Part 61 (1/2)
And shortly after, two officers in s.h.i.+ning uniforms entered the portals of that same palace, sent up their cards, and were admitted on the instant. Ah! these were rare times! But rarer still--for it should only occur once in a man's lifetime--was an hour spent in the little chapel of San Bernardo.
There is a convent--Santa Catarina--the richest in Mexico; the richest, perhaps, in the world. There are nuns there--beautiful creatures--who possess property (some of them being worth a million of dollars); and yet these children of heaven never look upon the face of man!
About a week after my visit to San Bernardo, I was summoned to the convent, and permitted--a rare privilege for one of my s.e.x--to enter its sacred precincts. It was a painful scene. Poor ”Mary of Mercy”! How lovely she looked in her snow-white vestments!--lovelier in her sorrow than I had ever seen her before. May G.o.d pour out the balm of oblivion into the heart of this erring but repentant angel!
I returned to New Orleans in the latter part of 1848. I was walking one morning along the Levee, with a fair companion on my arm, when a well-known voice struck on my ear, exclaiming:
”I'll be dog-goned, Rowl, if it ain't the cap'n!”
I turned, and beheld Raoul and the hunter. They had doffed the regimentals, and were preparing to ”start” on a trapping expedition to the Rocky Mountains.
I need not describe our mutual pleasure at meeting, which was more than shared by my wife, who had often made me detail to her the exploits of my comrades. I inquired for Chane. The Irishman, at the breaking up of the ”war-troops”, had entered one of the old regiments, and was at this time, as Lincoln expressed it, ”the first sargint of a k.u.mp'ny.”
I could not permit my old ranging comrades to depart without a _souvenir_. My companion drew off a pair of rings, and presented one to each on the spot. The Frenchman, with the gallantry of a Frenchman, drew his upon his finger; but Lincoln, after trying to do the same, declared, with a comical grin, that he couldn't ”git the eend of his wipin' stick inter it.” He wrapped it up carefully, however, and deposited it in his bullet-pouch.
My friends accompanied us to our hotel, where I found them more appropriate presents than the rings. To Raoul I gave my revolving pistols, not expecting to have any further use for them myself; and to the hunter, that which he valued more than any other earthly object, the major's ”Dutch gun”. Doubtless, ere this, the _zundnadel_ has slain many a ”grisly b'ar” among the wild ravines of the Rocky Mountains.
Courteous reader! I was about to write the word ”adieu”, when ”Little Jack” handed me a letter, bearing the Vera Cruz post-mark. It was dated, ”_La Virgen, November 1, 1849_.” It concluded as follows:
”You were a fool for leaving Mexico, and you'll never be half as happy anywhere else as I am here. You would hardly know the `ranche'--I mean the fields. I have cleared off the weeds, and expect next year to take a couple of hundred bales off the ground. I believe I can raise as good cotton here as in Louisiana; besides, I have a little corner for vanilla. It would do your heart good to see the improvements; and little Luz, too, takes such an interest in all I do.