When the hour came round for starting on the following morning, I, for
the first time during this journey, evinced the greatest reluctance to
depart; for never had I been so comfortably lodged, or enjoyed so much
privacy.
I could not help saying this much to the _padrona_, when she brought me
a capital breakfast, nicely laid out on a tray covered with fair linen.
“Put off the start for an hour,” said she; “your men are languid this
morning, for they made the most of their holiday yesterday, and are
disposed to rest. I will take you round the farm; the morning is cool as
yet.”
We went to the dairy farm, where there were a large number of beautiful
cows with their calves, which gave plenty of occupation to four or five
lads and girls, who, though poorly clad, looked healthy and bright. Two
young women were busy in the laundry, from whence the clean smell of
wood-ashes boiling in a caldron to make the lye announced that linen
washed in that establishment would get fair play, and not be bedevilled
with chemical soaps and other abominations, the only use of which is to
save the necessary hand and arm work of the washerwoman (so called), and
destroy the material.
Skirting a small bakehouse, we passed through a gate into the garden.
This was only in course of formation, and was evidently the pride of the
_padrona_. It was delightful to find sweetpeas and mignonette growing in
a nicely laid out border; indeed, in this delicious air and at this
elevation, many English flowers would flourish luxuriantly. My hostess
possessed a large collection of garden seeds, and she was trying
experiments with all in their turn.
Among the deciduous plants, I was shown a pretty flowering shrub called
the “Spinarosa.” I perceive, by the way, that a perfumery-house in
London is advertising a new scent which bears this name. May all success
attend it! for nothing can be more delicate than the fragrance of the
Spinarosa flower; and, like pure water, its specific virtue is
imperceptible, though perfection is the virtue which characterises it as
a whole. The _padrona_ had imported two of these shrubs from Guatemala,
but I believe the plant is to be found in the Honduras also.
Time will not halt even in Vera Cruz, and soon Marcos hunted me to the
garden, with the intimation that I must mount speedily. On returning to
the house to complete preparations, I found amongst my effects some
cotton print, which I presented to my kind hostess, as it was enough to
make a dress for her little girl. I had bought the material, together
with some good embroidery, to make a short dressing-gown for myself—so
this, fortunately, made the gift a respectable one. As to accepting any
remuneration in the shape of money for my entertainment, the kind
creature quite repudiated the idea. “She was so happy to receive one
with whom she could converse,” she said; “and was I not a ‘Soltera’? And
why was this? And oh! the world was so hard.”
Thus speaking, the _padrona_ walked at the mule’s head, and led me down
through the broken fences which bounded the untidy land outside her
domain into a lovely dell, down which sparkled a running stream,
babbling musically, and seeming to cast up diamonds of yellow light upon
Luisa’s hoofs, as she splashed into the centre of its bed. There we
parted, with the sisterly kiss of peace, and I carried away with me a
very tender memory of Vera Cruz. _Ay di mi!_ Vera Cruz; True Cross. May
not its signification in part be realised in all the realms of earth,
where parting, even with a stranger, gives the heart a pang?
The path became very stony in a couple of hours after leaving the dell,
and we pronounced it to be only inferior in disagreeables to a valley of
flint, some miles in length, which we traversed after we had long left
Comayagua behind us.
Here Luisa was startled by a heifer which plunged out of a hedge on
hearing our approach, and so took me into the depths of a thicket,
wherein I lost my veil and the brim of one side of my hat. This loss may
appear too insignificant to record; but the effect of this slight
accident was, that at night, the skin of the one side of my throat and
face was peeled away in strips, and it was some days before the pain
quite left me. Such is the strength of the fierce heat of the noonday
sun in Honduras.
The penalty of our late start was paid not only by having to suffer
great heat, but also by the necessity of rapid travelling. We had
literally wandered up hill and down stream. As the evening waned we
found ourselves entering upon a large tract of plain, upon which nothing
seemed to grow but tall grass of a pale-green colour, and a few
distorted shrubs.
What was that in the distance? It appeared like the monument of a woman
placed on a high pedestal, and nearer was another which bore the form of
a lion couchant. Now we passed a group of enormous boulder-like stones,
some of which presented an uncouth and grotesque resemblance to lions
and to dogs. Far away on the plain, detached and scattered, rose up
those enormous figures; some without any definable shape, others, again,
gigantic and weird-like in the deepening shadow of the evening. I
remembered that we had to cross over a bend of the river Palenque, and
the thought darted through my mind that these stones might in some way
belong to the curious ruins found by Messrs Stephens and Catherwood in
their researches through Central America, and at Palenque especially.
But so far as I have seen, these stones bear no sculpture, nor do they
convey the idea that they have ever belonged to temple or palace, or
that they have been connected in one building of any kind.
Presently I halted with the intention to examine a small stone, close to
which I passed; but Marcos prevented this, with the strongest
determination expressed in the grip of his lean brown hand. “Es un mal
lugar” (it is a bad place), said he; “un lugar de los muertos” (a place
of the dead). I attempted no more, for the increasing darkness and the
silence of my attendants communicated a chill to my own spirits. The
only clear idea in my mind was, that we were not far from Omoa, and Omoa
is not many miles away from Copan—the place whereat Mr Stephens, if I
mistake not, met with the most elaborate of the sculptured idols.
My attendants, though they made no sign, were evidently scared. They
kept the animals closer together, and we proceeded at a very brisk trot.
One of the shapes reminded me so much of the story in the ‘Arabian
Nights’ of the man who was transformed partially into marble, that, in
association with the surroundings, I began to wonder if this also were
not an Arabian Night’s dream.
The rest were a little in front of me, for the path had narrowed, and we
were passing on the side of a clump of trees. Suddenly a dark mass,
preceded by a rush, fell on Luisa’s neck. She nearly jumped her own
height from the ground; and I mechanically drew the revolver from the
leather pocket which hung at my girdle and fired, throwing the weapon
down in a fright at what I had done. The _machetes_ of the two men were
in the body of the mass simultaneously, and I learned that I had fired
into the tail of what on inspection turned out to be a coyote. A coyote
here is said to be the offspring of the dog and the fox. They are
dangerous if met with in packs. This turned out to be a half-starved
creature, which might have been attracted by some dried venison-meat
which was dangling at the saddle of the _macho_ mule which Eduardo was
leading just in front. To my surprise, Luisa was not in the least
restive; the _macho_, on the contrary, made violent attempts to wrench
the rein from Eduardo and bolt.
“Now, Señora,” said Marcos, as he picked up the revolver, “you must ride
quick, very quick; this beast may have a mate. They are seldom alone,
and that might be perilous. _Vamos, despacheo_” (Let us go with speed).
We mounted accordingly, Marcos flying ahead with rapid step, and we
following at a good pace, till we had left the plain behind us. It was
nearly dark when we drew up at the gate of a maize-field, through which
Marcos passed; for he had with his hawk’s eye descried the roof of a
dwelling jutting out just beyond it.
Riding through the field, we came in front of the building, which was
low and covered by an overhanging thatch—this serving evidently as a
verandah. The whole place looked so miserable that I urged the guides to
ride on, or even to try and reach Potrerillos (our station for San Pedro
Sula), as the moon was full, and the road perfectly plain. By this time
an old man, followed by his family, came to the edge of a wide trench,
which separated the garden and hut from where we waited, and inquired
what we wanted.
Marcos told him to put back his three lean dogs, which barked furiously
the whole time, and then he would tell him.
A discussion ensued, and the upshot was that we must decide to remain
where we were, at least till daybreak.
“It is not safe to go on,” the old man said; “the _malagente_ (bad
people, or robbers) are about in these parts.” It was for that reason
that he had dug this wide trench before his garden, and put his dogs to
sleep in it at dusk.
Discretion at this juncture was certainly the better part of valour; and
the plank which belonged to this excavation being laid across it, we
entered the dominions of Señor Juan Masaveo. This individual prided
himself upon being a Spaniard of pure race, and told us that he belonged
to Catalonia. A cursory glance at the premises convinced me that I had
better lie down, as I was, in my hammock; and so this article was swung
in the cart-shed, which had been newly thatched. The youngest dog turned
out to be a most friendly little beast, and a few scraps which I gave
him made him a firm ally; whereupon, an intimacy being established, he
laid himself down under the hammock; and I think he was quite equal to
making a dash, on my account, upon any intruder who might venture into
the shed, or molest me in any way.
At the earliest glint of dawn Eduardo thrust in his face, and announced
that there was nothing to eat, and that the mules (which had certainly
been better off) could be ready in an hour.
“We cannot get any milk here, Señora,” the lad continued, “until the
_vaca_ (cow) comes down from her pasture on the hillside.”
“When is this _vaca_ likely to appear?” I asked. “Does not the woman
know?”
The reply was conveyed in that inimitable shrug of the shoulders and
flourish of the hand with which the Hondureians answer inquiries and
solve difficulties.
“What do these people live on themselves?” I persisted; for I was weak
from want of food, and I thought the cow might be as necessary for some
of them as for me.
“Oh, raw plantains, dried venison, and a kind of soup made of maize. The
men had this before going to work.”
“Then there is nothing for us to depend upon but this _vaca_” I said.
“Can she not be searched for? I would pay for it.”
“She will come when she chooses,” replied Eduardo, never making the
least attempt or suggestion that he might go and seek the animal
himself. “I have brought you some water, Señora,” he continued; “they
have a nice well here.”
The water was a blessing, and after using it freely, I felt better, and
able to start for Potrerillos. The idea of getting away was a tonic in
itself.
The men had fallen back upon a few strips of dried venison, but the
mules had been fully fed and watered; and I was pleased to find that, by
dint of good travelling, we might reach Potrerillos by ten o’clock in
the morning.
My host, old and poor as he was, accompanied me over the chasm, mounted
me, and walked a short distance at the mule’s head. I asked him if he
could tell me anything about the stones and the plain we had passed
through on the preceding night. He shook his head, and only replied that
it was a place of the dead—dead many centuries ago. That was all he
knew, he said.
At the parting, on a turn between two slopes, Eduardo handed up the
little dog, and the old man literally glowed with pleasure when I put a
_peseta_ (10d.) between his paws, and gave him a tender pat. His owner
promised to be kind to him for my sake, and then, with the benison, “El
buen Dios le guarde mûchos años!” (May God spare you many years!), the
old man doffed his cap and went his way.
Ten o’clock found us at Potrerillos, and after making inquiry, we rode
up to the house of Monsieur St Laurent, who, it appears, held the
position of head-man of the town. This position throughout Honduras is a
post very difficult to define or explain; and how the individual
occupying it arrives at this dignity, I found it equally impossible to
fathom. It depends neither on age, nor talent, nor length of residence
in the place. I drew the conclusion, at last, that some one individual
possessing a little more energy than usual, combined with some
commercial stake in the country, assumed the leadership of the
community, and the community fell in with the arrangement as a matter of
course, it being a convenience generally, and a saving of trouble to
all.
Monsieur St Laurent received us very courteously, but he imparted a
piece of information which, for the time being, was highly
unsatisfactory to me, and this was that the railway between Potrerillos
and San Pedro Sula was quite unserviceable; in fact it had become so
broken down that for some months the railway plant had been taken away,
and nothing was left but the rails and a broken-down bridge or two. “We
have now to ride to San Pedro Sula,” said M. St Laurent; “the road is
very good, and it is under fifty miles’ distance. Rest here, if you
like, to-night, and set off at four to-morrow morning; you will then
reach San Pedro easily in the afternoon.”
But Marcos here intervened. He had been engaged, he said, by contract to
take the lady to the railway station at Potrerillos. Well, there was no
railway station; further, he was to be paid in the head-house of
Potrerillos in the presence of the head-man. Well, there was the
head-man; let the lady fulfil her part of the contract and pay him, and
let him depart.
In vain did Monsieur St Laurent urge the muleteer to finish the journey,
and take me on to San Pedro. He was obdurate, and even an appeal to his
self-interest was, for a wonder, quite superfluous. He had gained as
much as he wanted, the man said, and the lady could hire fresh mules
here. It was not worth his while to cross the Palenque either; he wished
to return quickly, for he hoped to sell the _macho_ and the baggage-mule
at Vera Cruz. So pronouncing, Marcos drew his copy of our contract from
his pocket, and flourished it before Monsieur St Laurent.
For the benefit of those who have not made mule-journeys, I subjoin a
copy of this contract, which may prove useful to intending mountain
travellers. No one should travel far without being provided with a form
of this kind; as it, being stamped with the Government seal, serves as a
protection in out-of-the-way places, besides acting as a restriction, if
necessary, on the muleteer.
_Copy of Contract (Translation)._
“I, Marcos Carcamo, undertake to conduct Señora ‘Soltera’ to the railway
station at Potrerillos for San Pedro Sula, charging twelve _pesos_
(crowns) for each one of three mules, and eleven _pesos_ for myself as
muleteer and confidential man of the said lady,—the whole amounting to
forty-seven _pesos_.
“And we both and each agree that this money shall be paid to me by
Señora ‘Soltera,’ in the head-house (for the security of each of us) at
Potrerillos at the end of the journey.
“Given at Goascaron, this fourteenth day of July, one thousand eight
hundred and eighty-one.
(Signed) “MARCOS CARCAMO.
“MARIA ‘SOLTERA,’
“or MARY LONE.
(Stamped)
“Twelve _reales_.”
_Here follows the receipt._
“I have received the amount of forty-seven _pesos_, as promised above,
and I am thoroughly satisfied.
MARCOS CARCAMO.
“_Witnesses._
“EDUARDO ALBAREZ.
“ALFREDO ST LAURENT.”
Marcos signed his name in such good handwriting that M. St Laurent
inquired where he had been taught.
“The good priest who was kind to the Indians taught me,” he answered. “I
knew more some years ago; but now he is dead and gone, I don’t care to
learn from any one else; besides, I am too old.”
He then turned to me, and asked me to furnish him with a certificate
testifying to his efficiency as a guide, and also to his having served
me with fidelity.
This I did cheerfully, and then he went out with Eduardo, and dismounted
the luggage, and took off my saddle from Luisa’s back. I came out to
wish this tried friend a kind good-bye, and Marcos was so pleased that
he said he should tell of the incident in Goascaron. The English lady
had kissed his mule!
Doubtless it might be considered a gushing thing to do, but I am not
ashamed of the action, and I shall ever feel grateful to this patient
intelligent creature for the way in which she carried me—never flagging,
never sulky, and wanting no reward but a handful of bread and salt. Had
Marcos been as tender-hearted as she, I might have ridden her to San
Pedro Sula. The knowledge of this made my adieus to her owner rather
frigid.
“As you oblige me to hire other animals and another guide, Marcos,” I
said, “I cannot add any present to your pay. Good-bye to you, and take
care of Luisa.”
Madame St Laurent now joined us, and invited me to come into the private
part of her house and take some refreshment. Eduardo was handed over to
the _mozo_ of the house, and we were both so thankful for our quarters
that the question of getting to San Pedro did not for the moment trouble
us. I found Madame St Laurent very agreeable and friendly, and she was
also a woman of advanced education. Our conversation soon verged round
to the gentleman in whom I was so much interested. “Do you know that he
is expected here to-day?” she inquired.
“No,” I replied; “unless he has come to meet me, in answer to a telegram
I sent him from Comayagua.”
“I do not think that is likely; as we hear that he is on the way to
Comayagua. He stays at a house in this town when he passes through, and
if he arrives to-day, I shall know of it, and will let you know. If he
does not appear, it is possible that you may meet him on the road
to-morrow.”
“Very strange, is it not, that he should be leaving San Pedro just as I
enter it?”
Madame smiled, and looked at her husband, and then said—“There has been
a great change in the colony during the last few months: several of the
colonists have returned home; others have gone to Guatemala; very few
remain there now.’
“Are you sure of this, Madame?” I asked.
“Quite sure, for many families pass through here, and they speak more or
less freely; it seems they have been deceived in many ways. They
complained solely of one person; and the only fault they find with the
Government is, that it has allowed itself to be hoodwinked by this man,
and is so slow in redressing their wrongs.”
“What are these particular wrongs?”
“It is said that when he chartered the vessel to bring these colonists
here, he made the majority of them confide their money to him, and that
they cannot get a settlement. Then there is a notion abroad that he is
no priest, but a former Protestant minister, who came here with
questionable recommendations. However, there is no doubt about his
suspension, as another priest is appointed to his cure. I am glad of
this for your sake, for the new priest is a quiet and earnest man.”
“I was told at Comayagua that the person in question does not recognise
his sentence of suspension,” I answered.
“That is absurd,” replied Madame, “for the church is locked up, and the
_alcalde_ will only give up the key to the newly appointed priest. It is
said that his predecessor will never be reinstated. Indeed, how can it
be otherwise? It is a great pity, for no one entered upon an undertaking
with finer prospects. The Government was liberal; the Presbyterian
_alcalde_ and the Protestant Consul at Puerto Cortez both helped, and
were anxious to receive the colonists.”
“And these,” interposed Monsieur St Laurent, “were mostly of a
respectable class of Irish small farmers. They brought a little money,
and I think with a different leader they would have done well. Land has
been given whereon to build a school, but the school is not even begun.”
“What could induce him to write and engage me to come and superintend
this school?” I inquired.
Madame laughed. “I cannot say,” she said at length; “but I daresay you
will get that explained at San Pedro. Now, if you will go and rest, we
will see what we can do in getting you mules. I know of one which you
can ride, and that is the principal part of the business.”
A room like a small barn was assigned to me, and Madame had sent in a
bath, water, and towels; and Eduardo having looked to my comforts, asked
leave to go with Monsieur St Laurent’s _mozo_ to look after a mule for
himself and a baggage-mule.
“There is a very good muleteer in Potrerillos just now,” the lad said;
“he has only been back one day from a long journey; his name is Andreas,
and he is well known. I am recommended to apply to him.”
I did not meet my kind hosts till sundown, and then Madame knocked and
entered with a glass of white wine and a biscuit in her hand. “Will you
come and see my garden,” said she, “and then take supper with us at
eight o’clock?”
This invitation was most acceptable, and the garden was in every respect
a pleasant garden, and one which testified most thoroughly to the clever
and perfect manner in which the French all over the world utilise space,
and ornament unsightly places. The vine and some luxuriant creepers
shadowed the deep embrasured windows, and the palisades round the house
were painted a cool green, through which the lovely fringe-tree,
shortened and pruned, was twisted thickly enough to thoroughly shade the
plants within. A large barrel kept for watering the garden was so deeply
shrouded by clematis that it appeared to be literally embedded in a huge
white muff. Rows of magnificent balsams, mostly of red and orange
colours, were planted regularly on either side of a broad gravel-walk,
and here it was that Madame and I walked and talked until supper-time.
At that meal Eduardo waited, and I found that everything was prepared
for the start at five o’clock on the morrow. The muleteer, Andreas, was
to come with us, and the Palenque river would be crossed in a canoe: the
only trouble on the way would be the loading and unloading the animals,
and to this we had become accustomed.
Even here the demon of unpunctuality held its sway, and notwithstanding
all the efforts of Monsieur St Laurent, it was fully an hour past the
appointed time before we started for San Pedro Sula. In spite of the hot
sun, Madame came out with a mosquito-net over her head to say good-bye,
attended by the _mozo_, bearing a cup of coffee made in the perfect
manner which seems to be a heaven-born gift of the French.
A kind adieu did these good friends give me, and as Andreas was swift of
foot, we were soon well on our way.
Save that the country was better cultivated, it presented no very
remarkable beauties, but we passed some fine macaws in the trees;
indeed, some of the smaller bushes were literally covered with these
living jewels. Passing through the woods, the cooing of the doves, and
the whistle of the _Cardinalis rubra_ assimilated well with the distant
murmur of the river, which they bounded to the extent of some miles. At
length the crossing-place was reached; Andreas hailed the canoe, and the
boatman, taking me over first, seated me in a shady wood-house, in
company with a calf and two kids. Looking between the cracks of the
planks, almost sheer down into the river, I felt disappointed at its
muddy and unpicturesque appearance at this point; so inferior to the
lovely Blanco. The banks plastered with mud and sedge, with here and
there a few unhappy-looking reeds penetrating the ooze, in company with
shreds of leather and rope (remnants of former crossings), gave me the
idea of a river in ruins: Palenque in all its variations seemed to
breathe nothing but mystery and desolation.
Our halt for the day was on the outskirts of a pretty little assemblage
of houses, all built with very high conical thatched houses. We
bivouacked under some magnificent trees, and Andreas fetched from a
garden in the neighbourhood a supply of the most excellent watermelons I
have ever seen. A few pence bought six of these, and the owner of the
garden kindly sent a rock-melon in addition, for the especial
delectation of the Señora.
We thoroughly enjoyed our lunch; and as the grass and water were good,
our animals also fed in comfort, although the halt here was necessarily
a short one.
Our way was now through the real palm-forest of Honduras, lovely,
tangled, uncultivated, damp, and picturesque.
All trace of path being lost, we mazed in and out where the ground was
firmest, and free from the sprawling uncovered roots of trees, and the
festoons of parasite plants which trailed from above, bidding fair
sometimes to encircle us and lift us off our mules. Absalom here would
not have required an oak-tree.
We had just passed through a piece of marshy land, and emerged more into
the open, when we saw two mounted figures coming towards us, the one on
a handsome mule, the other on a well-bred-looking mare. The rider of the
latter was an elegant-looking man; the other short and stout, but
bearing what is called a good-natured-looking face.
Andreas exclaimed, “Here is Dr Pope, Señora—the short one; the other is
Don Jésus Gonsalez, the Justice of the Peace of San Pedro Sula.”
I immediately urged on my mule, and struck across the path in front of
the riders. Bowing to the short man, I said, “I believe I have the
honour of addressing the Rev. Dr Pope. I am Maria Soltera. Have you
received the telegram I sent you from Comayagua?”