CHAPTER X.

“Well, Señora, how do you like our Bishop?” was Eduardo’s eager inquiry, as the portal of the palace was closed against us. “Is he not good and gentle?”

“I like the Bishop very much, Eduardo; but I think he appears to be rather old for his important position.”

“He wants money, like all in Honduras. The revolutions and the Honduras railway have taken all the money. I am glad, Señora, however, that the failure of the railway was caused by British mismanagement, and not by ours. My father lost much by it, and they say that the Bishop held a great many shares in that railway.”

The Honduras railway had been so often flung in my face whenever the subject of honesty had happened to come under discussion, that I always changed the conversation as soon as possible. This time I said, “Have you seen Marcos?”

“Yes, Señora; and he tells me that he has heard in Comayagua that you are a relative of the Doctor at San Pedro Sula. Is that true, Señora?”

“Certainly not: I never saw the man in my life. Tell Marcos this. I suppose he is living with the gossips of the town, who invent news for want of something to talk about.”

We found Madame anxiously awaiting our return; and as I entered she darted forwards and exclaimed, “Ah! the Bishop has told you all about the Doctor; ah! indeed he must have said a great deal about him. Do tell me, Señora,—I am interested for you, although I have not spoken. I suppose his lordship told you much, eh?”

“On the contrary, his lordship said very little. That which renders me now very uncomfortable, is what the Bishop did _not_ say,” I replied sadly.

“Ah!” replied Madame, speaking as fast as possible, in the French tongue, “he must have the prudence, the caution; you know so little, and perhaps he thought that I was wise, and had not informed you much. Did his lordship ask you of me?”

“I told him that I was in your house; he said you were a kind-hearted woman.”

“Ah! no more: well he did not tell you, and it is possible that it would be of much difficulty to state the things in a foreign tongue. His lordship not altogether comprehend you; and, on the other side, you not quite understand him. Is it not?”

This was more than likely, and would account very strongly for the Bishop’s reticence; so I replied, “I am afraid the Bishop did not quite make out my Spanish here and there.”

“Very possibly, yet you do well—fairly well. Confide to me; the Bishop, did he not tell you one thing about the Doctor?”

“Only that the colony was not nearly so prosperous as it was at first, and that things are changed. His lordship either could not or would not say wherefore. One thing,” I continued, “the Bishop did assert, and that was that your President, Dr Soto, is by no means satisfied with the Doctor, and seemed to infer that he (Dr Soto) is not friendly with him.”

“Ah! how could he be? But I won’t say more. I don’t want to gossip about the man in my house; and perhaps after all, Señora—after all, he may not be so bad. I don’t know him,” she answered.

“I wish you would tell me honestly what you have heard about him, or what is your reason for saying he may not be so very bad.”

“Well, it is for yourself to judge how to act. He is no longer a priest of the diocese of Honduras. That is what the rumour is. Myself, I do not know; but if this is true, the Bishop would have said. Eh?”

“His lordship certainly ought to have done so,” I replied, greatly startled at this news; “but why is he no longer a priest of the diocese?”

“Ah! that I cannot say. The Bishop was obliged to suspend him, because the petition from the people of San Pedro Sula was so strong that his lordship could not act otherwise. You see?”

“No, I don’t see. If he be suspended, he would hardly be living at San Pedro now.”

“Oh! that is the difficulty. The church is locked up; there is no one officiating. I tell you what; you turn your mule’s head and go back, that is my advice.”

“I cannot; I have not money enough,” I answered. “My expenses are all paid or provided for to San Pedro. The men’s agreements are signed for that. If things do not suit, I will get private pupils, and return to England as soon as I can.”

“That will cost money,” said Madame.

“Yes; I shall have to wait till I can get funds sent from England to bring me away. But I will not think that things are so bad: the Doctor’s suspension may be only temporary. If otherwise, he would never have written and engaged me to come to Honduras.”

“I think he must have got into trouble after he had written to you to come. That is very likely. You have not put any money into his hands, have you?”

“Not any; I expect him to put money into mine,” I answered with a laugh.

“Oh! I am glad he has not any of your money,” said the kind-hearted Frenchwoman.

Thus, between Madame’s knowing and not knowing, added to the reticence of the Bishop, I had learned enough to make me very uncomfortable. I resolved, however, to act in a straightforward manner, and so I said to Madame, “There is a telegraph line between Comayagua and San Pedro Sula, is there not?”

“Certainly—not very good; it breaks often, but it does work. Do you want to send a telegram?”

“Yes; I shall telegraph to the Doctor to announce that I am setting off for San Pedro, and to request him either to meet me there, or send some one to represent him.”

“Good—very good; write the telegram in Spanish. Stay—I will do so for you; I have more experience: and let me add that you request an answer.”

“There will be scarcely time, I think; but, at any rate, he will have to prepare to receive me. There is nothing for it now but to make the best of the situation, and try and shake off evil impressions.”

With this resolution I buried myself in the depths of a wide clean hammock, and rocked away “dull care” till the call for supper came.

The lively chat at Madame’s table served for a while at least to dispel a tendency to a despondent state of mind, and after supper I was too busy in making preparations for the onward march to dwell upon what I had heard; and so night drew on, and in the early morning afterwards I was fresh, and willing to continue the journey to San Pedro Sula.

“One word more I have to say to you,” said Madame, as she stood with her sister in the court-yard looking at the preparations for departure. “You may remain at San Pedro, or you may find it wiser to leave it. Now Mr De Brot, the consul at Puerto Cortez, is an honourable, kind man, and he does banking business. You write to him; he will know how to get your money from England; but, dear lady, do not allow any one but him to have anything to do with business of any kind for you, whether you go or stay. I mean money business,” she continued, with a knowing waggle of her head.

“Now I must transact my own little business with you,” I said. “Let me know what I am indebted to you for my board and lodging.”

“Ah! bah! nonsense!” returned Madame. “You pay! No, indeed, you won’t; I am too glad to see a lady. You can settle for the mules in the stable; but for entertainment in my house,—no,—never—never. See, too, we are going away; you have taken only the remnants of food—old pigeons, end of this, scrap of that; no,—such is not my usual table for strangers.”

So I settled a very modest score for the stabling of the mules, and then Madame informed me that she and her sister would be a night in San Pedro Sula very shortly, on their way to Puerto Cortez, from whence they were to sail to New York. “We shall meet again,” said Madame Victorine, “so I shall only say _au revoir_.”

We issued out at the great portal of the shady court into a blazing sun, but we were all refreshed and comforted by our rest; and Luisa was so frisky that it was difficult to hold her in. I gave my grateful thanks to both of the ladies for their hospitality; and the last words I heard from the Posada Victorine were the stringent tones of Madame repeating her injunctions as to caution.

The _macho_ was so wild that he and Eduardo were sent on first, and enjoined to keep out of Luisa’s sight, as that animal seemed very much inclined to “bolt”; for she persistently imitated her mate in all his ways, good or evil, and he evidently had come into the world as a racing character. Marcos placed the staid baggage-mule in front of Luisa, and at a quick trot we passed on our way.

Madame Victorine had put down on paper the names of the places wherein it would be best to stop. We had left the grand scenery here, but still we passed through some fine country very badly cultivated. At this point my journal runs: “Halted for a few moments, fifteen miles from Comayagua, at the house of Don Somebody Navarro,—a sickly man, who hospitably gave me some milk and bread. This Señor is reputed rich, but his surroundings are most miserable. He spoke English, having lived in Cuba. The men got provisions in the village, so our store is ample.

“Crossed rather a dangerous but narrow river in the afternoon. I managed the mule pretty fairly and without help: in consequence, Marcos condescended to inform me that I was much improved in my riding. The fact is that Luisa is getting to know me, and the kindly beast does her best to travel gently. Arrived at a place called ‘Quevos.’ Here we spent the night; and the house which we had selected was quiet and respectable. It was kept by a poor widow, and it was the cleanest house I had seen. In the evening the woman asked me if I would object to joining in the evening prayer?

“‘Object!’ I replied; ‘I am only too glad to join with Christians in His praise and His worship.’

“She told me that the revolution had swept away the church of the village. The late cura of the parish was dead, and there was no money to pay another, as the present Government refused all aid. ‘So,’ said she, ‘a few of us join in the morning and evening prayer. We will not live like heathens.’ The room was carefully swept out, and shortly afterwards about a dozen persons of both sexes entered the room, and dropped on their knees. A curtain was drawn aside, and displayed a small altar on which stood a cross, and before it a little vase filled with lovely flowers. A few prayers were said, and a hymn was sung, and then all silently departed. It was a simple heartfelt service; truly that of the two or three gathered together in Christ’s name.”

This from my journal, July 25:—

“A long ride was before us on the following morning, as we were anxious to cross the river Blanco by daylight; and I was told that the stream, though very narrow at the crossing-point, was dangerous on account of a peculiarly rapid under-current, which it required some dexterity to fight against. It was a comfort to hear, however, that a canoe was always on the side of this stream. It was arranged that we should sleep at Santa Yzabel after crossing the Rio Blanco (White River). The Rio Blanco here is little more than a narrow and deep strait reputed to be very dangerous. An Indian sits all day in a canoe, to be ready to convey passengers and their baggage to the opposite side.

“The mules and cattle are sent into the stream, and they swim to shore: the bath is very refreshing to them, as they get but scanty attention, generally speaking, in the matter of cleansing. However, it is looked upon as a great nuisance to have to take all the baggage from off the sumpter-mule and the saddles from the others, only to replace all, twenty minutes later, on the opposite side.

“The crossing-place at this point is very picturesque, the bank rising to a mound on one side of the path, whereon the interlaced branches of two magnificent tamarind-trees threw their arms far over the water. The lovely crimson creeper, _Prendas de Amor_ (Links of Love), carpeted the ground in great profusion. This creeper has no perfume; but it is an error to suppose that all the wild flowers in these countries are scentless. At this spot, too, the grass was unusually soft and green; and at the root of the trees grew a cream-coloured flower, bearing a violet eye, the name of which it was impossible to discover.

“Save the quinine tree, I had never been able to ascertain the name of any shrub or flower, from either Eduardo or Marcos. The former sometimes characterised a bird, and he was always on the alert to gather any edible fruit that might show itself from out of the hedge or thick-growing foliage.

“Now, crossing the river Blanco is to be undertaken, and remembering my experience of the Juan, I look upon the canoe and the Indian with the utmost satisfaction. Two Spanish herdsmen with a flock of superb cattle, a peasant with his wife and mule, and lastly, a long string of charcoal-laden mules, attended by their drivers, had convened here from other directions, and waited to cross the stream. One boatman and one canoe for the work! It was lucky that the great proportion of this assemblage could be independent of the Indian’s aid.

“The _personnel_ and baggage would cause fetching and carrying enough, and, of course, with so much business on hand, there must be a _convenio_ on the matter. So the men got out their _cigarillos_, and we two women, after being dismounted, bowed to each other and exchanged some words, and then looked about for a seat under the tamarind-trees. I had already selected my spot, but Eduardo intervened. ‘Not so near the roots, Señora; there may be snake-holes about them. Come farther down here; there is plenty of shade, and the grass is short: there is nothing here wherein a serpent can hide.’”

The trail of the serpent is over it all, then? But I remembered that these reptiles are in general very fearful of the human proximity, and the most audacious _culebra_ would hardly dare to come among so many. There was plenty of shade under the tree, as Eduardo said, far away from the roots; and the longing for rest was strong upon me. No wonder that so it was in such a place, so cool and secluded,—a spot, too, wherein, for a short time at least, we were safe from the bite of insects, and where myriads of butterflies of every shape and form and size served to brighten the scene with gorgeous colour, and add their quota of cheerfulness to the hard work of life, round which they whirled and fluttered. We deserved our rest, for all of us had ridden many leagues.

However, before I seat myself under the friendly tree, I must see that Eduardo unsaddled Luisa properly. This supervision was necessary, as the young fellow had a habit of letting the saddle slip to the ground, pommel downwards. What would become of me should this most useful of projections become damaged or broken off at this stage of the journey? I was feeling weaker, so every risk which would incur discomfort was to be avoided.

The saddle was carried into the shade of a shrub, and then I took my seat and signed to the country-woman to come and sit near me. A little brandy-and-water in the travelling flask and a few _tortillas_ were all the fare I had to offer. This I proposed to share with the stranger, to which she readily assented; and on her own behalf she produced some _queso_, and some dried-looking green fruit which was far from inviting. A few slices of roasted plantain rolled up in leaves gave a better turn to affairs, and the final appearance of a bottle of milk was really to this feast _crême de la crême_.

The men meanwhile unloaded the mules, chattering and gesticulating as they did so. The delight of the animals as their packs disappeared was curious to witness, and our usually staid baggage-mule gave expression to her satisfaction by kicking her neighbours right and left, and lashing at everything she could lay heels on.

The first excitement of freedom being over, she rolled on the soft sweet grass, and then walked in among the charcoal mules and began deliberately to bite and kick at them. A shout from Marcos and a tremendous whack from his stick acted as a deterrent; and with the objurgatory, “Ah, mula redonda!” (O fool of a mule!) our friend was “chivied” up a bank, and made to wait there until her turn for the swim should come. This was well for the human as well as for the animal kind, for a stray blow might have fallen upon some of us; and it is well known that a kick from a mule is far more severe, in degree, than a kick from a horse.

My companion expressed the opinion that the refractory beast had been bitten by the mulefly, for it was still running about, and rubbing and kicking against the bushes. The agony from the bite of this fly is very great, and in passing through swamps the insect is sure to be lying in wait. It is large in size, and bears some resemblance to the bluebottle-fly; generally it makes its attack near the eye. “I know a little about the matter,” continued my informant, “and I assure you a fly will hang about one particular mule for many leagues after its ‘habitat’ has been passed. A good muleteer always looks out for this pest, and is careful to take it off the animal, for not only does it sting deep, but it also draws a good deal of blood.”

We talked and rested for nearly an hour. The Indian who owned the canoe had been invited to land and to partake of the men’s rations, and the poor fellow seemed to enjoy most thoroughly the kindness and good companionship which he had fallen in with. The country-woman told me that her husband bred mules on a ranche in the interior, and that they were on the way to Santa Cruz to receive the money for a sale of animals which he had made to the engineer of the railway works near that town. “They would not stop at Santa Yzabel, as we intended to do,” she said, because they had friends in the interior some miles farther on, and they could reach the place before nightfall.

The crossing was effected, but it took a long time, owing to the troublesome current. This was so rapid, that even our audacious friend, the _macho_, refused point-blank to enter the water, and had finally to be lugged forward by the head, and pushed vigorously from behind, to get him afloat. When fairly in the water, he refused to come out, and amused himself by swimming round the canoe, to the utmost peril of that frail transport. The Indian, agile as a monkey, at a sudden turn leapt on his back; and so, with the help of another man, this wretch was hauled, braying and stamping, to the opposite shore. The observations of Marcos on this occasion are not fit to be recorded to ears polite; but nevertheless, he never laid a finger on the beast.

Was not the _macho_ a valuable animal, and was not Marcos expecting to sell him well on the return journey?

All being at length happily managed, we friends of an hour took farewell of each other, and sped on our several ways. A few miles’ distance brought my party to Santa Yzabel, which, instead of being a village, as we had expected, was merely a half farm, half hut, lonely dwelling. It was particularly rich in grass, and this delighted Marcos for his mules’ sake. I, on my own part, revelled in the pure milk, in strolling among the cows, and inhaling the air, which here was quite redolent of wild thyme.

The woman of the house was very obliging, but she possessed little wherewith to replenish our commissariat. A tough fowl, and a few _tortillas_ which she baked expressly for us, were all that she could procure. The night was wretched, and this had the salutary effect of causing us to strike our tents very early on the following morning. A bowl of milk was my own breakfast, and it was a chance if I could get anything more for many hours.

My journal of July 27, may be admissible here:—

“We rode several miles, and passed some glorious cedar-trees. Here, for the first time, I saw that lovely bird the _Cardinalis rubra_, which is remarkable for being so nervous concerning its own safety as never to build unless it feels itself to be perfectly safe. It will sometimes choose five or six different places before it finishes its nest. The highest and darkest cedar-tree is its usual habitat, and its song is very peculiar, something between a warble and a whistle. It derives its name from the splendour of the crest, which is of a brilliant scarlet colour, intermixed here and there with a few tips of peacock-green hue. The female has no crest, but she is an elegantly shaped bird.

“It was the peculiar note of this songster that first drew Eduardo’s attention to our beautiful neighbour. As the ground was soft, and we had been treading upon a thick layer of fragrant cedar-needles, it was possible that there had not been noise enough to startle the bird. His magnificent crest glanced through the background of dark cedar foliage with great effect. We stopped simultaneously; and Eduardo, stepping up to me, said—‘Señora, will you lend me the revolver? I can bring him down.’

“‘No, Eduardo, it would be cruelty; besides, the bird would be torn to pieces; don’t think of shooting it.’

“‘But, Señora, I would like the feathers.’

“‘Very well, Eduardo, I can only say, if you shoot that bird, I will not give you the revolver, as I had intended to do, when we arrive at San Pedro Sula.’”

This settled the matter, and Eduardo returned the little case to the canvas bag from which he had half withdrawn it.

We had never, as yet, had occasion to use this implement as a weapon of defence, but I had from time to time allowed the lad to discharge it; for, by the generosity of the officer of the Clyde, suitable ammunition had been also supplied with the little case. Eduardo had taught me the use of the weapon, and I had more than once discharged it for practice; but I never was quite happy when handling it, and I rather looked forward to the time when I could safely get rid of it.

Marcos was beginning to be impatient at the delay, and suddenly raised a shout. This had the effect of scaring the birds, one or two of which flew with a shrill cry to some more distant trees. We saw them more perfectly by this means, and thus satisfied, I cared little for being peremptorily hurried on by the muleteer.

My journal goes on to say that we arrived next at a place called Maniobar. Very pretty, but the inhabitants were holding some races, and this being the case, we could procure neither food nor shelter. These were the most churlish beings we had encountered. Nothing for it but to ride to Coalcar.

In another way Maniobar was remarkable: it was here that we saw a large poisonous snake. The reptile literally crawled between the feet of the baggage-mule; and Luisa, with the instinctive horror which all mules have of snakes, nearly jumped her own height from off the ground. The men drew out their _machetes_ quickly; but the reptile was too quick for them, and raising its crest with a hiss, it glided beneath some bushes. This was rather a narrow escape.

The night was particularly wretched; and the place at which we halted was so uninviting, that I proposed, as the moon was full, to travel at night.

The _mozos_ evidently feared, as they always had feared, to travel after dusk, so this was negatived. The result was—“I had my hammock slung outside, and made the best of it. Swarms of mosquitoes, and very little to eat and drink.”

[Illustration: MANIOBAR.]

The next entry records a far more pleasant experience. “After a weary ride, we arrived at Santa Cruz. This town is built with some regularity, and is far in advance of many that we have passed. We went first to the principal inn, but finding that the proprietor owned a farmhouse in the neighbourhood which was on our route, we decided to go there. As Marcos wanted to linger in the town, he readily agreed to go to the farm with me and the mules, if I would grant him and Eduardo leave of absence till nine o’clock in the evening. I agreed to this; and by three o’clock in the afternoon I was left in the hands of a cheery Spanish woman, who was wife of the landlord of the inn at Santa Cruz.”

It was a great treat to meet with one of so much refinement as this lady proved to be; and when I had bathed and dined comfortably, I quite enjoyed the walk with her in the cool of the evening. She was the very description of woman which Honduras wanted, and as we sat in the verandah taking coffee, I could not help telling her so.

“We have had many misfortunes of late years, Señora,” she said, “and many bad examples from those who assume to teach us progress in commercial transactions. Just look now at that Honduras railway! It might have made the country! Ah, Señora! we have to thank the British people for ruining our trade and commerce for many years to come. Ruin and loss make women hopeless, Señora, and that has been the case in Spanish Honduras. However, we are hoping now for brighter days. America is bringing in both labour and money. Yes, I think better times are coming. God grant it!”