CHAPTER VII.

Weary and wayworn on the outskirts of Goascaron, and depressed by my misadventures with the baggage-mule, I was right glad to hear the voice of the doctor calling out, “Is that the lady from Aceituña?”

“Señor, si,” responded Abel on my behalf; “and a very weary day the lady has had. I will tell you about it presently. Come, Eduardo, hold the mare whilst I lift her from the saddle.”

The Italian doctor, however, anticipated the attention; and somehow (for the power of assisting myself had left me) I was seated in a rocking-chair, and a short man with finely cut features was looking steadily in my face.

“You are faint from over-fatigue,” he said; “there is nothing more the matter. You want a little cognac.”

He went to fetch this, and I was soon revived by swallowing a portion of the stimulant. But I was aching with a dull pain from head to foot, and it was with difficulty that I could speak. It was as from a long distance off that I heard Abel recapitulating all our misfortunes,—small enough, perhaps, in the temperate zone, but with the sun at 102° in the shade, _otra cosa_ (another thing), as the Spaniards say.

“You should have rested in the middle of the day,” the doctor added decisively. “It was a shameful thing to send an unbroken animal; and—you don’t mean to tell me that you are going to take the cattle back to-night?”

“Such are my orders,” replied Abel.

“But the lady has hired them, and I suppose has paid for them, to take her as far as Arimesine?”

“She has, Señor; but, you see, she has not got there. I am ready to go on now, but I think it will be too far for the lady. I am very sorry. What can I do?”

The doctor pondered a moment. “You had better return: stay, and refresh for a couple of hours. There is a good moon too. I can provide mules here to carry the lady on. Better that she should lose a little than get ill. By the way,” continued the doctor quickly, “was this lady told that she had hired animals by time, or did she understand that you were to return with them to-night under any circumstances?”

“She says, Señor, that she understood that the mules were at her disposal until she should arrive at Arimesine.”

“Ah, well, I am glad it is a Briton, and not any one of this country, who could behave so badly to a woman, and to one travelling alone too.”

“Trust the British for cheating and swindling one another whenever they can get the chance in an out-of-the-way country; mind I say in an out-of-the-way country,” shouted a voice, which was undoubtedly an English one, though employing the Spanish language with more force than accuracy.

“I wonder who on earth this can be!” thought I to myself, as the speaker went on to question Abel with more or less bad Spanish, garnished with a round British oath here and there. It was not long before the mystery was solved; for a large, red-faced, choleric-looking man, with a merry twinkle in his eye, stood before me. He looked what he eventually turned out to be—a retired captain in the British merchant service.

“I beg your pardon, madam,” he said; “but I heard that travellers had come in, and one of them an English lady. I am sorry you have had such a day of it—very sorry. Now if you would like to go on with the animals in a few hours, I will take precious good care they don’t return to Aceituña till you have done with them. I am a match for Abel, though he is a big fellow.”

“Oh no, thank you,” I replied hastily; “Abel has been so good, so attentive to me, I would much rather not go on. In fact, I am so tired that I am thankful to rest here.”

“All right, then; but if I were you, I would write to Consul Bahl, who _is_ an honest man, and tell him how this precious custom-house officer has behaved. Bah! what makes England send all her rubbish out here?”

“Not all, surely,” I replied—“there must be many exceptions.”

“Just you look at that Honduras railway, madam,” he went on. “That railway was planned and carried out by a parcel of fellows sitting in their offices in London. The prospectuses they issued were all deceptive; people were deluded into investing their money and taking shares in it; a great crash came, and many of the best people here were utterly ruined. Some of these fellows, I know, subscribed to the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, and others for the Conversion of the Jews. Bah! yah, yah! bosh!”

The doctor intervened. He remarked that the captain had lost greatly in this Honduras railway himself, and the very mention of the subject made him nearly _bola_.

“_Bola_; what does that mean?” I inquire.

“Drunk. He is morally so now; and perhaps,” added my new friend, “he may be a little so physically: it is his weak point.”

A very pretty Indian girl, with sweet eyes and a timid manner, now came forward. She said, “We cannot make you very comfortable to-night, Señora, but to-morrow it will be better. Don Graciano says you must stay over to-morrow.”

I went with her into the house, and there, partitioned off, in a corner of the long low store, was a comfortable bed, screened from the public view by some clever arrangement of blankets and coverlets. Eduardo, by desire of the host, had put in some toilet-ware. This was a great comfort; for the Hondureians, as a rule, are quite independent of this necessity of life: indeed, in the interior of the country, to possess even the meanest article of crockery, is to be accredited with more than the usual means of supporting life. Thus, in the opinion of many, Don Graciano would be accounted a well-to-do (_hombre de bien_), if not a rich man.

Abel came to take leave of me before I retired, and it was with real regret that I parted with this honest, kindly guide. I pressed a little remembrance into his hand, and thanked him sincerely for the help he had given me.

“I shall keep this for my next little daughter,” the stalwart fellow answered. “I will put it round her neck, and call her _Inglesa_. _Adios._”

The tramp of the mare and the mules told us that Abel was on the way back to his gracious master; and so we all turned to our beloved sleep. It was strange on the next morning, in looking through the blankets, to find myself lying in bed in a general store. Yes; there were the shelves laden with jars of pickles, bottles of wine, tea-canisters, and kerosene-lamps. Other shelves held a variety of articles, all suited to the requirements of country life; and a compartment was entirely fitted up with drugs and medicine-bottles, supported at one end by a pestle and mortar, and at the other by a large glass machine, which in shape was a cut between a hotwater bottle and a pillar post-box. A curling projection, also of glass, rendered this article a subject of my earnest scrutiny. A small chair in the angle of this compartment, and a tiny table before it, seemed to announce that this was the professional part of the establishment.

A knock from somewhere brought me to my manners; and I had just time to close the loophole in the curtains when I heard a voice from somewhere follow the knock from somewhere.

“Excuse me, Señora,” called my host, “but you had better rise now. We open very early in these parts, and people may be coming into the store earlier than you may like. Are you better?”

“Much, thank you,” I called out in response, “but still very tired, and my bones ache.”

“I have prepared some medicine for you to take later in the day. Your _mozo_ will bring some water.” Almost immediately a large red pitcher, of the form they used long years ago in old Egypt, was poked under the blanket, and I quickly proceeded to avail myself of this, to me, the greatest comfort in life—viz., cold-water ablution.

I got dressed in time to avoid coming in contact with some men who had entered by the large oak door of the store; they were all talking “mule,” and were smoking like limekilns.

The doctor had been hovering about somewhere, and finding me ready, took me, _sans cérémonie_, into an inner apartment. There, on an iron bedstead completely covered by a mosquito-net, lay the young girl I had seen the night before, fast asleep, with a naked brown baby of about three months old lying on her bosom. Don Graciano, with a smile which singularly softened his hard well-cut features, put his hand beneath the curtain and brought out the little creature, which he hugged with the fondest pride. “My little daughter—my first-born,” said he. “Look, Señora, she is plump and very clean. I follow the English fashion, and my little one has her bath night and morning. Is it not so, my pearl?”

“My pearl,” who was as brown as a berry, danced and kicked and _looked_ great things. This infant had certainly much “speculation in its eyes;” and its dark nature’s costume never seemed to make me aware that this little specimen of humanity was entirely “in the nude.”

Passing through this room I was conducted to the back verandah; here were tables and chairs, and some coffee-cups put out in array, apparently for immediate use. In an incredibly small space of time the mother of the infant was at my side: she seemed to be washed and dressed by a feat of legerdemain. She called a _mozo_, who was evidently in the service of the house, and handed the child to him, speeding her way with great alacrity into the _cocina_ (kitchen).

The _cocinas_ are always built apart from the dwelling-house in these countries; they are composed principally of the baked mud called _adobe_. The _batterie de cuisine_ is not extensive, the chief utensils being, usually, a small furnace, a portable grate, a stone for rolling and baking _tortillas_, a plate or two, and a coffee-pot. The smoke may escape from the hole in the roof, or it may gush out at the door, just as it happens: nobody cares for such a trifle as this.

Don Graciano came out on this verandah. “We shall have coffee directly,” he said; “but the regular breakfast is a little before mid-day. _Mozo_, place the chairs.” And he took the infant as he spoke.

Some delicious coffee and maize-cakes were brought, and we sat down to the table. I hesitated a moment, and then said, “Should we not wait for the Señora?”

“Oh no,” replied the husband; “she is busy in the kitchen; she does not take her meals with me. Now I want to tell you I think I can get mules and a muleteer for you: I have been speaking to Eduardo. Not a bad lad, but he is idle; mind you keep him to his work, and make him wait upon you. Well, as I was saying, there are some very good muleteers in Goascaron just now, and I can recommend one especially. He is a good walker, and a first-rate man in his way. Will you allow me to see him for you?”

I reply gratefully, “Yes, by all means.”

“Possibly I may be able to manage for you. Marcos is not cheap, but his mules are thoroughly good; and as you have some awkward rivers to ford, his strength and his knowledge you will find valuable. _Mozo! mo—zo!_”

“Estoy aqui, Señor” (I am here, sir), gasped the little lad, as he emerged from the _cocina_ with his mouth crammed with _tortilla_, and his hands full of some mess of cake and honey.

He was ordered, as I gathered, to summon Marcos somebody, and Vicente somebody else, and above all the “Sir,” and to be quick about it. The rapidity of the Italian must have been like an electric shock to the semi-Hondureian, semi-Spanish lad; but he was evidently accustomed to it.

Eduardo had a lazy, lounging, happy-go-lucky way of going about his business, which made him appear to be more indolent than he really was. The doctor fell upon him as he observed him lounging beyond the verandah,—“Have you looked after the lady’s baggage?” said he.

“I have received no orders,” replied the _mozo_. “What am I to do, Señora?”—with a slight emphasis on the Señora.

I looked at Don Graciano, who remarked, “Your tin box is very dirty, and the rest of the baggage looks as if it had been rolled in clay. It is in the stable; and you,” added he, turning to Eduardo, “had better go and clean it; you have nothing to do.”

The youth bowed himself out of the way with the usual placid composure of the Spanish race. “Ah,” said Don Graciano, with an air of disgust, “these fellows won’t hurry themselves for anything under the sun: this is one of the true breed. Now mind, Señora, mind you make him stick to his work.”

Don Graciano here left me, being inquired for from outside; and presently I heard his voice in full swing—short, decisive, and incisive—taking the lead amongst several others, whose numbers seemed to increase as the minutes passed on.

“No; once more no, Enrico,” said my host; “you will not do. Your animals are bad, and you are idle in starting. The Señora must not take you. Ah, here is El ‘Sir.’ What do you say, ‘Sir’; do you advise this man to travel with your country-woman?”

A rampaging and snorting, together with the answer, instructed me that the individual addressed as El “Sir” was no other than the English captain.

“My goodness, gracious, patience, _no_!” responded El “Sir.” “There is only one of these fellows fit for this kind of journey; that is Marcos. Where is she?”

The “she” was supposed to indicate me; and Don Graciano came out, and brought me into the little coign of vantage which served as the consulting-room.

The present business being “mule,” the company were convened at the lower end of the store. There were some respectable-looking men among these; they had evidently been summoned to hold this _convenio_, and I felt sure that the Italian doctor would do his very best for me. Somehow I relied more upon him than upon El “Sir,” although the latter was an Englishman.

“May I go beyond the price you mentioned last night?” asked the doctor, in a low tone. “Marcos is here: he demands more than any other muleteer, but his mules are far superior to those of the others, I think.”

I thought the matter over, and gave the doctor full authority to arrange as was best. “Remember,” I added, “that money is an object to me.”

By this time the man alluded to as Marcos had entered the store, and seated himself on the low counter in a free-and-easy manner. The rest stood round, and, with _cigarillos_ in their mouths, talked and bargained and gesticulated in a manner which would not have disgraced a market-place in Paris. Here and there a man would make some reference to “la Señora”; and one fine fellow made a short run at me, in order to impress upon my mind that El “Sir” knew nothing about the business, and, in fact, would be very much better in the sea.

The Hondureians, I observed, consign their obnoxious or troublesome acquaintances to _El Mar_ (the sea), very much as we consign our own “objectionables” to Jericho or to Hong Kong.

About half an hour passed in this way: no actual business was done, and some of the men left, promising to come back and resume the subject later in the day. “The Señora does not set out till to-morrow morning,” one of them said.

“And not then, if she is not quite rested and well,” said the kindly host.

One by one the muleteers left, talking outside upon the subject of my journey.

Marcos then sprang off the counter and came towards me. Taking my hand, he brought me to the principal door of the store. “Señora,” said he, “look at that mule; she is a noble mule. Luisa will carry you till she drops. So gentle, too,” the man continued, as he stroked her head. “La querida!” (The dear one.)

She was a handsome beast, mouse-coloured, with black ears and large intelligent eyes. I really admired her, and delighted Marcos by repeating after him, “La querida.”

“You will take me?” said the man. “I am half Indian, and the Indian always has the fine ear and the rapid tread. I can write too, and I can read,” added he. “A good priest held an Indian school. Some of them are bad here, Señora, but this one, O Señora! he was good to the Indian race.”

“I will speak to Don Graciano. He thinks, however, that you ask too much.”

“Then, Señora, I will put it like this. You shall pay me the sum I shall agree on, and you can ride at leisure; no hurry. I will bide your time; and if you like to go quick one day and slow the other, all the same to me. I should like to go with you.”

“Will you be careful in crossing the rivers, and assist me in the difficulty of passing the rough places? I am afraid you may be impatient with me, Marcos, for I am not a bold rider.”

“By the dear Christ that died for us,” said the man, making the sign of the cross, “I will serve you faithfully and well.”

I felt that he was sincere; and so, on going into the house, I requested the Don to draw up the necessary agreement.

“Now take this draught I have prepared for you,” said this active man, who never seemed to forget anything or anybody. “Rest a little now, and after that I hope you will accompany me to the bull-chase.”

“What! a bull-fight?” said I, in astonishment.

“I said a bull-_chase_, Señora; quite a different thing.”

“What is the difference?”

“It is the custom here annually to allot three young bulls to the hamlet, in order to improve or raise the farm stock. On a certain day the bulls are let out of the corral, and the young men of the parish chase them, the bulls having a fair start.

“The animal, when caught, is brought into an enclosed space, garlanded with ribbons, and adjudged publicly to the victor. It is a pretty sight; for, whilst the chase is going on, the other men dance with the girls to the sound of a very fair brass band. I want you to see how well we can conduct our _fiestas_ among the mountains.”

This _fiesta_ was the cause of the presence of so many muleteers in Goascaron: they were to take part in the dance, but none of them, I think, entered for the chase.

Late in the afternoon the doctor, in gala costume, knocked at my enclosure, and was ready to escort me to the meadow where the dance was to be held.

“Where is the Señora?” asked I.

“She is not coming. She must remain and attend to the infant. Our female servant is to go to the general ball in the evening, and all the _mozos_ are gone to see the chase.”

The sound of a clarionet and horn playing a lively measure announced that we were near the scene of amusement; a rushing noise, and voices shouting from afar, proclaimed that _el toro negro_ (the black bull) had been loosed, and was far away, flying up the hill, with a score or more of young men provided with lassos tearing at full speed on mule-back after him.

The first dance was the graceful _ronda_ of the muleteers.

This is called _ronda_, because the dancers are surrounded by their mules, which are all decked with their gayest trappings; some of these bearing panniers, sometimes filled with flowers, sometimes filled with babies. These last generally accompanied the band vocally, and _ad nauseam_.

It was very interesting to watch the evolutions of this graceful dance, and the unerring precision with which the men and women mazed between the quadrupeds, waltzed back, formed a ring in the centre, and finished all by the head muleteer raising his _machete_, as he stood alone in the centre of the ring and shouted, “Evviva la ronda de los mulateros!” (Long live the muleteers’ dance!) After that there was some very good waltzing, the step being accurately turned, although the men wore their mountain boots, which are heavy. The dance was held under two immense trees, just in the hollow formed between two slopes; but still the heat was great, and I wondered how they could work away as persistently as they did.

The women and girls wore the white mantilla, in honour of the day, short white dresses decked with some bright embroidery worked in the material, and all wore flowers. The elder women and _chaperons_ were dressed usually in dark raiment, with the graceful black mantilla thrown over the head. I grieve to say that this elegant article of dress is giving place to a style of horrid little hat, which a French commercial traveller, some two years ago, had introduced into the country. A young stumpy girl, arrayed in one of these, I saw pegging away with a _mozo_ of Don Graciano’s; and as she appeared to have put everything she possessed in the way of ribbon and flowers upon the said hat, I earnestly hoped that the awful spectacle she presented would alarm the beholders into declaring for the mantilla for ever.

Shouts and huzzas and a rush of the dancers to an enclosed space, announced the capture of the black bull. He had run well, it was said, and therefore all the more merit for the captor; and so they both received a wonderful ovation. As the stranger, I was requested to place the red cord, which is usually thrown round the bull’s neck after the chase, into the hand of the victor. As I did so, some one in authority proclaimed that this _toro_ had been fairly chased and lassoed by Trasquito Gomez, and was now his lawful prize. Did any one deny it? No; and so Trasquito and the _toro_ went off to their dwelling-place. Another bull was let out of the corral, and given seven minutes’ start. The young men and the mules and the lassos were hard at work, and the dancers and the band returned to the great chestnut-trees.

I was getting tired, so after drinking a glass of mountain wine to the health of Goascaron, Don Graciano conducted me back to his home. On the way he told me that he had made a fair arrangement with the muleteer Marcos, as to my journey. “He is as wild as a hawk,” said Don Graciano, “and will have the uttermost farthing; nevertheless, take him, for he is a splendid muleteer, and his beasts are first-rate.”

The Indian girl with her baby—this time covered by the white linen scarf which depended from the mother’s head—opened the door. She told me there was to be a dance on a large scale in the evening, for the _gente ordinario_ (common people), and that Marcos and Eduardo would both be there.

“You will not start very early, then,” said Don Graciano with a smile.

At break of day I was out, as I wanted to look at the scene of the dance and the chase, but to my disappointment a heavy mist hid all from sight. I had not been in the village church, so I wended my steps to it, and pushing the door open, I walked in. Small and poorly furnished; but kneeling before the little altar were two or three worshippers gathered together. That half-hour was sacred to them and to me.

The mist by this time had entirely cleared away, and now, behold the sky! a sea of opal light, upon which floated minute masses of soft pink colour. One of the largest of these rested for a time upon the summit of one of the lower mountain-peaks, as if a rose had fallen thereon and waited to be kissed.

A few moments later and the whole of the rosy tufts had faded away like a shower of leaves, and a blue-green light shimmered in their wake, the herald of the sun.

He rose at once in the full glory of his strength, enveloping cloud and colour in his golden robe; flushing high mountain and lowly cañon with his regal tints, and upon all things making his presence to be felt. I wondered not, at the moment, at the devotion of the ancient Persian, nor at that of the Indian, whose morning “prime” was the worship of _El Sol_.

My own (weak woman’s) tribute was a gush of tears. It could not be restrained, all was so beautiful and so grand; and Nature seemed to greet, with a mother’s love, one who was alone in the world!

A hot day was imminent! The prearranged hour of starting was already long past, for I had wished to be in the saddle before the air became as heated as white steel. The axiom that time was made for slaves, is very rigidly enforced by example in these regions; and nobody ever is or can be punctual to an exact or specified hour. Forty minutes’ “law” is by no means considered to be a liberal allowance.

Doubtless the ball of the previous evening had been late, and both Marcos and Eduardo might be sleeping the sleep of the “danced out.” I remember, too, that I have been young myself, and how often a servant has had to wait up for me and mine till we should return from a friendly “hop” or a county ball. Poor fellows! they have a hard life, and a dance to them only comes once or twice a year. Let them sleep on.

Thus musing, I refrained from tapping on the wooden shutter, beneath which Marcos was stretched on a bench, prone and motionless.

Presently there arose sounds of hurry-scurry in the little piazza in front of Don Graciano’s house, a stamping of mules, added to the chatter of some four or five women who were full of gossip, probably about the preceding day’s _fiesta_.

[Illustration: SE DUERMA—HE SLEEPS.]

Opening the shutter full wide, and looking through the iron bars which did duty for a window, I saw that the muleteer had risen, scared awake, no doubt, by the women’s tongues. Nobody had aroused him intentionally, for the Spaniards and most others allied to them by blood have a particular objection to awakening a sleeper. The most important business can and must wait: El Señor is asleep, and cannot be disturbed. No matter whether the slumber be in regular course; whether of fatigue and exhaustion, or merely the temporary _siesta_ induced by heat and languor, or—idleness. “_Se duerme_” is conclusive: leave the sleeper in peace, till Nature in her own time shall unclose his eyes.

There was plenty to attend to; for to load a baggage-mule requires some skill and great care. Much suffering is often caused to animals through carelessness in this respect. It was very interesting to watch the proceedings of Marcos. How carefully he arranged the cloths which are first placed on the animal’s back before the luggage is strapped on, and how cleverly he weighted every article, in order to give the burden an equal poise! Eduardo assisted in this, and Don Graciano looked attentively to the saddling of the mule that was to carry me.

“I will now go and take leave of the Señora,” I said, and betook myself to the back verandah. The girl had her little naked baby on her arm; I took it from her, and kissing it, said, “You will have so much pleasure in rearing this little one; and from what Don Graciano has told me, you must be in the way of making a nice fortune for her before many years have passed over your heads.”

“Perhaps so,” she answered, her quiet equable tones being somewhat broken, as I patted her naked shoulder and pressed her hand, to thank her for her hospitality. “I shall never forget you,” she went on to say—“never. The sound of your voice, Señora, falls like the drop of cold water when one dies of thirst.”

This elegant compliment, expressed so simply in the loveliest language in the world, touched me much more than it flattered me. It was the outcome of woman’s sympathy with woman. I had taken her hand with marked respect, and treated her as the mistress of the house; and the avowal of my indebtedness, addressed to herself directly, seemed to give her the utmost satisfaction. “Va con Dios,” she said, after a short pause, and turned into the _cocina_, evidently not venturing to accompany me to the front court. A thought flashed into my mind like lightning; I wonder it had not occurred to me before. This must be the case. Don Graciano is evidently a man of superior station and education, and a pure white; the girl is as unmistakably of Indian blood. Here is an example of following out “_el costumbre del pais_”! (the custom of the country.)

Whether my conjectures were ill-founded or not (and I only based them on the state of subjection in which this young woman seemed to live), I had no time for speculation, as the object of my rumination was waiting, hat in hand, to assist me to mount. To lift a lady guest into the saddle, and to walk at the head of the mule and conduct it and its burden some way into the open, is one of the duties of hospitality in these far-off hamlets. It is a remnant of the courtesy of the ancient races: the lowest as well as the highest all rigidly observe this custom.

The last arrangements for departure were soon made, and I, a timid rider, felt that Luisa the mule, and myself, would travel amicably together. Gentle, handsome beast! It says well of her that she carried me nearly one hundred and sixty miles without hap or hazard.

This happy result, on my part, was more of good luck than of good guidance.

The _macho_ was a little tiresome to start, and he danced about vigorously, with Eduardo on his back. It then transpired that he was a young, high-couraged animal, and that Marcos was taking him this long journey in order to tame him and complete his education. It came out afterwards that Marcos intended to sell him on the return journey, and would no doubt be able to do so at a high price. I was glad to hear this, as it secured good treatment to the animals; not that I think Marcos was naturally cruel, but he was a hard man, and I do not do him injustice in saying, that to make money by the service of his mules was his first and paramount consideration.

“Marcos is a good muleteer,” said Don Graciano, in allusion to him in our parting words, “but he dearly loves money. Mind everything is included in his contract with you; and be sure you do not give him a _cuarto_ to pay for forage or stabling of the mules in the places you may have to stay in. He will try this, probably; but be sure there is generally plenty of grass and water, and the animals are always better when they feed out at night.”

Marcos and Eduardo then came up, and received from me a _peseta_ each for their daily expenses; and it was agreed I should dispense this sum to them every morning on starting, and thus save difficulty in the accounts. We were now fairly on our way to the mountains, and, in a few words more, Don Graciano gave me “God-speed.”

“Marcos will bring me word of you when he returns home with the mules,” he said lastly. This hospitable stranger now bent his way to his dwelling-place, and I felt as if I had left a friend.