Rutland Herald

AN INCIDENT IN MEXICO.

A writer in a daily paper, we believe Mr. Durivage of New Orleans, gives the following interesting description of the death of Godfrey Pope, of the Louisville Legion, who was killed near Matamoras in the night of an overzealous sentinel, while wandering about the outposts. It serves, we think, to illustrate the folly admitting mere lads into the service, without any particular merit or skill to gallop than for such adventures. --Santa Fe Gazette.

At midnight, during the violence of a thunder storm, when the heavens were gashed by incessant flashes of lurid lightning, but rapidly bright--the rain, at intervals ceasing down in torrents toned in te unit wall the wildest rash. of throe the tall sotd le 4s tr. ad tasted their tug branch abat P U show se tight power, a d then w ald smile into a dim and a -u-ingh la nting its own a' governable foy, I. amp fire were way al extinguished in the rain, ad head noddy pobs ws for had formed all over the camp wherever the te was a hollow place. Under the damp and dripping tents the volunteers enveloped in their soaked blankets, but sleeping as soundly as if in their own comfortable home and perhaps dreaming that they were at home, and surrounded by friends and relatives, relating their camp adventures. The darkness was intense, and in was the thy blue glare of the lightning that revealed to the plodding sentinels the tents of the camp.

Among the sentinels on duty was a shrewd lad named --, scarce eighteen years of age small stature but high as the bude of a rhinoceros. There was not a particle of fear in his countenance, and as he linguid eyes flashed when speaking of the assailed triumph over the Mexican foe, the comrades looked upon him with wonder and admiration. He was generally called "little sea seated tray" and by his shrewdness and manly conduct had endeared himself to the whole regiment.

"Well tis cn is nu.ht) fue, now, ain't it?" muttered the lad to himself as he slogged through the water. "I'm jest as wet as the bottom of the Rio Grande, and fret pleasant enough to bite the end right off my ramrod. Where in thunder is that reltest guard, any how? I shouldn't wonder if the hull regiment was drownded in their tents! Sarves em right--why don't they keep awake as I do"

At this moment a rustling in the chap-forai struck the boy's ear at some distance off and he instantly lifted the stock of his gun from under his rough coat, cocked it, and tried to pierce the darkness, but in vain. The noise grew more distinct-- "Thar'e one o'thom infernal greasers (Mexican peon) prowlin' round thar," said he, softly, "come to steal the Colonel's hoss, I reckon. Guess he won't pass me very rapid! I'll wait til he comes nigh enough to challenge, and if he don't gin the countersign, I'll see if old Uncle Sam's musket is good for anything!"
The object had approached to within 20 yards, and it was still impossible to discover what it was. "Stand!" cried the sentinel: but still the object moved. "Maybe it's a stray sim oth-horned deer, (a heifer or calf.) but it may be a greaser, and I ain't a gvin' to let him slap a knife into my jacket, no how," said the boy. He could now just discover the dim outline of a man's figure, he thought, and again cried, "Stand! who goes there?" in a voice loud enough for the next sentinel to hear: but he received no reply. "If you're a friend, speak or I'll fire!" Still no answer was returned-- the boy brought his musket to his shoulder-- "one! two! three!" and he pulled the trigger. The heart-rending report of the musket resounded through the camp, and by the vivid flash the boy saw a man leap into the air and fall back into the bushes. Keeping a watchful eye, he reloaded his musket: but seeing nor hearing anything, he resumed his march.

In a few minutes the rapid tramp of an approaching party was heard inside of the lines. "Who goes there?" cried the lad, lurching his musket. Click! click! went the lock, as he cocked his piece and took aim in the direction of the sound. "Who goes there?" "Corporal of the guard," cried a voice. "The countersign!" demanded the boy. "The Rio Grande's rising!" was the reply. "All right," said the boy, shouldering his musket, "You spoke jest in time!" "Who fired that gun?" inquired the corporal coming to the watchful sentinel. "I did"--was the answer. "What for?" "If you hunt in the bushes yonder, you'll find a dead greaser. I challenged somebody twice--gin him fair warning--he didn't answer, and I jest plugged him!" The man sprang into the bushes, and in a short time dragged into the clearing the dead body. Just then the moon, which had run behind a heavy bank of clouds emerged from behind them, and shed a pale light upon the group, disclosing the uniform of a volunteer soldier! "What have you done? This is one of us," said the corporal, and raising the head of the dead man, he gazed for a moment on his features and exclaimed--"My God, boys, it's Captain Pope!" "Captain Pope!" echoed the lad. "Well who'd a thought it? I'm mighty sorry, but it wasn't my fault, if it had been the Colonel or General Taylor, 'twould bin just the same!"

They took me into arrest, said the boy, relating the occurrence to my informant, and tried me by a court martial, and acquitted me. I'd done only my duty, but they went and discharged me under pretence that I was under age. I understand that one of Captain Pope's friends swears he'll shoot me. If so, he'll hev to shoot quick for