CHAPTER II.

Forward being the word, we quickly cleared the town of Acapulco. Its outskirts bear a cultivated appearance, owing to the rows of trees which are planted for some distance at the side of the footpath. At this season they bore a bunchy mauve-coloured flower, something between the lilac and the beautiful climber Wistaria; but the blossom was not so clearly defined, and it crumbled away in the hand at the slightest touch.

It was pleasant to find the China rose (with such a lovely pink on its cheek!) peeping out here and there from a dilapidated hedge. This place must surely be some deserted garden. A look through a gap confirmed this conjecture, as we descried several tall hollyhock-looking plants, bearing about them a decided air of culture. They appeared as if they were on guard, distracting by their gaudy array the attention of the passers-by from the desolation within.

A party endowed with plenty of life and _tongue_ generally travels quickly, and gets over a good span of ground and time at almost imperceptible speed. This was certainly the case with us as on and on we went, admiring the fantastic peaks and heights by which the near distance was intersected, and grumbling a little when the ascent became more abrupt, and the road rougher. Very shortly granite rocks, and their usual companion the dwarf cactus, stood out upon the scene; the huts, too, had become more sparse; these were little else than bare poles, with their roofing composed of dirty skins and palm-leaves. Then utter desolation: for nothing living, save a large hare, which darted into some brushwood in the background, gave evidence that any created thing existed here.

My surprise was great when I heard this animal declared to be a hare. “It is so large and black,” objected I.

“Years ago, when I landed from a merchant vessel here for a day, this place was overrun by hares. I remember we made a party to go into the interior and shoot them. They were mostly large, and the flesh was very coarse,” made answer Mr Cookes.

“You have been here before?” inquired Beauty O’H——.

“I have been almost all over Mexico and the coast,” returned Mr Cookes; “but I was only on shore at Acapulco for the one day I allude to, and that was twenty years ago.”

“This is how you come to speak Spanish so well,” said the same young lady.

“Yes; I kept it up in Mexico; but I learned the language in Spain, in the old country. When very young I was sent into a counting-house at Cadiz; but I soon tired of that, and turned sailor.”

“You know all about Popocatepetl then?” continued Beauty.

“No; I don’t feel interested in mountains; I have seen such a lot of them. This one is the highest in America, they say; but it is only, after all, a volcano out of work.”

“Doctor,” said she, turning round, and speaking to him with an air of confidence; “you know something about this mountain. Why is it thought so much of, and where did it get its frightful name?”

“It got its frightful name in very far-off times,” replied that gentleman; “I cannot tell you when, but it was so called when the Spaniards invaded Mexico, and conquered that country. The meaning of Popocatepetl is ‘The hill that smokes.’”

“It does not smoke now?”

“No; but at the time of the invasion I allude to, it was in full play; and the eruption was so terrific, and lasted so long, that the Indians believed it to be the portent of the destruction of their city. You should read ‘The Conquest of Mexico,’ by Prescott. You will learn all about it far better in that work than from me.”

“Prescott is an American?”

“Yes,” returned the doctor, proudly; “and his writings are accepted as being standard works in all the civilised world. If you prefer to select an English author on the subject, read Robertson.”

“Certainly not,” replied the girl hastily; “you Americans are so touchy. I only inquired what Prescott’s nationality was, to satisfy my own ignorance.”

“Come up here, all of you,” shouted a voice from the front—the owner being perched on an elevated ridge a little to the right, and taking advantage of the height to look down upon us with the air of a discoverer. This was the student Paul.

We hastened to obey. The other students helped up the girls, the Spaniard helped me, and I hauled Mr Cookes, who was lame, with my disengaged hand, the doctor propelling him in the rear.

Hats off, shouting, and an improvised war-dance on the part of the students, announced us to be in the presence of Popocatepetl, that is, as far as eyesight was concerned. Actually it was many, many leagues away in the far distance.

In the far distance—true; but well did we discern this magnificent peak, shooting like a monolith straight and fair into the clouds. Was his form irregular; had he gaping wounds, black with cinder and burn, and disfigured by smoke? The rich soft mantle of snow veiled all these; and troops of smaller cones far and wide, more sober in their greyer tones, clustered around him to conceal his scars and his power for evil. From the point whence we viewed him, he was the giant grand and beautiful, and we ignored the destructions which he had wrought.

“Let him not arouse,” pray we; for should His hand unloose him, who can tell what miseries the pent-up fires of a century may rain on the earth?

Some longing, lingering looks, and we descend into the road which will take us back to the town! Our tongues are free, for the weird solemn scene had subdued the youngest of us into silence.

Now we all burst forth into praise, and admire ourselves intensely for undertaking this pilgrimage. Ere long it leaks out that some of us are tired, and all confess to feeling very hungry and thirsty.

Good Señor Hernandez is equal to this occasion.

“I have an old friend,” said he, “whose _hacienda_ is very near the town,—it will not be many steps out of the way. If he does not happen to be at home, some of the family will be. They are kind, hospitable people, and will make us welcome.”

“But we are such a gang,” one of our number reminded Señor Hernandez.

“Never mind; there is plenty of room, and my friend is a Spaniard of pure race.” This last expression meant many things; amongst which the declaration of there being no admixture of Indian blood in the composition of Señor Hernandez’s friend was one; another, that a true Spaniard never quarrels with the number of his guests.

So we hied to the _hacienda_ of Señor Don Candido, and were admitted through a broken gate into a piece of ground, half coffee plantation, half garden, and whole wilderness,—brilliant flowers dotting themselves here and there, mostly set on tall stalks. They reminded me somewhat of some pert damsels I have seen, who were determined not to be overlooked.

A long low building stood in the centre of this enclosure; and presently there poured out from this men, women, dogs, unlimited in number as they appeared, followed by a very handsome lad who carried a gun in his hand. Introductions over, we were soon seated in the broad verandah—which is generally the place of social gatherings in these Spanish houses. Some handsomely netted hammocks and some plain grass ones were slung between the several posts of the verandah. Out of one of these a head was raised up, and as quickly popped back again.

“It is only Pepita,” said the lady of the house, in explanation. “Poor Pepita! she runs about too much. Sleep on,” she continued, addressing the bulge in the hammock; “these good friends will excuse thee.” And she gave the hammock a swing, which, I suppose, sent Pepita off to the land of Nod, but which effectually roused a cross parrot which had been reposing with its mistress, and which flew out of its enclosure, and without the slightest provocation made straight for me and attempted to bite my feet. Failing in this, the bird clung to my skirts, and attempted to climb upon me beneath them. I tried to push the creature away, but it seemed bent upon tasting European flesh; and as the O’H—— girls were afraid to touch it, I had to rise to my feet and hurl it from me. Just then the handsome lad—who was called, I heard, Jaime (this is pronounced Ha-ee-may, and is Castilian for our ugly, abrupt James)—caught sight of what was going on, and proceeded to put a stop to the parrot’s annoyance, for it was rushing at me again.

Don Jaime left the verandah-post against which he had been leaning as he chatted to Señor Hernandez, and brought out from some corner a long and very thin bamboo switch. With this he administered four or five cuts sharply across the back and wings of the bird, reproving it as he did so just as if it had been a child under correction.

“Ah, naughty Marquita! Take thy whipping; this is to teach thee manners. Wicked bird! How dare you try to bite!”

I had never seen a bird whipped before; and fearing that he might do it a mischief, I begged the lad to refrain.

“She must be tamed,” replied the lad, as he desisted at once; “she is of a very strong kind, and her temper is that of the _demonio_. No, I would not hurt her; I know how much to correct her.”

All this time the bird was yelling and squeaking like a veritable _demonio_, and flew to the roof of the verandah, describing wide circles about Don Jaime’s head, and making as if she would attack him with all the strength of her will. The bamboo switch was evidently a factor in the case; and at length she flew up into a corner and contented herself with emitting now and then some peculiar sounds, which possibly might be hard bird-swearing.

The party at the other end of the verandah talked calmly on, and never appeared even to notice the hubbub which this had occasioned. I suppose in these parts it is not the correct thing to expend unnecessary strength upon being surprised.

Some excellent coffee and fruit were handed to us, and at the same time cigars were offered to all who would accept them. The lady of the house presented her own to me, first lighting it and giving it two or three puffs at her mouth as she did so. This is the most complimentary manner of presenting a cigar, and I felt sorry that natural and national prejudices obliged me to decline the civility. The hostess soon found a grateful recipient in one of our fellow-travellers, and then she and her daughters smoked away as hard as any three London cabmen.

The Misses O’H—— proposed to stroll out into the garden, and the handsome Jaime put down his coffee-cup and attended us. He plucked some fine China roses, and placing these against a background of coffee-tree stems laden with berries, produced three beautiful and unique bouquets. This young gentleman told us that he was a nephew of the owner of the house, and that he was paying a visit at this time to Acapulco. We were all very much taken with the appearance of the youth, and his kind unaffected manner was truly charming.

“What a lout the ordinary British youth of the same age would be in this position!” said the eldest Miss O’H—— to me, as we walked behind the others. “He would be wishing all of us in Japan, and suffer the extreme of misery in his own mind.”

“True,” I answered; “but remember, when the ordinary British lad arrives at maturity, he generally remains in the plenitude of strength and manhood for many years. When Lubin is fifty, Antonio will be looking, and probably feeling, sixty-five. The Spanish women, you know, are considered to be old at thirty; but they are formed and lovely at fifteen.”

“I do not understand why this should be,” continued my young friend.

“Nor I either. I suppose it is in some degree a fulfilment of the doctrine of compensation.”

“Ah! that is my father’s favourite theory, don’t you know?”

“No, dear Hibernia, I did not know; but I agree with your father. I confess to being a great believer in the doctrine of compensation.”

“Have you had any compensation in your life for your early troubles? None of us have, and papa has been done out of a lot of money,” said the girl.

“So have I also; but compensation may not come in the way we expect. Good health, happiness, getting married, my dear, on your part, and not getting married on mine, may perhaps be a compensation for the loss of money.”

So preached I; and the kind-hearted girl pressed my arm, and said she only wished that I had a large fortune, and that I could finish my journey with her and her family. This could not be, for the O’H——’s were on their way to New York.

Now were gathered together our forces, for we must be back on our way to the vessel. The doctor was missing. Somebody surmised that he had already returned to the ship. However, we unanimously decided that he would turn up somewhere; and then we all took leave, having well enjoyed our simple and cordial entertainment.

“Ah! there you are, doctor; we could not think what had become of you,” exclaimed Mr Cookes, as he caught sight of that gentleman sitting on a step busy overhauling the contents of a candle-box-looking article. “We thought you had turned back for metal more attractive—the Mexican shell-worker.”

“You thought wrong, then. I strayed out of the way to look for some marine plants, for I aspire to be a little of a botanist. Not having the faintest idea where you had got to, I walked straight here; for you would be obliged to pass this place to get to the pier.”

“This place” was a large and well-stocked store, hung without and within with a wonderful collection of articles, and kept by a veritable Englishman. I wanted some large white handkerchiefs wherewith to cover my shoulders during my proposed ride, as the back of the neck, at the juncture of the head with the spine, is the part which should be more carefully covered even than the head itself under a burning sun.

The girls, too, wanted the gayest handkerchiefs they could find, to remind them of Mexico when they arrived at home.

We were supplied with what we required at a terrific price. The shopkeeper must have netted forty per cent on an average upon our purchases.

“We pay very high for the privilege of dealing with a countryman,” remarked Mr Cookes. “The French, Greeks, and Spaniards certainly do bleed foreigners pretty freely, but it is reserved to the English all over the world to overcharge and swindle those of their own nation. Other peoples are considerate to their own, but we are above the weakness of making any exception.”

“Really?”

“That is my experience in these countries. Depend upon it, the worst people to be encountered in any part of the world are the low whites,” went on Mr Cookes. “They get all they can out of the natives, and then, in some cases, go home and cant about the wickedness of the heathen.”

This is in a measure true, as I knew by experience in the Fiji Islands, and from statements of friends on whom I could rely.

Returning in the boat to the vessel, I found myself again seated near the doctor. He asked me to spare him a stem of the coffee-berries.

“I want them,” said he, with a little hesitation, “for a ‘school marm.’ She is a good girl, and, though an American, she _has_ the low soft voice so beautiful in woman.” Here the doctor looked very valiant, as if he would not recede an inch from what he had averred.

I handed him the stem of coffee-berries, and with it the finest of my roses. “The ‘school marm’ will be the doctor’s wife some fine day, I predict,” said I, shaking him by the hand. “Now, do you dry that rose, and some far-off time you may chance upon it, and remember our little excursion in Acapulco.”

The good gentleman returned the pressure of my hand, and merely replied, “Yes; this has been a red-letter day.”

“May all go well with you. Good-bye.”

The boat had touched the ship’s stair, and the doctor, after placing me on the lower step, ran rapidly up on deck. Thus vanished out of my sight, probably for ever, one of my pleasant travelling friends.

The captain was standing on board as we ascended. “I have not had time to say much to you,” said he, addressing me; “but I hear you are going to the Honduras. Surely it is a terrible journey for you to take alone!”

“I do not fear a little hardship,” said I, perhaps too confidently. “I am the daughter and sister of English soldiers, and my bringing up has never been luxurious. Circumstances in later years have compelled me to depend on myself.”

“It is a wonder to me,” continued the captain, “that your relatives allow you to go.”

“I have no near relations, and I go to make a home of my own. We have all of us our troubles, captain; do not discourage me. Hitherto I have got on very well, and the world in general is kind to lone female travellers.”

“Yes, the civilised world.” The captain here shook his head.

I turned aside to answer a summons. The speaker was a bedroom steward. “Mr Smith sends me to ask you to get together your things, please, for the boat will be ready in twenty minutes to take you on board the Clyde.”

I looked at my roses and my beautiful bunch of coffee-berries, and handed them silently over to the youngest Miss O’H——; for—the truth must out—I was to say good-bye, and leave these friends of a few days “for ever and a day,” as the saying goes. Yes; there stood the vessel alongside of the Colima, the steamer which we had seen in the harbour before we went ashore. She was called the Clyde, was smaller than the Colima, and warranted slow.

This vessel had been all day taking in and discharging cargo, and now was ready to receive the last of the passengers of the Colima who might be bound to the intermediate ports. The future mission of the Colima was to dash down to Panama without a stoppage; whilst the Clyde was to dawdle leisurely along the coast, stop at every port, and to cast anchor every night from sundown to sunrise.

“Why is this?” I inquired of Mr Smith, the head steward,—that kindest and most courteous of head stewards, wherever the others may be.

“The navigation is particularly dangerous along that coast, and in some places the water is very shallow and abounds in shoals. The steamers always lay-to at night. The voyage down there will be very tedious, and the heat terrible, you’ll find,” returned Mr Smith. “Do not be startled at the lightning. It is very alarming to a stranger, but you will soon be accustomed to that. This is the season for it.”

“We have had a pretty fair share since we left San Francisco. Will it be worse as we go further south?” I inquired.

“No; but you will think more of it, as you will be lying still, and the steamer also. I mention the subject, to assure you that I have never heard of any vessel being struck; and although moving objects, they say, run less risk, the lightning on this coast seems to respect vessels at anchor.”

“Are any more of our passengers changing for the Clyde?” I inquired.

“One steerage passenger,—a gentleman in every sense of the word. He goes only as far as La Union, but he is willing to be useful to you if he can. I am sorry to say that terrible ‘lady,’ Mrs C., and her children, will be your only companions. I transferred them to the other ship three hours ago, and they have been shrieking ever since. By the way,” continued Mr Smith, with his good-natured laugh, “the captain of the Clyde is in a terrible fright as to what you may be like, as these C.’s are the only specimens he has of the Colima’s passengers, and Mrs C. talks of her friend the English lady!”

I had only spoken to this individual once. She was a demi-semi-gentlewoman, and her manners and appearance were very unfortunate. Her hardness to one of her children, and the brazen way in which she had informed the passengers in general that she had come away in debt, and evaded her tradespeople in San Francisco, had caused us to dislike her thoroughly.

We found that her husband was captain of a mine somewhere on the coast of Guatemala, and that she and her family were on the way to join him. According to her own account, she had left San Francisco in disguise; but from various discrepancies in her narrations, I was led to think that she preferred being taken for a vagabond than to pass as one of whom there was nothing particular to be said.

Here they are, the boat and Mr Smith waiting to transfer me to the Clyde. He brings in his hand a glass of champagne, which is sent, he says, “with the Colima’s compliments.” The O’H——’s and students say good-bye with all the kindliness of their nature; and gentle, unassuming Señor Hernandez tells me not to keep him waiting, for he is coming on board with me to introduce me to the captain. And so I get away, with a benison in my heart on these kindly strangers. This was all my adieu, for I could not speak. _El buen Dios los guarde mûchos años!_ (May God grant them many years!)