We left Tampico by automobile for the Panuco oil field, and when we
reached a point about 20 kilometers east of Panuco we had to abandon
our auto in a bog and walk. Our luggage consisted of a gun, two kodaks,
three coats and a heavy money bag which we have never dared to leave
out of sight. The chauffeur when we abandoned him to his car, had
assured us that Panuco was four miles away, “Just over the hill.” We
started trustingly and full of energy, two kilometers rough walking
over the sunbeaten shadeless plain was a bad start. We were overcome
with thirst and Dick had to be carried on our backs in turn. The heat
of the sun seemed to increase, the Kodaks became a curse, the coats a
mockery. We sweated and limped and panted over the plain, and up the
hill in the merciful shade of trees to the crest. No human habitation
however was visible; down the hill we went and up the next. Still no
sign, yet another hill. Dick became peevish and complaining, everyone
too tired to carry him, and the springs in the hollows all dried up.
At the foot of the third hill there was a junction of four primitive
roads. Our guide left us in a heap, at the crossroads, gun loaded
and full cock and with orders not to shoot at sight, but only on
provocation, and he went in search of water. I took from my trouser
pocket my little jade god, the one that looks like Trotzky and is 2000
years old. He is supposed to be the god who protects one from thirst.
I stood him up in the sand and I begged him to send water. “Are you a
curse or a blessing?” I asked him. “Never before have I carried you on
me, never have I suffered from such thirst--be kind and send us, send
us water!”
Half an hour later, when the sun was setting, we heard a distant sound
of steps and voices and there our guide came running towards us, and a
native boy with a bucket at his side. We all three got up and ran to
meet him, ran stumblingly and speechlessly.
“Shut your eyes while you drink it ...” we were told. Womanlike, I
looked, it was brown muddy opaque rainwater washed down from the hills
... we drank--and drank, one of us coughed up a small live fish, spat
it out and drank again. Never ever had any drink tasted so good! And
where was Panuco? Where the Corona Camp? 15 minutes away, said the
native boy.
“Come and show us ...”
He would not.
“Five--ten pesos if you will lead us....”
“No I must milk the cows.”
“The cows won’t hurt for thirty minutes....”
“It is getting night....”
“You can find your way in the dark.”
“My father is out....”
We followed the direction he pointed out--we passed the Salvasuchi,
Tampuche, Temante and Isleta fields. We passed them, I did not see
them, my eyes were glued to the track, picking my way, and my mind
concentrated on the effort of “getting along.” A little brandy, and
even Dick shouted “no” when asked if we were downhearted. In the face
of a lemon and sunset sky we were ferried in a dugout across the
Panuco River from the Tamaulipas to the Vera Cruz side. An Indian at
this juncture consented to escort us and carried our possessions. He
said it was only two kilometers more, but we seemed to walk for two
more hours along the river bank, in single silent file, through maize
or cotton up to our waists, or banana plantations over our heads. At
least we were not thirsty, and the sun was no more. The fire-flies
danced around and before us, and the moon rose up in all her glory,
making shadows among the banana leaves.
We started walking at 3:30, it was 9:30 when we tottered into the
Corona camp and the Superintendent gave us his house for the night.
The wife of one of the staff took us to her house to give us supper.
I remember vaguely the mental effort of trying to display normal
appreciation of her kindness in egg frying. But before the eggs were on
the table my head was in my plate and I was fast asleep.