On the fourth day after the siege of Huajapam, let the reader fancy
himself transported to the banks of the Ostuta, where he will behold one
of the most magnificent natural landscapes of American scenery.
The sun has not yet risen, and the _maipouri_ (tapir), before seeking
his forest lair, plunges once more under the shadowy waves of the river.
The Mexican roebuck, more timid than the tapir, trembling at the
slightest sound among the leaves, watches while drinking for the first
signs of daybreak--its signal to conceal itself in the thickets of
sassafras and tall ferns. The solitary heron, standing statue-like upon
its long legs, and the red flamingoes ranged in silent ranks, await, on
the contrary, the coming of the dawn to commence their matutinal
fishery.
There is a profound silence over all, save those vague sounds heard at
this hour even in the most solitary places--where the different guests
of the forest, according to their nature, are either awaking to begin
their day, or retiring to their haunts for rest and concealment.
Although the darkness of night has disappeared, the eye cannot yet make
out, amidst the whitish vapour that overhangs the stream, with what
species of vegetation its banks are adorned. The crowns of palm-trees
rising high above the other foliage--like noble knights of the olden
time above the melee of common warriors--can alone be distinguished. To
a superficial observer, the banks of the Ostuta might appear as much of
a solitude as in those days before the children of Europe had set foot
upon American soil; but the eye of one scrutinising the scene more
narrowly would discover this deserted appearance to be altogether a
deception.
Along the right bank of the river--near its main crossing--might be
distinguished a number of scattered fires, scintillating through the
nocturnal vapour, like stars in a cloud-covered sky.
On the left bank also, and opposite the first, others appear,
irregularly gleaming along the edge of the river. Both lines of fires
betoken an encampment--the same, though separated into two divisions by
the stream.
At a considerable distance from the crossing, and contiguous to the road
leading from Huajapam to the hacienda Del Valle, in the midst of a
little glade, might be seen a group of eight horsemen, at the moment
apparently engaged in some consultation among themselves. Still nearer
to the river, and at the distance of some three or four hundred yards
from this group, two pedestrian travellers appeared, cautiously
advancing along the road, where it wound through an extensive wood of
guiacum and cedrela trees.
Finally, between the eight horsemen and the two foot travellers, and at
about mid-distance from each party, a single individual might have been
seen, who could not be called either horseman or pedestrian, and who
could neither be said to be occupied in any way. In fact, this
personage was fast asleep, though in a most singular situation and
attitude: that is to say, fast bound with a scarf of scarlet silk
between the two main branches of a tree, and at a height of over ten
feet from the ground.
The thick foliage so completely concealed him, however, that an Indian
spy might have passed under the tree without suspecting his presence.
The individual who occupied this aerial couch was no other than Colonel
Don Rafael Tres-Villas.
There are occasions when extreme bodily fatigue has the effect of
causing apprehension in the spirit; and Don Rafael had found himself in
one of these occasions.
Wearied, after three days' journey under a hot sun, and having had no
sleep on the night before setting out, in spite of the uncomfortable
position in which he had placed himself, Don Rafael was enjoying that
deep repose which is often granted to the tired soldier, even on the eve
of a sanguinary battle.
Leaving him, therefore, to indulge in his lofty siesta, and passing to
some distance from the spot, and along the road leading to Oajaca, we
shall encounter another group, differing from any yet mentioned. At a
short distance from the river Ostuta, and near the lake of this name, a
little before daybreak, might be seen a small party of travellers, about
to resume their journey interrupted for the night. From the haste
exhibited in making preparations for departure from their bivouac, it
would appear as if they were in dread of some danger. Two of them were
busy in extinguishing the remains of a fire, lest its light might still
betray them; two others saddled the horses; while a fifth, who stood by
the half-opened curtains of a _litera_, appeared to be reassuring a
young lady who was inside.
It is scarce necessary to say that the travellers in question were Don
Mariano de Silva, his daughter, and their domestics.
In the midst of the solitudes of transatlantic scenery, there are two
solemn hours out of the twenty-four, in which all created nature seems
more especially to rejoice--the hours of sunrise and sunset.
The eternal horologe is about to sound the first. A fresh breeze
arising, gently stirs the leaves of the trees, and, playing over the
surface of the water, dispels the nocturnal vapours. The eastern sky is
becoming tinged with bright yellow streaks, mixed with the purple of the
aurora, which proclaims the approach of the rising sun. His coming is
saluted by the voices of myriads of bright birds that flutter among the
trees of the forest.
The jackal flying to his den, utters his parting growl, and the funereal
voices of the night-birds are heard for the last time. The maipouri and
roebuck have already disappeared within the thickets, where they have
chosen their respective dens.
Finally, the clouds redden like the wings of the flamingoes, as the sun,
shooting upward, gleams with golden brilliance upon the fronds of the
palms, and discloses in all their splendid variety the trees of the
American forest.
The tall ebony trees, with their bunches of golden flowers, the guiacums
and perfumed liquidambars--like pyramids of solid vegetation--the
mahogany and cedrela trees, and the princely palms towering over
gigantic tree-ferns, and fanciful festoons of parasitical climbers, that
form a flowery cortege around their stems.
In the midst of the almost impenetrable labyrinths formed by these
various kinds of trees, glades may here and there be encountered, and
paths leading from one to another, trodden only by wild animals, or
savage bulls, the descendants of those introduced by the great Cortez
into the province of Oajaca. These, maddened by thirst, may be seen
pressing through the thick undergrowth towards the river, or standing,
half immersed, with their black muzzles buried under water. Here and
there pieces of the flowery turf, detached by their hooves, float down
the stream, while birds alighting upon these miniature islets, joyfully
flap their wings, as if celebrating a triumphal procession upon the
water.
Such, in all its primitive splendour, was the aspect of the Ostuta on
the morning in question, at that solemnal hour, when the sun proclaimed
his presence upon the eastern horizon.