CHAPTER CLX.

With this reservation, and with a complete devolution of the responsibility of the act uponthe Senate, he proceeded to ask their advice in these terms:

"Should the Senate, by the constitutional majority required for the ratification of treaties, advise the acceptance of this proposition, or advise it with such modifications as they may, upon full deliberation, deem proper, I shall conform my action to their advice. Should the Senate, however, decline by such constitutional majority to give such advice, or to express an opinion on the subject, I shall consider it my duty to reject the offer."

It was clear, then, that the fact of treaty or no treaty depended upon the Senate—that the whole responsibility was placed upon it—that the issue of peace or war depended upon that body. Far from shunning this responsibility, that body was glad to take it, and gave the President a faithful support against himself, against his cabinet, and against his peculiar friends. These friends struggled hard, and exhausted parliamentary tactics to defeat the application, and though a small minority, were formidable in a vote where each one counted two against the opposite side. The first motion was to refer the message to the Committee on Foreign Relations, where the fifty-four forties were in the majority, and from whose action delay and embarrassment might ensue. Failing in that motion, it was moved to lay the message on the table. Failing again, it was moved to postpone the consideration of the subject to the next week. That motion being rejected, the consideration of the message was commenced, and then succeeded a series of motions to amend and alter the terms of the proposition as submitted. All these failed, and at the end of two days the vote was taken and the advice given. The yeas were:

"Messrs. Archer, Ashley, Bagby, Benton, Berrien, Calhoun, Chalmers, Thomas Clayton, John M. Clayton, Colquitt, Davis, Dayton, Dix, Evans, Greene, Haywood, Houston, Huntington, Johnson of Maryland, Johnson of Louisiana, Lewis, McDuffie, Mangum, Miller, Morehead, Niles, Pearce, Pennybacker, Phelps, Rusk, Sevier, Simmons, Speight, Turney, Upham, Webster, Woodbridge, Yulee."—38.

The nays:

"Messrs. Allen, Atherton, Breese, Cameron, Cass, Dickinson, Fairfield, Hannegan, Jarnagin, Jenness, Semple, Sturgeon."—12.

The advice was in these words:

"Resolved(two-thirds of the Senators present concurring), That the President of the United States be, and he is hereby, advised to accept the proposal of the British government, accompanying his message to the Senate dated 10th June, 1846, for a convention to settle boundaries, &c., between the United States and Great Britain west of the Rocky or Stony mountains."Ordered, That the Secretary lay the said resolution before the President of the United States."

"Ordered, That the Secretary lay the said resolution before the President of the United States."

Four days afterwards the treaty was sent in in due form, accompanied by a message which still left its responsibility on the advising Senate, thus:

"In accordance with the resolution of the Senate of the 12th instant, that 'the President of the United States be, and he is hereby, advised to accept the proposal of the British government, accompanying his message to the Senate dated 10th June, 1846, for a convention to settle boundaries, &c., between the United States and Great Britain west of the Rocky or Stony mountains,' a convention was concluded and signed on the 15th instant, by the Secretary of State on the part of the United States, and the envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary of her Britannic Majesty on the part of Great Britain. This convention I now lay before the Senate for their consideration, with a view to its ratification."

Two days more were consumed in efforts to amend or alter the treaty in various of its provisions, all of which failing, the final vote on its ratification was taken, and carried by an increased vote on each side—41 to 14.

Yeas.—"Messrs. Archer, Ashley, Bagby, Barrow, Benton, Berrien, Calhoun, Chalmers, Thomas Clayton, John M. Clayton, Colquitt, Corwin, Crittenden, Davis, Dayton, Dix, Evans, Greene, Haywood, Houston, Huntington, Johnson of Maryland, Henry Johnson of Louisiana, Lewis, McDuffie, Mangum, Miller, Morehead, Niles, Pearce, Pennybacker, Phelps, Rusk, Sevier, Simmons, Speight, Turney, Upham, Webster, Woodbridge, Yulee.Nays.—"Messrs. Allen, Atchison, Atherton, Breese, Bright, Cameron, Cass, Dickinson, Fairfield, Hannegan, Jenness, Semple, Sturgeon, Westcott."

Nays.—"Messrs. Allen, Atchison, Atherton, Breese, Bright, Cameron, Cass, Dickinson, Fairfield, Hannegan, Jenness, Semple, Sturgeon, Westcott."

An anomaly was presented in the progress of this question—that of the daily attack, by all the government papers, upon the senators who were accomplishing the wishes of the President. The organ at Washington, conducted by Mr. Ritchie, was incessant and unmeasured in theseattacks, especially on Mr. Benton, whose place in the party, and his geographical position in the West, gave him the privilege of being considered the leader of the forty-nines, and therefore the most obnoxious. It was a new thing under the sun to see the senator daily assailed, in the government papers, for carrying into effect the wishes of the government—to see him attacked in the morning for what the President was hurrying him to do the night before. His course was equally independent of the wishes of the government, and the abuse of its papers. He had studied the Oregon question for twenty-five years—had his mind made up upon it—and should have acted according to his convictions without regard to support or resistance from any quarter.—The issue was an instructive commentary upon the improvidence of these party platforms, adopted for an electioneering campaign, made into a party watch-word, often fraught with great mischief to the country, and often founded in ignorance or disregard of the public welfare. This Oregon platform was eminently of that character. It was a party platform for the campaign: its architects knew but little of the geography of the north-west coast, or of its diplomatic history. They had never heard of the line of the treaty of Utrecht, and denied its existence: they had never heard of the multiplied offers of our government to settle upon that line, and treated the offer now as a novelty and an abandonment of our rights: they had never heard that their 54-40 was no line on the continent, but only a point on an island on the coast, fixed by the Emperor Paul as the southern limit of the charter granted by him to the Russian Fur Company: had never heard of Frazer's River and New Caledonia, which lay between Oregon and their indisputable line, and ignored the existence of that river and province. The pride of consistency made them adhere to these errors; and a desire to destroy Mr. Benton for not joining in thehurrahsfor the "whole of Oregon, or none," and for the "immediate annexation of Texas without regard to consequences," lent additional force to the attacks upon him. The conduct of the whigs was patriotic in preferring their country to their party—in preventing a war with Great Britain—and in saving the administration from itself and its friends. Great Britain acted magnanimously, and was worthily represented by her minister, Mr. (now Sir Richard) Pakenham. Her adoption and renewal of our own offer, settled the last remaining controversy between the countries—left them in a condition which they had not seen since the peace of 1783—without any thing to quarrel about, and with a mutuality of interest in the preservation of peace which promised a long continuance of peace. But, alas, Great Britain is to the United States now what Spain was for centuries to her—the raw-head and bloody-bones which inspires terror and rage. During these centuries a ministry, or a public man that was losing ground at home, had only to raise a cry of some insult, aggression, or evil design on the part of Spain to have Great Britain in arms against her. And so it is in the United States at present, putting Great Britain in the place of Spain, and ourselves in hers. We have periodical returns of complaints against her, each to perish when it has served its turn, and to be succeeded by another, evanescent as itself. Thus far, no war has been made; but politicians have gained reputations; newspapers have taken fire; stocks have vacillated, to the profit of jobbers; great expense incurred for national defence in ships and forts, when there is nothing to defend against: and if there was, the electric telegraph and the steam car would do the work with little expense either of time or money.

Congress met at the regular annual period, the first Monday in December; and being the second session of the same body, there was nothing to be done, after the assembling of a quorum, before the commencement of business, but to receive the President's message. It was immediately communicated, and, of course, was greatly occupied with the Mexican war. The success of our arms, under the command of General Taylor, was a theme of exultation; and after that, an elaborate argument to throw the blameof the war on Mexico. The war was assumed, and argued to have been made by her, and its existence only recognized by us after "American blood had been spilled upon American soil." History is bound to pronounce her judgment upon these assumptions, and to say that they are unfounded. In the first place, the legal state of war, thestatus belli, was produced by the incorporation of Texas, with which Mexico was at war. In the next place, the United States' government understood that act to be the assumption of the war in fact, as well as in law, by the immediate advance of the army to the frontier of Texas, and of the navy to the Gulf of Mexico, to take the war off the hands of the Texians. In the third place, the actual collision of arms was brought on by the further advance of the American troops to the left bank of the Lower Rio Grande, then and always in the possession of Mexico, and erecting field works on the bank of the river, and pointing cannon at the town of Matamoras on the opposite side, the seat of a Mexican population, and the head-quarters of their army of observation. It was under these circumstances that the Mexican troops crossed the river, and commenced the attack. And this is what is called spilling American blood on American soil. The laws of nations and the law of self-defence, justify that spilling of blood; and such will be the judgment of history. The paragraph in the original message asking for a provisional territorial government to be established by Congress for the conquered provinces was superseded, and replaced by one asserting the right of the United States to govern them under the law of nations, according to the recommendation of Mr. Benton, and expressed in these words:

"By the laws of nations a conquered territory is subject to be governed by the conqueror during his military possession, and until there is either a treaty of peace, or he shall voluntarily withdraw from it. The old civil government being necessarily superseded, it is the right and duty of the conqueror to secure his conquest, and provide for the maintenance of civil order and the rights of the inhabitants. This right has been exercised and this duty performed by our military and naval commanders, by the establishment of temporary governments in some of the conquered provinces in Mexico, assimilating them as far as practicable to the free institutions of our country. In the provinces of New Mexico and of the Californias, little, if any further resistance is apprehended from the inhabitants of the temporary governments which have thus, from the necessity of the case, and according to the laws of war, been established. It may be proper to provide for the security of these important conquests, by making an adequate appropriation for the purpose of erecting fortifications, and defraying the expenses necessarily incident to the maintenance of our possession and authority over them."

Having abandoned the idea of conquering by "a masterly inactivity," and adopted the idea of a vigorous prosecution of the war, the President also adopted Mr. Benton's plan for prosecuting it, which was to carry the war straight to the city of Mexico—General Taylor, for that purpose, to be supplied with 25,000 men, that, advancing along the table land by San Luis de Potosi, and overcoming all the obstacles in his way, and leaving some garrisons, he might arrive at the capital with some 10,000 men:—General Scott to be supplied with 15,000, that, landing at Vera Cruz, and leaving some battalions to invest (with the seamen) that town, he might run up the road to Mexico, arriving there (after all casualties) with 10,000 men. Thus 20,000 men were expected to arrive at the capital, but 10,000 were deemed enough to master any Mexican force which could meet it—no matter how numerous. This plan (and that without any reference to dissensions among generals) required a higher rank than that of major-general. A lieutenant-general, representing the constitutional commander-in-chief, was the proper commander in the field: and as such, was a part of Colonel Benton's plan; to which negotiation was to be added, and much relied on, as it was known that the old republican party—that which had framed a constitution on the model of that of the United States, and sought its friendship—were all in favor of peace. All this plan was given to the President in writing, and having adopted all that part of it which depended on his own authority, he applied to Congress to give him authority to do what he could not without it, namely, to make the appointment of a lieutenant-general—the appointment, it being well known, intended for Senator Benton, who had been a colonel in the army before either of the present generals held that rank. The bill for the creation of this office readily passed the House of Representatives, but was undermined and defeated in the Senate by threeof the President's cabinet ministers, Messrs. Marcy, Walker, and Buchanan—done covertly, of course, for reasons unconnected with the public service. The plan went on, and was consummated, although the office of lieutenant-general was not created. A major-general, in right of seniority, had to command other major-generals; while every one accustomed to military, or naval service, knows that it is rank, and not seniority, which is essential to harmonious and efficient command.

The state of war had been produced between the United States and Mexico by the incorporation of Texas: hostilities between the two countries were brought on by the advance of the American troops to the left bank of the Lower Rio Grande—the Mexican troops being on the opposite side. The left bank of the river being disputed territory, and always in her possession, the Mexican government had a right to consider this advance an aggression—and the more so as field-works were thrown up, and cannon pointed at the Mexican town of Matamoros on the opposite side of the river. The armies being thus in presence, with anger in their bosoms and arms in their hands, that took place which every body foresaw must take place: collisions and hostilities. They did so; and early in May the President sent in a message to the two Houses of Congress, informing them that American blood had been spilt upon American soil; and requesting Congress to recognize the existence of war, as a fact, and to provide for its prosecution. It was, however, an event determined upon before the spilling of that blood, and the advance of the troops was a way of bringing it on. The President in his message at the commencement of the session, after an enumeration of Mexican wrongs, had distinctly intimated that he should have recommended measures of redress if a minister had not been sent to effect a peaceable settlement; but the minister having gone, and not yet been heard from, "he should forbear recommending to Congress such ulterior measures of redress for the wrongs and injuries we have so long borne, as it would have been proper to make had no such negotiation been instituted." This was a declared postponement of war measures for a contingency which might quickly happen; and did. Mr. Slidell, the minister, returned without having been received, and denouncing war in his retiring despatch. The contingency had therefore occurred on which the forbearance of the President was to cease, and the ulterior measures to be recommended which he had intimated. All this was independent of the spilt blood; but that event producing a state of hostilities in fact, fired the American blood, both in and out of Congress, and inflamed the country for immediate war. Without that event it would have been difficult—perhaps impossible—to have got Congress to vote it: with it, the vote was almost unanimous. Duresse was plead by many members—duresse in the necessity of aiding our own troops. In the Senate only two senators voted against the measure, Mr. Thomas Clayton of Delaware, and Mr. John Davis of Massachusetts. In the House there were 14 negative votes: Messrs. John Quincy Adams, George Ashmun, Henry Y. Cranston, Erastus D. Culver, Columbus Delano, Joshua R. Giddings, Joseph Grinnell, Charles Hudson, Daniel P. King, Joseph M. Root, Luther Severance, John Strohm, Daniel R. Tilden and Joseph Vance. Mr. Calhoun spoke against the bill, but did not vote upon it. He was sincerely opposed to the war, although his conduct had produced it—always deluding himself, even while creating thestatus belli, with the belief that money, and her own weakness, would induce Mexico to submit, and yield to the incorporation of Texas without forcible resistance: which would certainly have been the case if the United States had proceeded gently by negotiation. He had despatched a messenger, to offer a douceur of ten millions of dollars at the time of signing the treaty of annexation two years before, and he expected the means, repulsed then, to be successful now when the incorporation should be effected under an act of Congress. Had he remained in the cabinet to do which he had not concealed his wish, his labors would have been earnestly directed to that end; but his associates who had co-operated withhim in getting up the Texas question for the presidential election, and to defeat Mr. Van Buren and Mr. Clay, had war in view as an object within itself from the beginning: and these associates were now in the cabinet, and he not—their power increased: his gone. Claims upon Mexico, and speculations in Texas land and scrip, were with them (the active managing part of the cabinet) an additional motive, and required a war, or a treaty under the menace of war, or at the end of war, to make these claims and speculations available. Mr. Robert J. Walker had the reputation of being at the head of this class.

Many members of Congress, of the same party with the administration, were extremely averse to this war, and had interviews with the administration, to see if it was inevitable, before it was declared. They were found united for it, and also under the confident belief that there would be no war—not another gun fired: and that in "ninety" or "one hundred and twenty days," peace would be signed, and all the objects gained. This was laid down as a certainty, and the President himself declared that Congress would be "responsible if they did not vote the declaration." Mr. Benton was struck with this confident calculation, without knowing its basis; and with these 90 and 120 days, the usual run of a country bill of exchange; and which was now to become the run of the war. It was enigmatical, and unintelligible, but eventually became comprehensible. Truth was, an intrigue was laid for a peace before the war was declared! and this intrigue was even part of the scheme for making the war. It is impossible to conceive of an administration less warlike, or more intriguing, than that of Mr. Polk. They were men of peace, with objects to be accomplished by means of war; so that war was a necessity and an indispensability to their purpose; but they wanted no more of it than would answer their purposes. They wanted a small war, just large enough to require a treaty of peace, and not large enough to make military reputations, dangerous for the presidency. Never were men at the head of a government less imbued with military spirit, or more addicted to intrigue. How to manage the war was the puzzle. Defeat would be ruin: to conquer vicariously, would be dangerous. Another mode must be fallen upon; and that seemed to have been devised before the declaration was resolved upon, and to have been relied upon for its immediate termination—for its conclusion within the 90 and the 120 days which had been so confidently fixed for its term. This was nothing less than the restoration of the exiled Santa Anna to power, and the purchase of a peace from him. The date of the conception of this plan is not known: the execution of it commenced on the day of the declaration of war. It was intended to be secret, both for the honor of the United States, the success of the movement, and the safety of Santa Anna; but it leaked out: and the ostentation of Captain Slidell Mackenzie in giving all possibleeclatto his secret mission, put the report on the winds, and sent it flying over the country. At first it was denied, and early in July the Daily Union (the government paper) gave it a formal and authoritative contradiction. Referring to the current reports that paper said:

"We deem it our duty to state in the most positive terms, that our government has no sort of connection with any scheme of Santa Anna for the revolution of Mexico, or for any sort of purpose. Some three months ago some adventurer was in Washington, who wished to obtain their countenance and aid in some scheme or other connected with Santa Anna. They declined all sort of connection, co-operation, or participation in any effort for the purpose. The government of this country declines all such intrigues or bargains. They have made war openly in the face of the world. They mean to prosecute it with all their vigor. They mean to force Mexico to do us justice at the point of the sword. This, then, is their design—this is their plan; and it is worthy of a bold, high-minded, and energetic people."

The only part of this publication that retains a surviving interest, is that which states that, some three months before that time (which would have been a month before the war was declared), some adventurer was in Washington who wished to obtain the government countenance to some scheme connected with Santa Anna. As for the rest, and all the denial, it was soon superseded by events—by the actual return of Santa Anna through our fleet, and upon an American passport! and open landing at Vera Cruz. Further denial became impossible: justification was the only course: and the President essayed it in his next annual message. Thus:

"Before that time (the day of the declaration of the war) there were symptoms of a revolution in Mexico, favored, as it was understood to be, by the more liberal party, and especially by those who were opposed to foreign interference and to the monarchical government. Santa Anna was then in exile in Havana, having been expelled from power and banished from his country by a revolution which occurred in December, 1844; but it was known that he had still a considerable party in his favor in Mexico. It was also equally well known, that no vigilance which could be exerted by our squadron would, in all probability, have prevented him from effecting a landing somewhere on the extensive gulf coast of Mexico, if he desired to return to his county. He had openly professed an entire change of policy; had expressed his regret that he had subverted the federal constitution of 1824, and avowed that he was now in favor of its restoration. He had publicly declared his hostility, in the strongest terms, to the establishment of a monarchy, and to European interference in the affairs of his country. Information to this effect had been received, from sources believed to be reliable, at the date of the recognition of the existence of the war by Congress, and was afterwards fully confirmed by the receipt of the despatch of our consul in the city of Mexico, with the accompanying documents, which are herewith transmitted. Besides, it was reasonable to suppose that he must see the ruinous consequences to Mexico of a war with the United States, and that it would be his interest to favor peace. It was under these circumstances and upon these considerations that it was deemed expedient not to obstruct his return to Mexico, should he attempt to do so. Our object was the restoration of peace; and with that view, no reason was perceived why we should take part with Paredes, and aid him, by means of our blockade, in preventing the return of his rival to Mexico. On the contrary, it was believed that the intestine divisions which ordinary sagacity could not but anticipate as the fruit of Santa Anna's return to Mexico, and his contest with Paredes, might strongly tend to produce a disposition with both parties to restore and preserve peace with the United States. Paredes was a soldier by profession, and a monarchist in principle. He had but recently before been successful in a military revolution, by which he had obtained power. He was the sworn enemy of the United States, with which he had involved his country in the existing war. Santa Anna had been expelled from power by the army, was known to be in open hostility to Paredes, and publicly pledged against foreign intervention and the restoration of monarchy in Mexico. In view of these facts and circumstances, it was, that, when orders were issued to the commander of our naval forces in the Gulf, on the thirteenth day of May last, the day on which the existence of the war was recognized by Congress, to place the coasts of Mexico under blockade, he was directed not to obstruct the passage of Santa Anna to Mexico, should he attempt to return."

So that the return of Santa Anna, and his restoration to power, and his expected friendship, were part of the means relied upon for obtaining peace from the beginning—from the day of the declaration of war, and consequently before the declaration, and obviously as an inducement to it. This knowledge, subsequently obtained, enabled Mr. Benton (to whom the words had been spoken) to comprehend the reliance which was placed on the termination of the war in ninety or one hundred and twenty days. It was the arrangement with Santa Anna! we to put him back in Mexico, and he to make peace with us; of course an agreeable peace. But Santa Anna was not a man to promise any thing, whether intending to fulfill it or not, without receiving a consideration; and in this case some million of dollars was the sum required—not for himself, of course, but to enable him to promote the peace at home. This explains the application made to Congress by the President before the end of its session—before the adjournment of the body which had declared the war—for an appropriation of two millions as a means of terminating it. On the 4th of August a confidential message was communicated to the Senate, informing them that he had made fresh overtures to Mexico for negotiation of a treaty of peace, and asking for an appropriation of two millions to enable him to treat with the better prospect of success, and even to pay the money when the treaty should be ratified in Mexico, without waiting for its ratification by our own Senate. After stating the overture, and the object, the message went on to say:

"Under these circumstances, and considering the exhausted and distracted condition of the Mexican republic, it might become necessary, in order to restore peace, that I should have it in my power to advance a portion of the consideration money for any cession of territory which may be made. The Mexican government might not be willing to wait for the payment of the whole until the treaty could be ratified by the Senate, and an appropriation to carry it into effect be made by Congress; and the necessity for such a delay might defeat the object altogether. I would, therefore, suggest whether it might not be wise for Congress to appropriate a sum such as they might consider adequate for this purpose, to be paid, if necessary, immediately uponthe ratification of the treaty by Mexico."

A similar communication was made to the House on the 8th day of the month (August), and the dates become material, as connecting the requested appropriation with the return of Santa Anna, and his restoration to power. The dates are all in a cluster—Santa Anna landing at Vera Cruz on the 8th of August, and arriving at the capital on the 15th—the President's messages informing the Senate that he had made overtures for peace, and asking the appropriations to promote it, being dated on the 4th and the 8th of the same month. The fact was, it was known at what time Santa Anna was to leave Havana for Mexico, and the overture was made, and the appropriations asked, just at the proper time to meet him. The appropriation was not voted by Congress, and at the next session the application for it was renewed, increased to three millions—the same to which Mr. Wilmot offered thatprovisowhich Mr. Calhoun privately hugged to his bosom as a fortunate event for the South, while publicly holding it up as the greatest of outrages, and just cause for a separation of the slave and the free States.

An intrigue for peace, through the restored Santa Anna, was then a part of the war with Mexico from the beginning. They were simultaneous concoctions. They were twins. The war was made to get the peace. Ninety to one-hundred and twenty days was to be the limit of the life of the war, and that pacifically all the while, and to be terminated by a good treaty of indemnities and acquisitions. It is probably the first time in the history of nations that a secret intrigue for peace was part and parcel of an open declaration of war! the first time that a war was commenced upon an agreement to finish it in so many days! and that the terms of its conclusion were settled before its commencement. It was certainly a most unmilitary conception: and infinitely silly, as the event proved. Santa Anna, restored by our means, and again in power, only thought of himself, and how to make Mexico his own, after getting back. He took the high military road. He roused the war spirit of the country, raised armies, placed himself at their head, issued animating proclamations; and displayed the most exaggerated hatred to the United States—the more so, perhaps, to cover up the secret of his return. He gave the United States a year of bloody and costly work! many thousands killed—many more dead of disease—many ten millions of money expended. Buena Vista, Cerro Gordo, Contreras, Churubusco, Chepultepec, were the fruit of his return! honorable to the American arms, but costly in blood and money. To the Mexicans his return was not less inauspicious: for, true to his old instincts, he became the tyrant of his country—ruled by fraud, force, and bribes—crushed the liberal party—exiled or shot liberal men—became intolerable—and put the nation to the horrors of another civil war to expel him again, and again: but not finally until he had got another milking from the best cow that ever was in his pen—more money from the United States. It was all the natural consequence of trusting such a man: the natural consequence of beginning war upon an intrigue with him. But what must history say of the policy and morality of such doings? The butcher of the American prisoners at Goliad, San Patricio, the Old Mission and the Alamo; the destroyer of republican government at home; the military dictator aspiring to permanent supreme power: this man to be restored to power by the United States, for the purpose of fulfilling speculating and indemnity calculations on which a war was begun.

General Kearney was directed to lead an expedition to New Mexico, setting out from the western frontier of Missouri, and mainly composed of volunteers from that State; and to conquer the province. He did so, without firing a gun, and the only inquiry is, how it was done? how a province nine hundred miles distant, covered by a long range of mountain which could not well be turned, penetrable only by a defile which could not be forced, and defended by a numerous militia—could so easily be taken? This work does not write of militaryevents, open to public history, but only of things less known, and to show how they were done: and in this point of view the easy and bloodless conquest of New Mexico, against such formidable obstacles, becomes an exception, and presents a proper problem for intimate historical solution. That solution is this: At the time of the fitting out that expedition there was a citizen of the United States, long resident in New Mexico, on a visit of business at Washington City—his name James Magoffin;—a man of mind, of will, of generous temper, patriotic, and rich. He knew every man in New Mexico and his character, and all the localities, and could be of infinite service to the invading force. Mr. Benton proposed to him to go with it: he agreed. Mr. Benton took him to the President and Secretary at War, who gladly availed themselves of his agreement to go with General Kearney. He went: and approaching New Mexico, was sent ahead, with a staff officer—the officer charged with a mission, himself charged with his own plan: which was to operate upon Governor Armijo, and prevent his resistance to the entrance of the American troops. That was easily done. Armijo promised not to make a stand at the defile, after which the invaders would have no difficulty. But his second in command, Col. Archuletti, was determined to fight, and to defend that pass; and if he did, Armijo would have to do the same. It became indispensable to quiet Archuletti. He was of different mould from the governor, and only accessible to a different class of considerations—those which addressed themselves to ambition. Magoffin knew the side on which to approach him. It so happened that General Kearney had set out to take the left bank of the Upper Del Norte—the eastern half of New Mexico—as part of Texas, leaving the western part untouched. Magoffin explained this to Archuletti, pointed to the western half of New Mexico as a derelict, not seized by the United States, and too far off to be protected by the central government: and recommended him to make apronunciamiento, and take that half to himself. The idea suited the temper of Archuletti. He agreed not to fight, and General Kearney was informed there would be no resistance at the defile: and there was none. Some thousands of militia collected there (and which could have stopped a large army), retired without firing a gun, and without knowing why. Armijo fled, and General Kearney occupied his capital: and the conquest was complete and bloodless: and this was the secret of that facile success—heralded in the newspapers as a masterpiece of generalship, but not so reported by the general.

But there was an after-clap, to make blood flow for the recovery of a province which had been yielded without resistance. Mr. Magoffin was sincere and veracious in what he said to Col. Archuletti; but General Kearney soon (or before) had other orders, and took possession of the whole country! and Archuletti, deeming himself cheated, determined on a revolt. Events soon became favorable to him. General Kearney proceeded to California, leaving General Sterling Price in command, with some Missouri volunteers. Archuletti prepared his insurrection, and having got the upper country above Santa Fé ready, went below to prepare the lower part. While absent, the plot was detected and broke out, and led to bloody scenes in which there was severe fighting, and many deaths on both sides. It was in this insurrection that Governor Charles Bent, of New Mexico, and Captain Burgwin of the United States army, and many others were killed. The insurgents fought with courage and desperation; but, without their leader, without combination, without resources, they were soon suppressed; many being killed in action, and others hung for high treason—being tried by some sort of a court which had no jurisdiction of treason. All that were condemned were hanged except one, and he recommended to the President of the United States for pardon. Here was a dilemma for the administration. To pardon the man would be to admit the legality of the condemnation: not to pardon was to subject him to murder. A middle course was taken: the officers were directed to turn loose the condemned, and let him run. And this was the cause of the insurrection, and its upshot.

Mr. Magoffin having prepared the way for the entrance of General Kearney into Santa Fé, proceeded to the execution of the remaining part of his mission, which was to do the same by Chihuahua for General Wool, then advancing upon that ancient capital of the Western Internal Provinces on a lower line. He arrived in that city—became suspected—was arrested—andconfined. He was a social, generous-tempered man, a son of Erin: loved company, spoke Spanish fluently, entertained freely, and where it was some cost to entertain—claret $36 00 a-dozen, champagne $50 00. He became a great favorite with the Mexican officers. One day the military judge advocate entered his quarters, and told him that Dr. Connolly, an American, coming from Santa Fé, had been captured near El Paso del Norte, his papers taken, and forwarded to Chihuahua, and placed in his hands, to see if there were any that needed government attention: and that he had found among the papers a letter addressed to him (Mr. Magoffin). He had the letter unopened, and said he did not know what it might be; but being just ordered to join Santa Anna at San Luis Potosi, and being unwilling that any thing should happen after he was gone to a gentleman who had been so agreeable to him, he had brought it to him, that he might destroy it if there was any thing in it to commit him. Magoffin glanced his eyes over the letter. It was an attestation from General Kearney of his services in New Mexico, recommending him to the acknowledgments of the American government in that invasion!—that is to say, it was his death warrant, if seen by the Mexican authorities. A look was exchanged: the letter went into the fire: and Magoffin escaped being shot.

But he did not escape suspicion. He remained confined until the approach of Doniphan's expedition, and was then sent off to Durango, where he remained a prisoner to the end of the war. Returning to the United States after the peace, he came to Washington in the last days of Mr. Polk's administration, and expected remuneration. He had made no terms, asked nothing, and received nothing, and had expended his own money, and that freely, for the public service. The administration had no money applicable to the object. Mr. Benton stated his case in secret session in the Senate, and obtained an appropriation, couched in general terms, of fifty thousand dollars for secret services rendered during the war. The appropriation, granted in the last night of the expiring administration, remained to be applied by the new one—to which the business was unknown, and had to be presented unsupported by a line of writing. Mr. Benton went with Magoffin to President Taylor, who, hearing what he had done, and what information he had gained for General Kearney, instantly expressed the wish that he had had some person to do the same for him—observing that he got no information but what he obtained at the point of the bayonet. He gave orders to the Secretary at War to attend to the case as if there had been no change in the administration. The secretary (Mr. Crawford, of Georgia), higgled, required statements to be filed, almost in the nature of an account; and, finally, proposed thirty thousand dollars. It barely covered expenses and losses; but, having undertaken the service patriotically, Magoffin would not lower its character by standing out for more. The paper which he filed in the war office may furnish some material for history—some insight into the way of making conquests—if ever examined. This is the secret history of General Kearney's expedition, and of the insurrection, given because it would not be found in the documents. The history of Doniphan's expedition will be given for the same reason, and to show that a regiment of citizen volunteers, without a regular officer among them, almost without expense, and hardly with the knowledge of their government, performed actions as brilliant as any that illustrated the American arms in Mexico; and made a march in the enemy's country longer than that of the ten thousand under Xenophon. This history will constitute the next chapter, and will consist of the salutatory address with which the heroic volunteers were saluted, when, arriving at St. Louis, they were greeted with a public reception, and the Senator of Thirty Years required to be the organ of the exulting feelings of their countrymen.

Colonel Doniphan and Officers and Men:—I have been appointed to an honorable and a pleasant duty—that of making you the congratulations of your fellow-citizens of St. Louis, on your happy return from your long, and almostfabulous expedition. You have, indeed, marched far, and done much, and suffered much, and well entitled yourselves to the applauses of your fellow-citizens, as well as to the rewards and thanks of your government. A year ago you left home. Going out from the western border of your State, you re-enter it on the east, having made a circuit equal to the fourth of the circumference of the globe, providing for yourselves as you went, and returning with trophies taken from fields, the names of which were unknown to yourselves and your country, until revealed by your enterprise, illustrated by your valor, and immortalized by your deeds. History has but few such expeditions to record; and when they occur, it is as honorable and useful as it is just and wise, to celebrate and commemorate the events which entitle them to renown.

Your march and exploits have been among the most wonderful of the age. At the call of your country you marched a thousand miles to the conquest of New Mexico, as part of the force under General Kearney, and achieved that conquest, without the loss of a man, or the fire of a gun. That work finished, and New Mexico, itself so distant, and so lately the ultima thule—the outside boundary of speculation and enterprise—so lately a distant point to be attained, becomes itself a point of departure—a beginning point, for new and far more extended expeditions. You look across the long and lofty chain—the Cordilleras of North America—which divide the Atlantic from the Pacific waters; and you see beyond that ridge, a savage tribe which had been long in the habit of depredations upon the province which had just become an American conquest. You, a part only of the subsequent Chihuahua column, under Jackson and Gilpin, march upon them—bring them to terms—and they sign a treaty with Colonel Doniphan, in which they bind themselves to cease their depredations on the Mexicans, and to become the friends of the United States. A novel treaty, that! signed on the western confines of New Mexico, between parties who had hardly ever heard each other's names before, and to give peace and protection to Mexicans who were hostile to both. This was the meeting, and this the parting of the Missouri volunteers, with the numerous and savage tribe of the Navaho Indians living on the waters of the Gulf of California, and so long the terror and scourge of Sonora, Sinaloa, and New Mexico.

This object accomplished, and impatient of inactivity, and without orders (General Kearney having departed for California), you cast about to carve out some new work for yourselves. Chihuahua, a rich and populous city of near thirty thousand souls, the seat of government of the State of that name, and formerly the residence of the captains-general of the Internal Provinces under the vice-regal government of New Spain, was the captivating object which fixed your attention. It was a far distant city—about as far from St. Louis as Moscow is from Paris; and towns and enemies, and a large river, and defiles and mountains, and the desert whose ominous name, portending death to travellers—el jornada de los muertos—the journey of the dead—all lay between you. It was a perilous enterprise, and a discouraging one, for a thousand men, badly equipped, to contemplate. No matter. Danger and hardship lent it a charm, and the adventurous march was resolved on, and the execution commenced. First, the ominous desert was passed, its character vindicating its title to its mournful appellation—an arid plain of ninety miles, strewed with the bones of animals perished of hunger and thirst—little hillocks of stone, and the solitary cross, erected by pious hands, marking the spot where some Christian had fallen, victim of the savage, of the robber, or of the desert itself—no water—no animal life—no sign of habitation. There the Texian prisoners, driven by the cruel Salazar, had met their direst sufferings, unrelieved, as in other parts of their march in the settled parts of the country, by the compassionate ministrations (for where is it thatwomanis not compassionate?) of the pitying women. The desert was passed, and the place for crossing the river approached. A little arm of the river, Bracito (in Spanish), made out from its side. There the enemy, in superior numbers, and confident in cavalry and artillery, undertook to bar the way. Vain pretension! Their discovery, attack, and rout, were about simultaneous operations. A few minutes did the work! And in this way our Missouri volunteers of the Chihuahua column spent their Christmas day of the year 1846.

The victory of the Bracito opened the way to the crossing of the river Del Norte, and to admission into the beautiful little town of the Paso del Norte, where a neat cultivation, a comfortable people, fields, orchards, and vineyards, and a hospitable reception, offered the rest and refreshment which toils and dangers, and victory had won. You rested there till artillery was brought down from Sante Fé; but the pretty town of the Paso del Norte, with all its enjoyments, and they were many, and the greater for the place in which they were found, was not a Capua to the men of Missouri. You moved forward in February, and the battle of the Sacramento, one of the military marvels of the age, cleared the road to Chihuahua; which was entered without further resistance. It had been entered once before by a detachment of American troops; but under circumstances how different! In the year 1807, Lieutenant Pike and his thirty brave men, taken prisoners on the head of the Rio del Norte, had been marched captives into Chihuahua: in the year 1847, Doniphan and his men enter it as conquerors. The paltry triumph of a captain-general over a lieutenant, was effaced in the triumphal entrance of a thousand Missourians into the grand and ancient capital of all the Internal Provinces! and old men, still alive, could remark the grandeur of the American spirit under both events—the proud and lofty bearing of the captive thirty—the mildness and moderation of the conquering thousand.

Chihuahua was taken, and responsible duties, more delicate than those of arms, were to be performed. Many American citizens were there, engaged in trade; much American property was there. All this was to be protected, both life and property, and by peaceful arrangement; for the command was too small to admit of division, and of leaving a garrison. Conciliation, and negotiation were resorted to, and successfully. Every American interest was provided for, and placed under the safeguard, first, of good will, and next, of guarantees not to be violated with impunity.

Chihuahua gained, it became, like Santa Fé, not the terminating point of a long expedition, but the beginning point of a new one. General Taylor was somewhere—no one knew where—but some seven or eight hundred miles towards the other side of Mexico. You had heard that he had been defeated, that Buena Vista had not been agood prospectto him. Like good Americans, you did not believe a word of it; but, like good soldiers, you thought it best to go and see. A volunteer party of fourteen, headed by Collins, of Boonville, undertake to penetrate to Saltillo, and to bring you information of his condition. They set out. Amidst innumerable dangers they accomplish their purpose, and return. Taylor is conqueror; but will be glad to see you. You march. A vanguard of one hundred men, led by Lieutenant-colonel Mitchell, led the way. Then came the main body (if the name is not a burlesque on such a handful), commanded by Colonel Doniphan himself.

The whole table land of Mexico, in all its breadth, from west to east, was to be traversed. A numerous and hostile population in towns—treacherous Camanches in the mountains—were to be passed. Every thing was to be self-provided—provisions, transportation, fresh horses for remounts, and even the means of victory—and all without a military chest, or even an empty box, in which government gold had ever reposed. All was accomplished. Mexican towns were passed, in order and quiet: plundering Camanches were punished: means were obtained from traders to liquidate indispensable contributions: and the wants that could not be supplied, were endured like soldiers of veteran service.

The long march from Chihuahua to Monterey, was made more in the character of protection and deliverance than of conquest and invasion. Armed enemies were not met, and peaceful people were not disturbed. You arrived in the month of May in General Taylor's camp, and about in a condition to vindicate, each of you for himself, your lawful title to the doublesobriquetof the general, with the addition to it which the colonel commanding the expedition has supplied—ragged—as well as rough and ready. No doubt you all showed title, at that time, to that thirdsobriquet; but to see you now, so gayly attired, so sprucely equipped, one might suppose that you had never, for a day, been strangers to the virtues of soap and water, or the magic ministrations of theblanchisseuse, and the elegant transformations of the fashionable tailor. Thanks perhaps to thedifference between pay in the lump at the end of the service, and driblets along in the course of it.

You arrived in General Taylor's camp ragged and rough, as we can well conceive, and ready, as I can quickly show. You arrived: you reported for duty: you asked for service—such as a march upon San Luis de Potosi, Zacatecas, or the "halls of the Montezumas;" or any thing in that way that the general should have a mind to. If he was going upon any excursion of that kind, all right. No matter about fatigues that were passed, or expirations of service that might accrue: you came to go, and only asked the privilege. That is what I call ready. Unhappily the conqueror of Palo Alto, Resaca de la Palma, Monterey, and Buena Vista, was not exactly in the condition that the lieutenant-general, that might have been, intended him to be. He was not at the head of twenty thousand men! he was not at the head of any thousands that would enable him to march! and had to decline the proffered service. Thus the long-marched and well-fought volunteers—the rough, the ready, and the ragged—had to turn their faces towards home, still more than two thousand miles distant. But this being mostly by water, you hardly count it in the recital of your march. But this is an unjust omission, and against the precedents as well as unjust. "The ten thousand" counted the voyage on the Black Sea as well as the march from Babylon; and twenty centuries admit the validity of the count. The present age, and posterity, will include in "the going out and coming in" of the Missouri-Chihuahua volunteers, the water voyage as well as the land march; and then the expedition of the one thousand will exceed that of the ten by some two thousand miles.

The last nine hundred miles of your land march, from Chihuahua to Matamoros, you made in forty-five days, bringing seventeen pieces of artillery, eleven of which were taken from the Sacramento and Bracito. Your horses, travelling the whole distance without United States provender, were astonished to find themselves regaled, on their arrival on the Rio Grande frontier, with hay, corn, and oats from the States. You marched further than the farthest, fought as well as the best, left order and quiet in your train; and cost less money than any.

You arrive here to-day, absent one year, marching and fighting all the time, bringing trophies of cannon and standards from fields whose names were unknown to you before you set out, and only grieving that you could not have gone further. Ten pieces of cannon, rolled out of Chihuahua to arrest your march, now roll through the streets of St. Louis, to grace your triumphal return. Many standards, all pierced with bullets while waving over the heads of the enemy at the Sacramento, now wave at the head of your column. The black flag, brought to the Bracito, to indicate the refusal of that quarter which its bearers so soon needed and received, now takes its place among your trophies, and hangs drooping in their nobler presence. To crown the whole—to make public and private happiness go together—to spare the cypress where the laurel hangs in clusters—this long, perilous march, with all its accidents of field and camp, presents an incredibly small list of comrades lost. Almost all return: and the joy of families resounds, intermingled with the applause of the State.

I have said that you made your long expedition without government orders: and so, indeed, you did. You received no orders from your government, but, without knowing it, you were fulfilling its orders—orders which, though issued for you, never reached you. Happy the soldier who executes the command of his government: happier still he who anticipates command, and does what is wanted before he is bid. This is your case. You did the right thing, at the right time, and what your government intended you to do, and without knowing its intentions. The facts are these: Early in the month of November last, the President asked my opinion on the manner of conducting the war. I submitted a plan to him, which, in addition to other things, required all the disposable troops in New Mexico, and all the American citizens in that quarter who could be engaged for a dashing expedition, to move down through Chihuahua, and the State of Durango, and, if necessary, to Zacatecas, and get into communication with General Taylor's right as early as possible in the month of March. In fact, the disposable forces in New Mexico were to form one of three columns destined for acombined movement on the city of Mexico, all to be on the table-land and ready for a combined movement in the month of March. The President approved the plan, and the Missourians being most distant, orders were despatched to New Mexico to put them in motion. Mr. Solomon Sublette carried the order, and delivered it to the commanding officer at Santa Fé, General Price, on the 22d day of February—just five days before you fought the marvellous action of Sacramento. I well remember what passed between the President and myself at the time he resolved to give this order. It awakened his solicitude for your safety. It was to send a small body of men a great distance, into the heart of a hostile country, and upon the contingency of uniting in a combined movement, the means for which had not yet been obtained from Congress. The President made it a question, and very properly, whether it was safe or prudent to start the small Missouri column, before the movement of the left and the centre was assured: I answered that my own rule in public affairs was to do what I thought was right, and leave it to others to do what they thought was right; and that I believed it the proper course for him to follow on the present occasion. On this view he acted. He gave the order to go, without waiting to see whether Congress would supply the means of executing the combined plan; and for his consolation I undertook to guarantee your safety. Let the worst come to the worst, I promised him that you would take care of yourselves. Though the other parts of the plan should fail—though you should become far involved in the advance, and deeply compromised in the enemy's country, and without support—still I relied on your courage, skill, and enterprise to extricate yourselves from every danger—to make daylight through all the Mexicans that should stand before you—cut your way out—and make good your retreat to Taylor's camp. This is what I promised the President in November last; and what I promised him you have done. Nobly and manfully you have made one of the most remarkable expeditions in history, worthy to be studied by statesmen, and showing what citizen volunteers can do; for the crowning characteristic is that you were all citizens—all volunteers—not a regular bred officer among you: and if there had been, with power to control you, you could never have done what you did.

In the month of May 1845, Mr. Frémont, then a brevet captain of engineers (appointed a lieutenant-colonel of Rifles before he returned), set out on his third expedition of geographical and scientific exploration in the Great West. Hostilities had not broken out between the United States and Mexico; but Texas had been incorporated; the preservation of peace was precarious, and Mr. Frémont was determined, by no act of his, to increase the difficulties, or to give any just cause of complaint to the Mexican government. His line of observation would lead him to the Pacific Ocean, through a Mexican province—through the desert parts first, and the settled part afterwards of the Alta California. Approaching the settled parts of the province at the commencement of winter, he left his equipment of 60 men and 200 horses on the frontier, and proceeded alone to Monterey, to make known to the governor the object of his coming, and his desire to pass the winter (for the refreshment of his men and horses) in the uninhabited parts of the valley of the San Joaquin. The permission was granted; but soon revoked, under the pretext that Mr. Frémont had come into California, not to pursue science, but to excite the American settlers to revolt against the Mexican government. Upon this pretext troops were raised, and marched to attack him. Having notice of their approach, he took a position on the mountain, hoisted the flag of the United States, and determined, with his sixty brave men, to defend himself to the last extremity—never surrendering; and dying, if need be, to the last man. A messenger came into his camp, bringing a letter from the American consul at Monterey, to apprise him of his danger: that messenger, returning, reported that 2,000 men could not force the American position: and that information had its effect upon the Mexican commander. Waiting four days in hismountain camp, and not being attacked, he quit his position, descended from the mountain, and set out for Oregon, that he might give no further pretext for complaint, by remaining in California.

Turning his back on the Mexican possessions, and looking to Oregon as the field of his future labors, Mr. Frémont determined to explore a new route to the Wah-lah-math settlements and the tide-water region of the Columbia, through the wild and elevated region of the Tla-math lakes. A romantic interest attached to this region from the grandeur of its features, its lofty mountains, and snow-clad peaks, and from the formidable character of its warlike inhabitants. In the first week of May, he was at the north end of the Great Tla-math lake, and in Oregon—the lake being cut near its south end by the parallel of 42 degrees north latitude. On the 8th day of that month, a strange sight presented itself—almost a startling apparition—two men riding up, and penetrating a region which few ever approached without paying toll of life or blood. They proved to be two of Mr. Frémont's oldvoyageurs, and quickly told their story. They were part of a guard of six men conducting a United States officer, who was on his trail with despatches from Washington, and whom they had left two days back, while they came on to give notice of his approach, and to ask that assistance might be sent him. They themselves had only escaped the Indians by the swiftness of their horses. It was a case in which no time was to be lost, or a mistake made. Mr. Frémont determined to go himself; and taking ten picked men, four of them Delaware Indians, he took down the western shore of the lake on the morning of the 9th (the direction the officer was to come), and made a ride of sixty miles without a halt. But to meet men, and not to miss them, was the difficult point in this trackless region. It was not the case of a high road, where all travellers must meet in passing each other: at intervals there were places—defiles, or camping grounds—where both parties must pass; and watching for these, he came to one in the afternoon, and decided that, if the party was not killed, it must be there that night. He halted and encamped; and, as the sun was going down, had the inexpressible satisfaction to see the four men approaching. The officer proved to be a lieutenant of the United States marines, who had been despatched from Washington the November previous, to make his way by Vera Cruz, the City of Mexico, and Mazatlan to Monterey, in Upper California, deliver despatches to the United States' consul there; and then find Mr. Frémont, wherever he should be. His despatches for Mr. Frémont were only a letter of introduction from the Secretary of State (Mr. Buchanan), and some letters and slips of newspapers from Senator Benton and his family, and some verbal communications from the Secretary of State. The verbal communications were that Mr. Frémont should watch and counteract any foreign scheme on California, and conciliate the good will of the inhabitants towards the United States. Upon this intimation of the government's wishes, Mr. Frémont turned back from Oregon, in the edge of which he then was, and returned to California. The letter of introduction was in the common form, that it might tell nothing if it fell into the hands of foes, and signified nothing of itself; but it accredited the bearer, and gave the stamp of authority to what he communicated; and upon this Mr. Frémont acted: for it was not to be supposed that Lieutenant Gillespie had been sent so far, and through so many dangers, merely to deliver a common letter of introduction on the shores of the Tlamath lake.

The events of some days on the shores of this wild lake, sketched with the brevity which the occasion requires, may give a glimpse of the hardships and dangers through which Mr. Frémont pursued science, and encountered and conquered perils and toils. The night he met Mr. Gillespie presented one of those scenes to which he was so often exposed, and which nothing but the highest degree of vigilance and courage could prevent from being fatal. The camping ground was on the western side of the lake, the horses picketed with long halters on the shore, to feed on the grass; and the men (fourteen in number) sleeping by threes at different fires, disposed in a square; for danger required them so to sleep as to be ready for an attack; and, though in the month of May, the elevation of the place, and the proximity of snow-clad mountains, made the night intensely cold. His feelings joyfully excited by hearing from home (the first word of intelligence he had received since leaving the U. S. a year before), Mr. Frémont sat up by a large fire, reading his letters and papers, and watching himself over the safety of the camp,while the men slept. Towards midnight, he heard a movement among the horses, indicative of alarm and danger. Horses, and especially mules, become sensitive to danger under long travelling and camping in the wilderness, and manifest their alarm at the approach of any thing strange. Taking a six-barrelled pistol in his hand, first making sure of their ready fire, and, without waking the camp, he went down among the disturbed animals. The moon shone brightly: he could see well, but could discover nothing. Encouraged by his presence, the horses became quiet—poor dumb creatures that could see the danger, but not tell what they had seen; and he returned to the camp, supposing it was only some beast of the forest—a bear or wolf—prowling for food, that had disturbed them. He returned to the camp fire. Lieutenant Gillespie woke up, and talked with him awhile, and then lay down again. Finally nature had her course with Mr. Frémont himself. Excited spirits gave way to exhausted strength. The day's ride, and the night's excitement demanded the reparation of repose. He lay down to sleep, and without waking up a man to watch—relying on the loneliness of the place, and the long ride of the day, as a security against the proximity of danger. It was the second time in his twenty thousand miles of wilderness explorations that his camp had slept without a guard: the first was in his second expedition, and on an island in the Great Salt Lake, and when the surrounding water of the lake itself constituted a guard. The whole camp was then asleep. A cry from Carson roused it. In his sleep he heard a groan: it was the groan of a man receiving the tomahawk in his brains. All sprung to their feet. The savages were in the camp: the hatchet and the winged arrow were at work. Basil Lajeunesse, a brave and faithful young Frenchman, the follower of Frémont in all his expeditions, was dead: an Iowa was dead: a brave Delaware Indian, one of those who had accompanied Frémont from Missouri, was dying: it was his groan that awoke Carson. Another of the Delawares was a target for arrows, from which no rifle could save him—only avenge him. The savages had waited till the moon was in the trees, casting long shadows over the sleeping camp: then approaching from the dark side, with their objects between themselves and the fading light, they used only the hatchet and the formidable bow, whose arrow went to its mark without a flash or a sound to show whence it came. All advantages were on the side of the savages: but the camp was saved! the wounded protected from massacre, and the dead from mutilation. The men, springing to their feet, with their arms in their hands, fought with skill and courage. In the morning, Lieutenant Gillespie recognized, in the person of one of the slain assailants, the Tlamath chief who the morning before had given him a salmon, in token of friendship, and who had followed him all day to kill and rob his party at night—a design in which he would certainly have been successful had it not been for the promptitude and precision of Mr. Frémont's movement. Mr. Frémont himself would have been killed, when he went to the horses, had it not been that the savages counted upon the destruction of the whole camp, and feared to alarm it by killing one, before the general massacre.

It was on the 9th of May—a day immortalized by American arms at Resaca de la Palma—that this fierce and bloody work was done in the far distant region of the Tlamath lakes.

The morning of the 10th of May was one of gloom in the camp. The evening sun of the 9th had set upon it full of life and joy at a happy meeting: the same sun rose upon it the next morning, stained with blood, ghastly with the dead and wounded, and imposing mournful duties on the survivors. The wounded were to be carried—the dead to be buried; and so buried as to be hid and secured from discovery and violation. They were carried ten miles, and every precaution taken to secure the remains from the wolf and the savage: for men, in these remote and solitary dangers, become brothers, and defend each other living and dead. The return route lay along the shore of the lake, and during the day the distant canoes of the savages could be seen upon it, evidently watching the progress of the party, and meditating a night attack upon it. All precautions, at the night encampment, were taken for security—horses and men enclosed in a breastwork of great trees, cut down for the purpose, and half the men constantly on the watch. At leaving in the morning, an ambuscade was planted—and two of the Tlamaths were killed by the men in ambush—a successful return of their own mode of warfare. At night the main camp, at the north end of the lake, was reached. It was strongly intrenched, and could not be attacked;but the whole neighborhood was infested, and scouts and patrols were necessary to protect every movement. In one of these excursions the Californian horse, so noted for spirit and docility, showed what he would do at the bid of his master. Carson's rifle had missed fire, at ten feet distance. The Tlamath long bow, arrow on the string, was bending to the pull. All the rifles in the party could not have saved him. A horse and his rider did it. Mr. Frémont touched his horse; he sprang upon the savage! and the hatchet of a Delaware completed the deliverance of Carson. It was a noble horse, an iron gray, with a most formidable name—el Toro del Sacramento: and which vindicated his title to the name in all the trials of travel, courage, and performance to which he was subjected. It was in the midst of such dangers as these, that science was pursued by Mr. Frémont; that the telescope was carried to read the heavens; the barometer to measure the elevations of the earth; the thermometer to gauge the temperature of the air; the pencil to sketch the grandeur of mountains, and to paint the beauty of flowers; the pen to write down whatever was new, or strange, or useful in the works of nature. It was in the midst of such dangers, and such occupations as these, and in the wildest regions of the Farthest West, that Mr. Frémont was pursuing science and shunning war, when the arrival of Lieutenant Gillespie, and his communications from Washington, suddenly changed all his plans, turned him back from Oregon, and opened a new and splendid field of operations in California itself. He arrived in the valley of the Sacramento in the month of May, 1846, and found the country alarmingly, and critically situated. Three great operations, fatal to American interests, were then going on, and without remedy, if not arrested at once. These were: 1. The massacre of the Americans, and the destruction of their settlements, in the valley of the Sacramento. 2. The subjection of California to British protection. 3. The transfer of the public domain to British subjects. And all this with a view to anticipate the events of a Mexican war, and to shelter California from the arms of the United States.

The American settlers sent a deputation to the camp of Mr. Frémont, in the valley of the Sacramento, laid all these dangers before him, and implored him to place himself at their head and save them from destruction. General Castro was then in march upon them: the Indians were incited to attack their families, and burn their wheat fields, and were only waiting for the dry season to apply the torch. Juntas were in session to transfer the country to Great Britain: the public domain was passing away in large grants to British subjects: a British fleet was expected on the coast: the British vice consul, Forbes, and the emissary priest, Macnamara, ruling and conducting every thing: and all their plans so far advanced as to render the least delay fatal. It was then the beginning of June. War had broken out between the United States and Mexico, but that was unknown in California. Mr. Frémont had left the two countries at peace when he set out upon his expedition, and was determined to do nothing to disturb their relations: he had even left California to avoid giving offence; and to return and take up arms in so short a time was apparently to discredit his own previous conduct as well as to implicate his government. He felt all the responsibilities of his position; but the actual approach of Castro, and the immediate danger of the settlers, left him no alternative. He determined to put himself at the head of the people, and to save the country. To repulse Castro was not sufficient: to overturn the Mexican government in California, and to establish Californian Independence, was the bold resolve, and the only measure adequate to the emergency. That resolve was taken, and executed with a celerity that gave it a romantic success. The American settlers rushed to his camp—brought their arms, horses and ammunition—were formed into a battalion; and obeyed with zeal and alacrity the orders they received. In thirty days all the northern part of California was freed from Mexican authority—Independence proclaimed—the flag of Independence raised—Castro flying to the south—the American settlers saved from destruction; and the British party in California counteracted and broken up in all their schemes.

This movement for Independence was the salvation of California, and snatched it out of the hands of the British at the moment they were ready to clutch it. For two hundred years—from the time of the navigator Drake, who almost claimed it as a discovery, and placed the English name of New Albion upon it—the eye of England has been upon California; and the magnificent bay of San Francisco, the great seaportof the North Pacific Ocean, has been surveyed as her own. The approaching war between Mexico and the United States was the crisis in which she expected to realize the long-deferred wish for its acquisition; and carefully she took her measures accordingly. She sent two squadrons to the Pacific as soon as Texas was incorporated—well seeing the actual war which was to grow out of that event—a small one into the mouth of the Columbia, an imposing one to Mazatlan, on the Mexican coast, to watch the United States squadron there, and to anticipate its movements upon California. Commodore Sloat commanding the squadron at Mazatlan, saw that he was watched, and pursued, by Admiral Seymour, who lay alongside of him, and he determined to deceive him. He stood out to sea, and was followed by the British Admiral. During the day he bore west, across the ocean, as if going to the Sandwich Islands: Admiral Seymour followed. In the night the American commodore tacked, and ran up the coast towards California: the British admiral, not seeing the tack, continued on his course, and went entirely to the Sandwich Islands before he was undeceived. Commodore Sloat arrived before Monterey on the second of July, entering the port amicably, and offering to salute the town, which the authorities declined on the pretext that they had no powder to return it—in reality because they momentarily expected the British fleet. Commodore Sloat remained five days before the town, and until he heard of Frémont's operations: then believing that Frémont had orders from his government to take California, he having none himself, he determined to act himself. He received the news of Frémont's successes on the 6th day of July: on the 7th he took the town of Monterey, and sent a despatch to Frémont. This latter came to him in all speed, at the head of his mounted force. Going immediately on board the commodore's vessel, an explanation took place. The commodore learnt with astonishment that Frémont had no orders from his government to commence hostilities—that he had acted entirely on his own responsibility. This left the commodore without authority for having taken Monterey; for still at this time, the commencement of the war with Mexico was unknown. Uneasiness came upon the commodore. He remembered the fate of Captain Jones in making the mistake of seizing the town once before in time of peace. He resolved to return to the United States, which he did—turning over the command of the squadron to Commodore Stockton, who had arrived on the 15th. The next day (16th) Admiral Seymour arrived; his flagship the Collingwood, of 80 guns, and his squadron the largest British fleet ever seen in the Pacific. To his astonishment he beheld the American flag flying over Monterey, the American squadron in its harbor, and Frémont's mounted riflemen encamped over the town. His mission was at an end. The prize had escaped him. He attempted nothing further, and Frémont and Stockton rapidly pressed the conquest of California to its conclusion. The subsequent military events can be traced by any history: they were the natural sequence of the great measure conceived and executed by Frémont before any squadron had arrived upon the coast, before he knew of any war with Mexico, and without any authority from his government, except the equivocal and enigmatical visit of Mr. Gillespie. Before the junction of Mr. Frémont with Commodore Sloat and Stockton, his operations had been carried on under the flag of Independence—the Bear Flag, as it was called—the device of the bear being adopted on account of the courageous qualities of that animal (the white bear), which never gives the road to men,—which attacks any number,—and fights to the last with increasing ferocity, with amazing strength of muscle, and with an incredible tenacity of the vital principle—never more formidable and dangerous than when mortally wounded. The Independents took the device of this bear for their flag, and established the independence of California under it: and in joining the United States forces, hauled down this flag, and hoisted the flag of the United States. And the fate of California would have been the same whether the United States squadrons had arrived, or not; and whether the Mexican war had happened, or not. California was in a revolutionary state, already divided from Mexico politically as it had always been geographically. The last governor-general from Mexico, Don Michel Toreno, had been resisted—fought—captured—and shipped back to Mexico, with his 300 cut-throat soldiers. An insurgent government was in operation, determined to be free of Mexico, sensible of inability to stand alone, and looking, part to the United States, part to Great Britain, for the support which they needed. Allthe American settlers were for the United States protection, and joined Frémont. The leading Californians were also joining him. His conciliatory course drew them rapidly to him. The Picos, who were the leading men of the revolt (Don Pico, Don Andres, and Don Jesus), became his friends. California, become independent of Mexico by the revolt of the Picos, and independent of them by the revolt of the American settlers, had its destiny to fulfil—which was, to be handed over to the United States. So that its incorporation with the American Republic was equally sure in any, and every event.

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