down from the platform, mounted her bespangled donkey and hurried off.
Herod’s Prime Minister directed all the children to be handed up for
execution. A boy, in a ragged sarape, was caught and thrust forward; the
Minister took him by the heels in spite of his kicking, and held his
head on the table. The little brother and sister of the boy, thinking he
was really to be decapitated, yelled at the top of their voices, in an
agony of terror, which threw the crowd into a roar of laughter. King
Herod brought down his sword with a whack on the table, and the Prime
Minister, dipping his brush into a pot of white paint which stood before
him, made a flaring cross on the boy’s face. Several other boys were
caught and served likewise; and, finally, the two harlequins, whose
kicks and struggles nearly shook down the platform. The procession then
went off up the hill, followed by the whole population of the village.
All the evening there were fandangos in the mesón, bonfires and rockets
on the plaza, ringing of bells, and high mass in the church, with the
accompaniment of two guitars, tinkling to lively polkas.
I left San Lionel early in the morning, rode thirty miles, to the
village of Santa Ysabel, before breakfasting, and still had twenty-one
miles to Ahuacatlan, my stopping-place for the night.
At the mesón of that place I found no one but the hostess and her two
little sons; but the latter attended to my wants with a childish
courtesy, and gravity withal, which were charming. The little fellows
gave me the key to a room, saw my _priéto_ properly cared for, and then
sat down to entertain me till the tortillas were made and the eggs
fried. They talked with much naïveté and a wisdom beyond their years.
After supper they escorted me to my room, and took leave of me with
“_pasa ustê muy buena noche_!”
My _priéto_ began to feel the effects of hard travel and I therefore
stopped for the night at the inn of Mochitilte, an immense building,
sitting alone like a fortress among the hills. The key of a large,
cheerless room, daubed with attempts at fresco ornament, was given to
me, and a supper served up in a cold and gloomy hall. The wind blew
chill from the heights on either side, and I found _priéto’s_ blanket a
welcome addition to my own, in the matter of bedding.
I slept soundly in my frescoed chamber, fed _priéto_, and was off by
sunrise. In the little town of Magdalena, where I breakfasted, I gave
_priéto_ a sheaf of _oja_ and two hours’ rest before starting for the
town of Tequila. _No quiere ustê tomar ausilio?—hay muchos ladrones en
el camino_ (“Don’t you want a guard?—the road is full of robbers”),
asked the vaquero of the house. “Every traveller,” he continued, “takes
a guard as far as Tequila, for which he pays each man a dollar.” I told
him I had no particular fear of the robbers, and would try it alone.
“You are very courageous,” he remarked, “but you will certainly be
attacked unless you take me as an _ausilio_.”
The road now entered a narrow pass, following the dry bed of a stream.
Its many abrupt twists and windings afforded unequalled chances for the
guerillas, especially as the pass was nearly three leagues in length,
without a single habitation on the road.
After riding two hours in the hot afternoon sun, which shone down into
the pass, a sudden turn disclosed to me a startling change of scenery.
At my very feet lay the city of Tequila, so near that it seemed a stone
might be thrown upon the square towers of its cathedral.
I rode down into the city where at the _Mesón de San José_—the only inn
in the place—I found a large company of soldiers quartered for the
night. The inner _patio_ or courtyard, with its stables, well, and
massive trough of hewn stone, was appropriated to their horses, and
groups of swarthy privates, in dusty blue uniforms, filled the
corridors. I obtained a dark room for myself, and a corner of one of the
stalls for _priéto_, where I was obliged to watch until he had finished
his corn, and keep off his military aggressors. The women were all
absent, and I procured a few tortillas and a cup of pepper-sauce, with
some difficulty. The place looked bleak and cheerless after dark, and
for this reason, rather than for its cut-throat reputation, I made but a
single stroll to the plaza, where a number of rancheros sat beside their
piles of fruit and grain, in the light of smoky torches, hoisted on
poles.
When I arose, the sun, just above the hills, was shining down the long
street that led to Guadalajara. I had a journey of eighteen leagues to
make, and it was time to be on the road; so, without feeding my horse, I
saddled and rode away. A little more than four leagues across the plain,
brought me to the town of Amatitlan; where, at a miserable mud building,
dignified by the name of a mesón, I ordered breakfast, and a _mano de
oja_ for my horse. There was none in the house, but one of the neighbors
began shelling a quantity of the ripe ears. When I came to pay, I gave
her a Mexican dollar, which she soon brought back, saying that it had
been pronounced counterfeit at a _tienda_, or shop, across the way. I
then gave her another, which she returned, with the same story, after
which I gave her a third, saying she must change it, for I would give
her no more. The affairs of a few hours later caused me to remember and
understand the meaning of this little circumstance. At the _tienda_, a
number of fellows in greasy sarapes were grouped, drinking mescal, which
they offered me. I refused to join them: “_Es la ultima vez_” (It is the
last time), said one of them, though what he meant, I did not then know.
It was about ten in the forenoon when I left Amatitlan. The road entered
on a lonely range of hills. The soil was covered with stunted shrubs and
a growth of long yellow grass. I could see the way for half a league
before and behind; there was no one in sight. I rode leisurely along,
looking down into a deep ravine on my right and thinking to myself,
“That is an excellent place for robbers to lie in wait; I think I had
better load my pistol”—which I had fired off just before reaching
Tequila. Scarcely had this thought passed through my mind, when a little
bush beside the road seemed to rise up; I turned suddenly, and, in a
breath, the two barrels of a musket were before me, so near and surely
aimed, that I could almost see the bullets at the bottom. The weapon was
held by a ferocious looking native, dressed in a pink calico shirt and
white pantaloons; on the other side of me stood a second, covering me
with another double-barrelled musket, and a little in the rear appeared
a third. I had walked like an unsuspecting mouse, into the very teeth of
the trap laid for me.
“Down with your pistols!” cried the first, in a hurried whisper. So
silently and suddenly had all this taken place, that I sat still a
moment, hardly realizing my situation. “Down with your pistols and
dismount!” was repeated, and this time the barrels came a little nearer
my breast. Thus solicited, I threw down my single pistol—the more
readily because it was harmless—and got off my horse. Having secured the
pistol, the robbers went to the rear, never for a moment losing their
aim. They then ordered me to lead my horse off the road, by a direction
which they pointed out. We went down the side of the ravine for about a
quarter of a mile to a patch of bushes and tall grass, out of view from
the road, where they halted, one of them returning, apparently to keep
watch. The others, deliberately levelling their pieces at me, commanded
me to lie down on my face—“_la boca à tierra_!” I cannot say that I felt
alarmed: it had always been a part of my belief that the shadow of Death
falls before him—that the man doomed to die by violence feels the chill
before the blow has been struck. As I never felt more positively alive
than at that moment, I judged my time had not yet come. I pulled off my
coat and vest, at their command, and threw them on the grass, saying:
“Take what you want, but don’t detain me long.” The fellow in a pink
calico shirt, who appeared to have some authority over the other two,
picked up my coat, and, one after the other, turned all the pockets
inside out. I felt a secret satisfaction at his blank look when he
opened my purse and poured the few dollars it contained into a pouch he
carried in his belt. “How is it,” said he, “that you have no more
money?” “I don’t own much,” I answered, “but there is quite enough for
you.” I had, in fact, barely sufficient in coin for a ride to Mexico,
the most of my funds having been invested in a draft on that city. I
believe I did not lose more than twenty-five dollars by this attack. “At
least,” I said to the robbers, “you’ll not take the papers”—among which
was my draft. “_No_,” he replied—“_no me valen nada_.” (They are worth
nothing to me.)
Having searched my coat, he took a hunting-knife which I carried,
examined the blade and point, placed his piece against a bush behind him
and came up to me, saying, as he held the knife above my head: “Now put
your hands behind you, and don’t move, or I shall strike.” The other
then laid down his musket and advanced to bind me. They were evidently
adepts in the art: all their movements were so carefully timed, that any
resistance would have been against dangerous odds. I did not consider my
loss sufficient to justify any desperate risk, and did as they
commanded. With the end of my horse’s lariat, they bound my wrists
firmly together and having me thus secure, sat down to finish their
inspection more leisurely. My feelings during this proceeding were oddly
heterogeneous—at one moment burning with rage and shame at having
neglected the proper means of defence, and the next, ready to burst into
a laugh at the decided novelty of my situation. My blanket having been
spread on the grass, everything was emptied into it. The robbers had an
eye for the curious and incomprehensible, as well as the useful. They
spared all my letters, books, and papers, but took my thermometer,
compass, and card-case, together with a number of drawing-pencils, some
soap (a thing the Mexicans never use), and what few little articles of
the toilette I carried with me. A bag hanging at my saddle-bow,
containing ammunition, went at once, as well as a number of oranges and
cigars in my pockets, the robbers leaving me _one_ of the latter, as a
sort of consolation for my loss.
Between Mazatlan and Tepic, I had carried a doubloon in the hollow of
each foot, covered by the stocking. It was well they had been spent for
_priéto_, for they would else have certainly been discovered. The
villains unbuckled my spurs, jerked off my boots and examined the
bottoms of my pantaloons, ungirthed the saddle and shook out the
blankets, scratched the heavy guard of the bit to see whether it was
silver, and then, apparently satisfied that they had made the most of
me, tied everything together in a corner of my best blanket. “Now,” said
the leader, when this was done, “shall we take your horse?” This
question was of course a mockery; but I thought I would try an
experiment, and so answered in a very decided tone: “No; you shall not.
I _must_ have him; I am going to Guadalajara, and I cannot get there
without him. Besides, he would not answer at all for your business.” He
made no reply, but took up his piece, which I noticed was a splendid
article and in perfect order, walked a short distance towards the road,
and made a signal to the third robber. Suddenly he came back, saying:
“Perhaps you may get hungry before night—here is something to eat;” and
with that he placed one of my oranges and half a dozen tortillas on the
grass beside me. “_Mil gracias_,” said I, “but how am I to eat without
hands?” The other then coming up, he said, as they all three turned to
leave me: “Now we are going; we have more to carry than we had before we
met you; adios!” This was insulting—but there are instances under which
an insult must be swallowed.
I waited till no more of them could be seen, and then turned to my
horse, who stood quietly at the other end of the lariat: “Now,
_priéto_,” I asked, “how are we to get out of this scrape?” He said
nothing, but I fancied I could detect an inclination to laugh in the
twitching of his nether lip. However, I went to work at extricating
myself—a difficult matter, as the rope was tied in several knots. After
tugging a long time, I made a twist which the India-rubber man might
have envied, and to the great danger of my spine, succeeded in forcing
my body through my arms. Then, loosening the knots with my teeth, in
half an hour I was free again. As I rode off, I saw the three robbers at
some distance, on the other side of the ravine.
It is astonishing how light one feels after being robbed. A sensation of
complete independence came over me; my horse, even, seemed to move more
briskly, after being relieved of my blankets. I tried to comfort myself
with the thought that this was a genuine adventure, worth one
experience—that, perhaps, it was better to lose a few dollars than have
even a robber’s blood on my head; but it would not do. The sense of the
outrage and indignity was strongest, and my single desire was the
unchristian one of revenge. In spite of the threats of the robbers, I
looked in their faces sufficiently to know them again, in whatever part
of the world I might meet them. I recognized the leader—a thick-set,
athletic man, with a short, black beard—as one of the persons I had seen
lounging about the _tienda_, in Amatitlan, which explained the artifice
that led me to display more money than was prudent. It was evidently a
preconceived plan to plunder me at all hazards, since, coming from the
Pacific, I might be supposed to carry a booty worth fighting for.
I rode on rapidly, over broad, barren hills, covered with patches of
chapparal, and gashed with deep arroyos. These are the usual
hiding-places of the robbers, and I kept a sharp lookout, inspecting
every rock and clump of cactus with a peculiar interest. About three
miles from the place of my encounter, I passed a spot where there had
been a desperate assault eighteen months previous. The robbers came upon
a camp of soldiers and traders in the night, and a fight ensued, in
which eleven of the latter were killed. They lie buried by the roadside,
with a few black crosses to mark the spot, while directly above them
stands a rough gibbet, on which three of the robbers, who were
afterwards taken, swing in chains. I confess to a decided feeling of
satisfaction, when I saw that three, at least, had obtained their
deserts. Their long black hair hung over their faces, their clothes were
dropping in tatters, and their skeleton-bones protruded through the dry
and shrunken flesh. The thin, pure air of the table-land had prevented
decomposition, and the vultures and buzzards had been kept off by the
nearness of the bodies to the road. It is said, however, that neither
wolves nor vultures will touch a dead Mexican, his flesh being always
too highly seasoned by the red-pepper he has eaten. A large sign was
fastened above this ghastly spectacle, with the words, in large letters:
ASI CASTIGA LA LEY LADRON Y EL ASESINO. (“Thus the law punishes the
robber and the assassin.”)
I hurried my _priéto_, now nearly exhausted, over the dusty plain. I had
ascended beyond the tropical heats, and, as night drew on, the
temperature was fresh almost to chilliness. The robbers had taken my
cravat and vest, and the cold wind of the mountains, blowing upon my
bare neck gave me a violent nervous pain and toothache, which was worse
than the loss of my money. _Priéto_ panted and halted with fatigue, for
he had already traveled fifty miles; but I was obliged to reach
Guadalajara, and by plying a stick in lieu of the abstracted spur, kept
him to his pace. An hour and a half brought me to the suburbs of
Guadalajara.
I was riding at random among the dark adobe houses, when an old padre,
in black cassock and immense shovel-hat, accosted me. “_Estrangero?_” he
inquired; “_Si, padre_,” said I. “But,” he continued, “do you know that
it is very dangerous to be here alone?”—then, dropping his voice to a
whisper, he added: “Guadalajara is full of robbers; you must be careful
how you wander about after night; do you know where to go?” I answered
in the negative. “Then,” said he, “go to the Mesón de la Mercéd; they
are honest people there, and you will be perfectly safe; come with me
and I’ll show you the way.” I followed him for some distance, till we
were near the place, when he put me in the care of “Ave Maria
Santissima,” and left. I found the house without difficulty, and rode
into the courtyard. The people, who seemed truly honest, sympathized
sincerely for my mishap, and thought it a great marvel that my life had
been spared. For myself, when I lay down on the tiled floor I
involuntarily said: “Aye, now I am in Guadalajara; the more fool I; when
I was at home I was in a better place; but travelers must be content.”
THE END
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
End of Project Gutenberg's Boys of Other Countries, by Bayard Taylor