The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1851-01-02

| Barry CornwaA
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soldier life of Herbert Moore. lie saw the hard
rough side of his profession ere he had been
month in the service The hardships to which b
was at once exposed, and his forced companion
ship with the COARSE and vicious men Of his regi
msnt, many of whom were soldiers from despera
ton and brutal propensity for pillage and blood
shetland the absence from almost every breast
of true chivalric feeling, and the love Of glory
were surely enough to disenchsnt him most effect
ually.
He first saw actual service at the bombardment
of Vera Cruz. Stationed at one Of the guns, (for
he belonged to the artillery he bravely went
through with his part but at the close of the
siege, and on the surrender of the city fortress
he, strangely enough, did not find himself counted
as one Of the heroes, or in any special manner
distinguished above his fellows. -
la the capture of this city, our hero saw war
in all its most fearful horrors and dread calami-
ties. Hoping to give some help or comfort to the
wretched sufferers, he passed through the crowd
ed hosptals--through the churches, converts, and
private houses, converted into hospitals for the
time-and witnessed scene after scene OF mortal
agony, bereavement, and desolation He saw the
chapel wherein knelt the praying nuns, when into
their midst burst the shell, on its errand Of death
mangling those fair forms and drainng the blood
Of those innocent hearts. But he was most touch
ed by scene he witnessed on the evening Of the
day Of surrender Near the altar Of one Of the
churches, into which he CHANGED to enter, lay
young Mexican, richly dressed and Of noble
air, but apparently very near death One arm
was disabled, and his breast was all but shot In
twop Beside him knelt beautiful girl with
large Spanish eyes, and most abundant dark hair,
which had fallen from its band and was flowing
over her shoulders. She had bound up the wound
ed arm in her mantilla Of black lace, but that
great wound in the breast, yelling up necessarily
its dark crimson tide, she had evidently despsired
of stanching She was weeping passionately, and
calling on her husband, or her betrothed, In the
delicious lOve-language Of Spain. IL seemed that
her Fernandes could no longer speak, but he
looked his piteous love from his desth-shadowed
eyes, more eloqueutly than H. could have been
spoken in words; and once, when that poor girl
bent down TO kiss the lips which strove vainly to
articulate even her name her long, glossy locks
swept across his bleeding breast-this seemed to
trouble him, and be lifted them In his hand and
tried to wind them about her head IL was like
that desth-scsns in Browning, when the dying
lover says
Only to put aside thy beSuteous hair
Ny blood win hurt~
At the terrible battle Of Cerro Gordo, Herbert
Moore performed prcdigies Of valor, and was twice
wounded, but again, mysteriously, the praises OF
generals and the honors Of the service passed hin
by, to fall on names already known, on epaulet'ed
shoulders
There was an incident connected win TINS Dat
tie which happened To our hero, but which he
did not relate until year or two had passed
Near his post, there fell toward the close OF the
struggle, a Mexican officer, mortally wounded
Moved by humane impulse, Moore ran TO his
assistance. As he stopped TO raise the head OF
the dying man, q young son OF the MEXICAN
thinking he came for plumber, caught up his
fathers dripping sword and gave Moore severe
cut across the forehead. SO 1t happened that the
first wound which the chivalric volunteer received
in his Mexican crusade was from the hssd Of
boy, sveuging the death end defending 'ns BODY
Of his father. But before Moore could clear MS
sight from the gush Of blood which blinded hi"'s
brutal fellow soldier, who had witnessed the scene
with fierce oath, thrust his bsyonet into the
breast Of the poor lad, who, with one Wild cry fell
forward upon his wounded father, and the blood
Of the two mingled, as they died
At Pueblo, our hero lay for several weeks Ia