Personal Memoirs of U. S. Grant, Complete
nomination but was badly beaten, and the party nominating him died with
his defeat.(*5)
CHAPTER XIII.
TREATY OF PEACE--MEXICAN BULL FIGHTS--REGIMENTAL QUARTERMASTER--TRIP TO
POPOCATAPETL--TRIP TO THE CAVES OF MEXICO.
The treaty of peace between the two countries was signed by the
commissioners of each side early in February, 1848. It took a
considerable time for it to reach Washington, receive the approval of
the administration, and be finally ratified by the Senate. It was
naturally supposed by the army that there would be no more fighting, and
officers and men were of course anxious to get home, but knowing there
must be delay they contented themselves as best they could. Every
Sunday there was a bull fight for the amusement of those who would pay
their fifty cents. I attended one of them--just one--not wishing to
leave the country without having witnessed the national sport. The
sight to me was sickening. I could not see how human beings could enjoy
the sufferings of beasts, and often of men, as they seemed to do on
these occasions.
At these sports there are usually from four to six bulls sacrificed.
The audience occupies seats around the ring in which the exhibition is
given, each seat but the foremost rising higher than the one in front,
so that every one can get a full view of the sport. When all is ready a
bull is turned into the ring. Three or four men come in, mounted on the
merest skeletons of horses blind or blind-folded and so weak that they
could not make a sudden turn with their riders without danger of falling
down. The men are armed with spears having a point as sharp as a
needle. Other men enter the arena on foot, armed with red flags and
explosives about the size of a musket cartridge. To each of these
explosives is fastened a barbed needle which serves the purpose of
attaching them to the bull by running the needle into the skin. Before
the animal is turned loose a lot of these explosives are attached to
him. The pain from the pricking of the skin by the needles is
exasperating; but when the explosions of the cartridges commence the
animal becomes frantic. As he makes a lunge towards one horseman,
another runs a spear into him. He turns towards his last tormentor when
a man on foot holds out a red flag; the bull rushes for this and is
allowed to take it on his horns. The flag drops and covers the eyes of
the animal so that he is at a loss what to do; it is jerked from him and
the torment is renewed. When the animal is worked into an
uncontrollable frenzy, the horsemen withdraw, and the matadores
--literally murderers--enter, armed with knives having blades twelve or
eighteen inches long, and sharp. The trick is to dodge an attack from
the animal and stab him to the heart as he passes. If these efforts fail
the bull is finally lassoed, held fast and killed by driving a knife
blade into the spinal column just back of the horns. He is then dragged
out by horses or mules, another is let into the ring, and the same
performance is renewed.
On the occasion when I was present one of the bulls was not turned aside
by the attacks in the rear, the presentations of the red flag, etc.,
etc., but kept right on, and placing his horns under the flanks of a
horse threw him and his rider to the ground with great force. The horse
was killed and the rider lay prostrate as if dead. The bull was then
lassoed and killed in the manner above described. Men came in and
carried the dead man off in a litter. When the slaughtered bull and
horse were dragged out, a fresh bull was turned into the ring.
Conspicuous among the spectators was the man who had been carried out on
a litter but a few minutes before. He was only dead so far as that
performance went; but the corpse was so lively that it could not forego
the chance of witnessing the discomfiture of some of his brethren who
might not be so fortunate. There was a feeling of disgust manifested by
the audience to find that he had come to life again. I confess that I
felt sorry to see the cruelty to the bull and the horse. I did not stay
for the conclusion of the performance; but while I did stay, there was
not a bull killed in the prescribed way.
Bull fights are now prohibited in the Federal District--embracing a
territory around the City of Mexico, somewhat larger than the District
of Columbia--and they are not an institution in any part of the country.
During one of my recent visits to Mexico, bull fights were got up in my
honor at Puebla and at Pachuca. I was not notified in advance so as to
be able to decline and thus prevent the performance; but in both cases I
civilly declined to attend.
Another amusement of the people of Mexico of that day, and one which
nearly all indulged in, male and female, old and young, priest and
layman, was Monte playing. Regular feast weeks were held every year at
what was then known as St. Augustin Tlalpam, eleven miles out of town.
There were dealers to suit every class and condition of people. In many
of the booths clackos--the copper coin of the country, four of them
making six and a quarter cents of our money--were piled up in great
quantities, with some silver, to accommodate the people who could not
bet more than a few pennies at a time. In other booths silver formed
the bulk of the capital of the bank, with a few doubloons to be changed
if there should be a run of luck against the bank. In some there was no
coin except gold. Here the rich were said to bet away their entire
estates in a single day. All this is stopped now.
For myself, I was kept somewhat busy during the winter of 1847-8. My
regiment was stationed in Tacubaya. I was regimental quartermaster and
commissary. General Scott had been unable to get clothing for the
troops from the North. The men were becoming--well, they needed
clothing. Material had to be purchased, such as could be obtained, and
people employed to make it up into "Yankee uniforms." A quartermaster
in the city was designated to attend to this special duty; but clothing
was so much needed that it was seized as fast as made up. A regiment
was glad to get a dozen suits at a time. I had to look after this
matter for the 4th infantry. Then our regimental fund had run down and
some of the musicians in the band had been without their extra pay for a
number of months.
The regimental bands at that day were kept up partly by pay from the
government, and partly by pay from the regimental fund. There was
authority of law for enlisting a certain number of men as musicians. So
many could receive the pay of non-commissioned officers of the various
grades, and the remainder the pay of privates. This would not secure a
band leader, nor good players on certain instruments. In garrison there
are various ways of keeping up a regimental fund sufficient to give
extra pay to musicians, establish libraries and ten-pin alleys,
subscribe to magazines and furnish many extra comforts to the men. The
best device for supplying the fund is to issue bread to the soldiers
instead of flour. The ration used to be eighteen ounces per day of
either flour or bread; and one hundred pounds of flour will make one
hundred and forty pounds of bread. This saving was purchased by the
commissary for the benefit of the fund. In the emergency the 4th
infantry was laboring under, I rented a bakery in the city, hired
bakers--Mexicans--bought fuel and whatever was necessary, and I also got
a contract from the chief commissary of the army for baking a large
amount of hard bread. In two months I made more money for the fund than
my pay amounted to during the entire war. While stationed at Monterey I
had relieved the post fund in the same way. There, however, was no
profit except in the saving of flour by converting it into bread.
In the spring of 1848 a party of officers obtained leave to visit
Popocatapetl, the highest volcano in America, and to take an escort. I
went with the party, many of whom afterwards occupied conspicuous
positions before the country. Of those who "went south," and attained
high rank, there was Lieutenant Richard Anderson, who commanded a corps
at Spottsylvania; Captain Sibley, a major-general, and, after the war,
for a number of years in the employ of the Khedive of Egypt; Captain
George Crittenden, a rebel general; S. B. Buckner, who surrendered Fort
Donelson; and Mansfield Lovell, who commanded at New Orleans before that
city fell into the hands of the National troops. Of those who remained
on our side there were Captain Andrew Porter, Lieutenant C. P. Stone and
Lieutenant Z. B. Tower. There were quite a number of other officers,
whose names I cannot recollect.
At a little village (Ozumba) near the base of Popocatapetl, where we
purposed to commence the ascent, we procured guides and two pack mules
with forage for our horses. High up on the mountain there was a
deserted house of one room, called the Vaqueria, which had been occupied
years before by men in charge of cattle ranging on the mountain. The
pasturage up there was very fine when we saw it, and there were still
some cattle, descendants of the former domestic herd, which had now
become wild. It was possible to go on horseback as far as the Vaqueria,
though the road was somewhat hazardous in places. Sometimes it was very
narrow with a yawning precipice on one side, hundreds of feet down to a
roaring mountain torrent below, and almost perpendicular walls on the
other side. At one of these places one of our mules loaded with two
sacks of barley, one on each side, the two about as big as he was,
struck his load against the mountain-side and was precipitated to the
bottom. The descent was steep but not perpendicular. The mule rolled
over and over until the bottom was reached, and we supposed of course
the poor animal was dashed to pieces. What was our surprise, not long
after we had gone into bivouac, to see the lost mule, cargo and owner
coming up the ascent. The load had protected the animal from serious
injury; and his owner had gone after him and found a way back to the
path leading up to the hut where we were to stay.
The night at the Vaqueria was one of the most unpleasant I ever knew.
It was very cold and the rain fell in torrents. A little higher up the
rain ceased and snow began. The wind blew with great velocity. The
log-cabin we were in had lost the roof entirely on one side, and on the
other it was hardly better then a sieve. There was little or no sleep
that night. As soon as it was light the next morning, we started to
make the ascent to the summit. The wind continued to blow with violence
and the weather was still cloudy, but there was neither rain nor snow.
The clouds, however, concealed from our view the country below us,
except at times a momentary glimpse could be got through a clear space
between them. The wind carried the loose snow around the mountain-sides
in such volumes as to make it almost impossible to stand up against it.
We labored on and on, until it became evident that the top could not be
reached before night, if at all in such a storm, and we concluded to
return. The descent was easy and rapid, though dangerous, until we got
below the snow line. At the cabin we mounted our horses, and by night
were at Ozumba.
The fatigues of the day and the loss of sleep the night before drove us
to bed early. Our beds consisted of a place on the dirt-floor with a
blanket under us. Soon all were asleep; but long before morning first
one and then another of our party began to cry out with excruciating
pain in the eyes. Not one escaped it. By morning the eyes of half the
party were so swollen that they were entirely closed. The others
suffered pain equally. The feeling was about what might be expected