d—d Yankee." "No, Sir," replied the officer, "if you want to hurt Mr. N. you must hurt me." He released him on a promise to keep the peace. Meanwhile, we saw a dozen men circled around us, armed with revolvers. We could see the devil in each eye. We then began to suspect a plot. But what could the charge mean? The explanation had come to us. We remembered the clerk had said some lady had brought to the store a lot of dress goods, and requested their sale for her account at certain prices. That he had sold them for the gross amount of $230, taking out the usual ten per cent. commission of $23, and paid her the balance. We made a statement of the facts to the circle of desperadoes, and then retired to our house.
The next day, from a couple of friends, leading men in times of peace, but nowhere in such times, we learned what the plot was. The low class hated our presence in their midst, and business success, and in their bitterness would drive us from the country or kill us. The $23 matter was to be used as a pretext for the attack, hoping thereby to provoke retaliation as a further excuse for shooting us down, and in case of failure his confederates were to reinforce him.
They seemed to calculate pretty safely that a dozen of them, at least, could dispatch one unarmed Yankee. A calculation very different from that which they boasted at the opening of the war, that "one Southern man could whip just one dozen Yankees." Yes, our assailant swore vehemently that "he preferred fighting Yankees at home rather than in the field." We replied, "very likely, if unarmed."