CHAPTER XXXIV.

It was quite dark on taking my place in the diligence, but getting comfortably seated, I heard one of the passengers inquire if there was to be an escort; so putting my head out of the window, I asked my man Juan if he had any idea where the troops were concealed? _No Senor, no hay!_--not a soul to be seen. _Bueno!_ I consoled myself by being sure of meeting them at the garita--and then we came to the gate, but never a sabre visible! Malditos were of no avail. Senor Rosa, in a multiplicity of _negocios_ had forgotten me! Truly, I was scared out of sleep the first few posts, but at last my eyelids gained the day--I sailed away in the land of dreams, and never awoke until reaching Salamanca--much refreshed and decidedly happy not to have been rifled by ladrons.

It was four o'clock and raining heavily as we drove into the cellar, as it were, of the sky-built city of Guanajuato. The water was bounding and leaping down the naked sides of the hills, converting every narrow gully into a boiling torrent, until cascades and rivulets all poured into the deep valley beneath, and went roaring and foaming away, increasing in bulk and impetuosity at every gorge, to feed some rapid river in the plains beyond. I was intently occupied speculating upon the chances whether the diligence would be swept along with other floating matter, or ultimately stranded on dry land; for not long before, one of these same vehicles had been caught in a freshet--carried some distance, drowning three insides. But fortunately, we steered clear of these dangers by flood and coach--with saturated garments--and were soon safely housed in the comfortable fonda.

Much to my chagrin, the rain prevented a visit to the great mines of La Luz. They are said to be the largest in the world, and well worthy of a sight, employing no less than fifteen thousand workmen, including their families. The owner died in Queretero the day previous to my departure, bequeathing a fortune of twenty millions of dollars to his heirs.

I left Guanajuato before daylight--the heavens were dropping tears, although not sufficiently lacrymose to keep the gorges surcharged, and thus we again escaped coach-wreck. We reached Leon to a late breakfast--there I exchanged the youthful valet Juan for my horse equipments, and having but a single companion in the person of an Englishman bound to Zacatecas, we continued the route: the cocheros swore there were none other than virtuous people in that vicinity and we had no fears of being molested: the road became rocky and uneven--occasionally no beaten track at all--and had not the coach and our bones been constructed of the toughest materials, I imagine neither could have reached Lagos--but we got there at three o'clock, with no more serious mishap than being jolted asleep and awake, at least four or five times in as many minutes.

Our stopping place was a decent little fonda, administered by an old Spaniard. While standing in the gateway I observed two persons, and, from something indescribable in their appearance, immediately accosted them in Anglo-Saxon: they were North Americans, and had resided many years in Mexico: they treated me kindly, and extended every assistance in their power. I visited one and saw as pretty a wife and family as any batchelor might envy. The town itself is extremely pretty--a remarkably handsome church faces the Plaza--the houses elegantly adorned externally in fanciful frescoes, with designs of flowers, wreaths, gardens, and mythological figures, while a branch of the Rio Grande rushes swiftly through the heart of the town, fringed with a profusion of verdant foliage. During my visit the river coursed in two separate channels, divided by a narrow strip of pebbly sand, whereon were hundreds of little nude boys and girls, and women nearly so, bathing and washing in the pools along the shores.

Returning from the walk, we had hardly entered the inn, which looked into the Plaza, when some fifty ragamuffins, armed with many varieties of weapons, but principally broken muskets and naked sabres, passed by; they had music, too, an undeniable drum, which never for a moment ceased being thumped and pounded, during all the proceedings that afterwards transpired. There was to be a Mexican Pronunciamento! The band marched straight to the Quartel near the upper end of the square by the church, where, after much shouting, expostulation, bluster, and reading of proclamations, they induced about five and twenty meagre soldiers, who composed the garrison, to declare in favor of the rebellion; then a number of bottles of strong waters circulated briskly, the mob mingled with the fraternised soldiery, possessed themselves of their muskets, broke up into groups, and filled the air with cries of "_Abajo los Yankees! Viva Paredes! Viva la Guerra! Viva El Padre Jarauta!_"

The Pronunciamento was completed.

My friends prepared me for this ebullition by stating it to be part of a combined movement, fomented by Paredes, who was at Aguas Calientes, seven leagues beyond, awaiting the action of Guadalajara and the western provinces.

It had been my intention to take the route to Mazatlan by way of Zacatecas and Durango, but I was earnestly urged not to attempt it in the present unsettled state of that district, and as the advice was based on sensible grounds--not without a deal of regret--I at once ordered horses for Guadalajara. Whilst dinner was preparing I took a stroll with the innkeeper, around the Plaza to get a glimpse, if possible, of the sanctified assassin Padre Jarauta. I had heard much of the villain's atrocities, both from the papers and individuals. The young adjutant whom I met in Guanajuato related of him, that he boasted of having killed fifty-three Americans with his own cuchillo, and though styling himself priest was nothing but a student who had taken to arms "con amore." To say the least of this good padre, he possessed unparalleled courage and audacity, had done immense mischief to small corps and trains of our army, and he was, in fact, the boldest, bloodiest Guerrilla chief in all Mexico.

I was gratified for my exertions, and passed twice beside him; he was striking in expression, perhaps thirty years old, with fine fierce dark eyes, and little beard: he was about the middle height, dressed in a round jacket and cloak, with a short straight sword on his hip. He appeared absorbed with great events, regarding the sky and other celestial bodies, never deigning to honor me with a glance.

One of my countrymen dined with me, and we had an excellent repast, but it was most unseasonably interrupted by the entrance of the host, who after a short consultation with my friend, informed me that the good Padre Jarauta had learned the arrival of an American officer, and had expressed a determination to make an _ejemplo_ of him in the square! I reposed full faith in his pious regard, and did not doubt for an instant that he would be at all loth in executing his virtuous designs--and as for my passport and papers, they might possibly have given additional zest to his holy orders, and been considered just long enough to cock half a dozen carbines, and--_fuego!_ However, there was no time to deliberate, and but one course to avoid the dilemma--_Gracios a Dios_--the horses were fortunately in the Corral of the meson, and in a very few seconds the guide had clasped on my spurs, and I jumped into the saddle. With warmest thanks to my friends, and a trifle, more solid, to the true Biscayno for his good offices, in the darkness, the animals were led down a stone flight of steps, through some outbuildings, where, gaining a back street, we made the dust whirl in clouds around us, as we gave lash and steel to the beasts.

At early dawn we halted at a place called Encarnacion for change of horses, and losing no time, mounted and struck a bypath to shorten the distance. At sunrise we observed a group of travellers ahead, and pushed on to overtake them. Perceiving, however, a wish to avoid us, and warlike demonstrations begun by two individuals unslinging carbines in the rear, I sent the guide in advance to relieve their anxiety; they proved to be the family of the commandant of Lagos, flying bag and baggage to a more safe retreat; there were two ladies in the party, and we remained in company for some miles: they had lost a valise in their flight, and, on parting, I was under the belief that they regarded me as the lucky finder thereof.

Further on we passed a remarkable elevation called _La Mesa_, a table hill of a perfect oval, rising like the palisades of Hudson River; some three hundred feet, with a dead flat surface, and but one gateway-like aperture leading to the summit--making altogether a most regular and inaccessible natural fortress. My guide assured me, there was a deep, clear lake on top, and many acres of good soil.

The sun was getting high up, when we drew bridles at a fork of the road, beneath a wide-spreading tree, and in fact the only one to be seen. Here, squatted on a stone, was a jolly old gentleman, with a great earthen jar of pulque, and platter filled with the same sour fermentation, on the grass before him; the guide, as in honor bound