the water, not one of which hit him. He ran like
an antelope across the flat, swam thence to Smith's Bar, and escaped by
the road leading out of the mountains from The Junction. Several men
went in pursuit of him, but he was not taken, and without doubt is now
safe in Mexico.

In the mean while the consternation was terrific. The Spaniards, who,
with the exception of six or eight, knew no more of the affair than I
did, thought that the Americans had arisen against them, and our own
countrymen, equally ignorant, fancied the same of the foreigners. About
twenty of the latter, who were either sleeping or reading in their
cabins at the time of the _emeute_, aroused by the cry of "Down with
the Spaniards!" barricaded themselves in a drinking-saloon, determined
to defend themselves as long as possible against the massacre which was
fully expected would follow this appalling shout. In the bakeshop,
which stands next door to our cabin, young Tom Somers lay straightened
for the grave (he lived but fifteen minutes after he was wounded),
while over his dead body a Spanish woman was weeping and moaning in the
most piteous and heartrending manner. The Rich Barians, who had heard a
most exaggerated account of the rising of the Spaniards against the
Americans, armed with rifles, pistols, clubs, dirks, etc., were rushing
down the hill by hundreds. Each one added fuel to his rage by crowding
into the little bakery to gaze upon the blood-bathed bosom of the
victim, yet warm with the life which but an hour before it had so
triumphantly worn. Then arose the most fearful shouts of "Down with the
Spaniards!" "Drive every foreigner off the river!" "Don't let one of
the murderous devils remain!" "Oh, if you have a drop of American blood
in your veins, it must cry out for vengeance upon the cowardly
assassins of poor Tom!" All this, mingled with the most horrible oaths
and execrations, yelled up as if in mockery into that smiling heaven,
which, in its fair sabbath calm, bent unmoved over the hell which was
raging below.

After a time the more sensible and sober part of the community
succeeded in quieting, in a partial degree, the enraged and excited
multitude. During the whole affair I had remained perfectly calm,--in
truth, much more so than I am now, when recalling it. The entire
catastrophe had been so unexpected, and so sudden in its consummation,
that I fancy I was stupefied into the most exemplary good behavior. F.
and several of his f