DEPARTURE FOR SAN LORENZO—MORNING SCENES—NOVEL CAVALCADE—A HIGH
PLAIN—LIFE AMONGST REVOLUTIONS—NACAOME—MILITARY RECEPTION—GEN.
CABANAS—AN ALARM—NEGOTIATIONS—BRITISH INTERFERENCE—A TRUCE—PROSPECTS
OF ADJUSTMENT—AN EVENING REVIEW—THE SOLDIERY—A NIGHT RIDE—RETURN TO
SAN LORENZO.
A little before sunset, the tide had lifted our boat, and the wind being
brisk and fair, we embarked for San Lorenzo. Our course was along the
base of Sacate Grande. The vaqueros had set fire to the dry grass that
afternoon, and when the night fell, it revealed a broad sheet of flame,
extending entirely across the island, sending up vast billows of black
smoke, and moving onward with a deep and steady roar, like that of the
ocean. Spires of flame, like flashes of lightning, often darted upward
amongst these clouds of smoke, or swooping downward, set fire to the
grass in advance of the devouring column. The spectacle was grand, and I
watched it until midnight, and then crept beneath the chopa and went to
sleep.
I was awakened by a sense of suffocation, and found that it had rained
during the night, and that the sailors had let down the flaps of the
chopa, thus confining us in a low and narrow space, not much larger than
an ordinary oven. I hastened to drag myself out upon the pineta. Day was
just breaking, and a hot, gray mist hung around us, half concealing yet
magnifying every object. I could only make out that the bongo was lying
high up on a broad, black beach, fifty yards from a sullen looking
river, whose opposite shore was overhung with drooping trees. The
sailors were all gone, and I was perfectly ignorant of our position. I
felt oppressed by a lassitude such as I had never before experienced,
and longed for water, if only to wash my hands and face. The river was
dark and sullen, yet it appeared as if it might refresh me. So I got
over the side of the boat, but sunk at once to the instep in a black,
sickening mire. I nevertheless advanced towards the water’s edge, and
had nearly reached it, when I discovered a number of large alligators,
trailing their ugly carcasses through the mud, not ten feet distant. In
the deceptive light they looked absolutely monstrous. I did not stop to
take a second view, but retreated to the bongo with a rapidity which
five minutes before I would have thought impossible. Here I roused Ben,
and then commenced hallooing for our patron. Directly we heard his voice
in the distance, and soon after he came stalking towards us, appearing
through the mist like one of the genii of Arabian story.
It turned out that we were about three leagues up an estero formed by
the river Nacaome, and within six leagues of the town of the same name,
whither we were bound. A short distance in advance, and to the right of
us, the patron said there were some cattle ranchos, whither he had gone
with the officer who had accompanied us, to obtain horses for our
expedition. I inquired with what luck, and received the expected answer,
“no hay!” accompanied with the usual expressive wave of the forefinger.
It was certainly a comfortable prospect, stuck there in the mud, amidst
mists, and deadly damps, and alligators. My previous sense of exhaustion
rapidly gave place to a vague feeling of injury and general discontent
and disgust. Determined to know the worst, I ordered the patron to lead
me to the ranchos. They were miserable huts, hastily constructed of
bushes and palm-leaves, surrounded by a drove of melancholy cows, which
some fever-and-agueish looking women were engaged in milking. A brawny
mestizo, with a deep scar across his face, sat by a little fire, turning
some pieces of meat on the coals; and a pack of mangy dogs, showing
their long, white teeth, sneaked snarling around our legs. I bade the
brawny mestizo good morning; he looked up with a furtive, suspicious
glance, but made no reply. How far all these circumstances contributed
to restore good humor, the reader can readily imagine. My first impulse
was to shoot a dog or two, and their owner in the bargain, if he made
any disturbance in consequence, but thought better of it, and sat down
gloomily in a damp hammock which I found strung between the trees.
Shortly after, my companions came up from the bongo, and the mist
lifting, and matters generally assuming a more cheerful aspect, we took
possession of the mestizo’s fire, and began to prepare breakfast. A few
conciliatory reals set the women to grinding tortillas for us, and
really made the mestizo himself complacent,—at any rate, he exhibited
some grim signs of gratitude by kicking his curs from around our legs.
We had hardly finished our breakfast, when our friend, the officer,
returned, accompanied by some Indians, one of whom was an alcalde, each
leading a couple of horses. Such horses! They were “caballos del campo,”
rough beasts from the ranchos, long ago mortgaged to the buzzards. We
had fortunately brought our saddles with us, and were not long in
getting mounted, and on our road—if the bed of the river can be called a
road. It was a cavalcade worthy of Hogarth’s pencil, and each horseman
laughed inordinately, at the comical figure cut by his companions. At
the head of the party rode our Indian alcalde, with the air of a man
discharging an exalted and responsible duty. He had heard of “El Norte,”
but had no clear notions of its whereabouts; he couldn’t tell whether it
was northward or southward, but knew that it was “muy poderoso,” very
powerful, and had vessels of war, and a great many cannons. He led us up
the stream to a ford, crossing which, we struck into a broad path
connecting with the camino real to Nacaome. The vegetation in the river
valley was very luxuriant, affording food for many droves of cattle,
which, at the height of the dry season, are driven down from the
elevated, parched savannas of the interior to browse here. This practice
accounted for the number of temporary huts which we passed in our march,
and which were only built to last a month or two, while the cattle
remained in the valley.
The alcalde took us out of our way to his own house, which was a rude
but permanent establishment, where he insisted on our stopping long
enough to drink a calabash of milk; I obliged him by dismounting and
entering for a moment. The women were engaged in their eternal
occupation of grinding tortillas, and, instead of rising to welcome us,
bashfully continued their work. They were apparently pure Indians, but
of a lighter shade than those of Nicaragua. They belong to a nation
denominated Cholutecan, which is evidently a Mexican name, and probably
the same with Cholultecan, i. e., people of Cholula, the place of the
great teocalli or pyramid. A short distance beyond the alcalde’s house,
we reached a broad plain, covered only with clumps of gum arabic bushes,
interspersed with calabash trees. These did not particularly obstruct
the view, and as the plain was high, we could overlook the country for a
great distance around. Behind us was a wide expanse of low alluvial
land, densely wooded, with the high islands of the Gulf distinctly
visible beyond; while in front rose a series of ragged, blue mountains,
the outliers of the great central plateau of Honduras. As we advanced,
the plain became more open, but strangely traversed, at intervals, by
narrow strips of lava, projecting only a few feet above the ground.
Finally the bushes disappeared altogether, and the plain assumed the
character of an undulating savanna. And now, looking like some old
fortress, we discovered, a long way in advance, the low, straggling
buildings of a hacienda, from which radiated lines of stone walls, the
first we had seen in Central America. It was a grateful sight, and
inspired our Rozinantes to such a degree, that, by a liberal application
of whip and spur, they were actually seduced into a gallop—which they
kept up in a paroxysmal way, until we reached the hacienda. In the
laughter created by this race, we had not observed the commotion which
our approach had excited. We were at first mistaken for a party of
mounted ladrones; but as soon as we were distinctly made out, all alarm
subsided, and the proprietor of the estate, a tall, courteous man,
advanced to welcome us. Dismounting, we left our blown horses with the
mozos, under the broad corridor, and entered the house. One half of the
grand sala was filled with tobacco in bales, from the plains of Santa
Rosa, in the interior, on its way to El Tigre, to be shipped, via Cape
Horn, for Holland!
We had not been long seated, before a young lady of great intelligence
of face, grace, and benignity of manner, and dressed in American style,
entered the room. The proprietor introduced her as his daughter, who, in
consequence of her mother’s death, was now his housekeeper. She
conversed with us readily, and I soon discovered that she had been well
educated, and had travelled with her father both in the United States
and in Europe.
The conversation turned upon the present political disturbances, and we
learned that General Guardiola, the night previously, had reached the
village of Pespire, only two leagues from Nacaome, and that probably he
would attack the place that very day. In fact, our host told me his
valuables were already packed, and his horses saddled for flight into
San Salvador, the moment the sound of guns should announce that all
negotiations and attempts at compromise had failed. But I asked, if you
leave, what will become of your property here? “It will be robbed,” was
the prompt reply, “but not for the first time; the estate has been three
times pillaged within the past six years!”
I shuddered to think what might be the fate of the gentle girl before
us, if, when the worst came to the worst, her father’s plans of escape
should fail him. She said she only wished that matters would take some
decisive turn; the sternest reality were better than this painful
suspense. She did not care for herself, (and she pointed significantly
to the hilt of a poignard concealed in her belt,) she had little to
choose between life and death, except for the sake of her father and her
motherless sisters.
It was yet two leagues to Nacaome, and knowing the reputation of General
Guardiola for impetuosity, I felt that the object of my visit could only
be accomplished, if at all, by reaching the scene of action before any
collision should take place. Our host was positive that the day would
not pass without a battle. We accordingly mounted, and advanced as
rapidly as our miserable horses enabled us. A little distance beyond the
hacienda, the road struck again into the narrow valley of the river; and
as we were now beyond the alluvions, and entering the mountains, it
assumed all the appearance of a mountain stream. In fact, the whole
scenery had changed, and was unlike that of any part of the country we
had yet seen. The stones around us were rich in copper, and interspersed
with quartz, and the granite outcrops here and there showed that we had
reached the region of primitive rocks. The mountains were no longer
isolated peaks, but took the form of continuous ranges, and made broad
sweeps in the distance. The river too, here murmuring amongst the
stones, there spreading out in broad, dark pools, reminded us of the
upper tributaries of the Hudson.
[Illustration: MOUNTAIN SCENERY IN HONDURAS.]
We passed several houses, occupied only by women; the men had either
joined the army, or had fled to the hills to escape the conscription.
About a league from the hacienda, we met a man, splendidly mounted, with
long hair, and a wild, bandit contour generally, who was riding express
to the Port of La Union, with despatches from the commander of the San
Salvadorean allies in Nacaome. He was known to some of our party as
“Diablo Negro,” Black Devil, and had a twin brother who rejoiced under
the hardly less objectionable designation of “Diablo Blanco,” White
Devil. These twin devils were noted in the country as men of unbounded
activity and daring, and their titles were intended to be complimentary.
Diablo Negro told us that an Indian runner, despatched by our official
friend, had reached Nacaome before he had left,—and that the army was
ready to receive us upon one side, and Guardiola on the other. And then
he laughed outright at his own observation, which he evidently thought
was witty. The rebels, he said, were advancing, and if we rode fast we
might witness an “escaramuza,” or scrimmage, such as it would do our
souls good to see; and with a wild laugh, Diablo Negro struck spurs into
his horse, and dashed off for La Union.
The valley widened as we progressed, and soon a grand amphitheatre,
encircled by hills, opened before us. Upon an eminence in the centre
stood the town of Nacaome, the white walls of its houses and the
stuccoed tower of its principal church looking like silver beneath the
noonday sun. A single glance revealed to us the capabilities of the
position for defence, and explained why it had been chosen as a final
stand point by the Government. We could distinctly see that the roof of
the church was covered with soldiers, and martial music reached our
ears, subdued by distance, but yet having a wonderfully earnest and
ominous sound. Our official friend, who was in advance, stopped for a
moment and listened with an attentive but troubled air, and then
rejoining us, begged that we would move on slowly, and allow him to ride
ahead and ascertain what was the cause of the peculiar activity of the
garrison. I could see that he thought Guardiola was about making an
attack, and was anxious not to involve us in the confusion, not to say
danger, of a battle. We agreed to await his return in a little hollow, a
short distance in advance. He thanked us, and galloped towards the town.
Matters now appeared coming to a crisis, but we had gone too far to
think of receding; besides, our horses were used up, and would make a
sorry show with Guardiola’s lancers at their heels! Our Nicaragua
servants were pale and silent, and I vainly attempted to rally them into
good spirits. It was all very well for us to be merry, they said; we
were in no danger; but Guardiola would make no ceremony with them, and
the spokesman shuddered as he drew his hand across his throat, by way of
commentary on his own observations. They seemed somewhat re-assured when
Ben unfolded our flag, but yet kept religiously in the rear, ready to
run at the first appearance of danger.
We waited in the hot sun for our official friend to return, until we
were tired, and then moved on again towards the town. No sooner had we
emerged from the hollow, however, than we encountered a large cavalcade
of officers, full uniformed and mounted on splendid horses. Amongst them
was a plainly dressed, unpretending man, to whom we were introduced as
Señor Lindo, President of Honduras. He was of middle age, but looked
care-worn and prematurely old. With him was Gen. Cabañas, and a large
proportion of that devoted band of officers associated with Gen. Morazan
in his last gallant, but unsuccessful, struggle to preserve the old
Federation. I had heard much of Gen. Cabañas, his generosity, bravery,
and humanity, and observed him with deep interest. He is a small, pale
man, forty-five or fifty years of age, with a singularly mild face, and
gentle, almost womanly, manners. Yet beneath that unassuming, retiring
exterior, there slumbers a spirit which no disaster can depress, nor
opposition subdue. For fifteen years he has been conspicuous in the
political affairs of the country; yet his deadliest foes cannot point to
a single one of his acts during that long, anarchical period, tainted
with selfishness, or influenced by hatred or revenge. I could not help
thinking that, in more favored lands, and other fields of action, his
noble qualities might have won for him a name distinguished amongst
those whom the world delights to honor.
Gen. Cabañas was now in command of the San Salvadorean allies, and had
under him, as aid, the sole surviving son of his benefactor and friend,
Morazan. He was a handsome youth, of noble bearing, and a frank, open
expression of face,—a perfect type, it is said, of his father. He spoke
English fluently, and at once explained to us the posture of affairs.
Guardiola’s advance was already within sight, and a detachment had been
thrown forward to meet them, under command of Gen. Barrios. It was this
movement which had attracted our attention, and alarmed our conductor.
A short ride brought us to the suburbs of the town. The huts were all
closed and deserted. Those within musket-shot of the plaza had their
walls for several feet above the ground knocked away, so as to prevent
their use by assailants for purposes of protection or concealment. The
plaza itself was barricaded, with embrasures for cannon, which were so
stationed as to sweep the streets leading to it. The sole entrance was
by a covered way, so narrow as to admit the passage of but a single
horseman at a time. The troops were all under arms, and the defences
were fully manned, but by as motley an array of soldiers as it is
possible to conceive. They received us, nevertheless, with prolonged
vivas, and altogether seemed to be in high spirits. There was a kind of
pleasurable excitement in the mere presence of danger, in which I must
own I could not resist sympathizing.
We dismounted, and were ushered into the sala of a large house, fronting
the church, and which had evidently belonged to a family of some wealth.
But it was deserted, and destitute of furniture, excepting some tables
and chairs, and one or two other articles, too heavy to be removed with
ease.
We had hardly got seated, and the usual formulas of an official
reception were not yet concluded, when a gun was fired on the opposite
side of the plaza, followed by the rapid beat of a drum, and the cry of
“to arms! to arms!” We started to our feet simultaneously, and the next
instant an officer entered and announced that a party of Guardiola’s
horse had eluded the scouts, and had already entered the town. Señor
Lindo hurriedly bade us be under no alarm, begged us to excuse him for
an instant, and in less time than I am writing it, we were left wholly
alone. A moment afterwards, we heard the clear, firm voice of Gen.
Cabañas, and going to the door, I saw him mounted on his horse in the
centre of the plaza, giving his orders coolly and deliberately, as if
engaged in a review. The men stood at the barricades three deep; the
matches of the gunners were lighted; and an attacking party was sallying
rapidly by the only gate, to cut off the assailants. Having been
accustomed to regard a Central American army of new levies as little
better than a mob, I was surprised to see the order, rapidity, and
alacrity with which every movement was conducted, and was rather
anxious, on the whole, to know how the motley fellows would fight, if
driven to extremity. But it was soon apparent that we were not to be
favored just then with anything beyond the excitement of preparation.
For while we were helping ourselves to the contents of a box of claret
and some bread and cheese, which the President, notwithstanding the
bustle, had found time to send us, wondering why the performance did not
commence, and speculating on the probable result, if Guardiola had
really eluded the advance, and surprised the town—a young officer
presented himself, bearing Gen. Cabañas’s compliments, and the
information that the alarm had been occasioned by a petty detachment of
lancers, who had entered the suburbs in mere bravado; that half of them
had been captured on the spot, and that the rest were in full retreat,
with a troop of the Government cavalry close at their heels.
Not long after, the President and his Secretary returned, and I learned
that Commissioners had already been sent to Guardiola, with a view of
disabusing him of certain errors into which he had fallen, and procuring
his peaceable submission to the Government. The intervention of San
Salvador, and if necessary of Nicaragua also, the President thought,
would materially influence the conduct of the refractory General; but he
feared, after all, that evil influences and counsels might prevail. It
was clear that Guardiola had been imposed upon by the Serviles of
Guatemala, and without being conscious of it, was in fact made use of by
them, and their foreign coadjutors, to prevent Honduras from entering
into the proposed new confederation. Señor Lindo showed me a letter from
a man named Pavon, Secretary to the British Charge d’Affaires, Mr.
Chatfield, addressed to a confederate, then under arrest for treason, in
which the whole plot of the Servile faction was unfolded. This letter
had been entrusted to Admiral Hornby, commander of the British naval
force in the Pacific, now on board the Asia, eighty-four, in the Port of
La Union, and by him had been inadvertently sent to the Government. Mr.
Pavon congratulated his friend that matters were taking a decided turn
against what he was pleased to call “the false American principles [i.
e. of union], so industriously promulgated by the Representative of the
United States;” and after complacently intimating that the British
“Admiral goes to La Union, _well instructed_ by Mr. Chatfield,” he
proceeded to say, “I think that his arrival there will bring the
revolution to a favorable close!” But whether Mr. Pavon told the truth
when he added, “Mr. Chatfield is at this moment writing to the Admiral,
but charges me to salute you in his behalf, and to say that all which
this contains meets his approbation,” is a matter between himself and
his principal. The President was naturally very indignant to find that
the British Legatine was the centre of the intrigues and plots which
distracted the State; and spoke with feeling of the attempt, made at
this juncture, by the “well instructed” British Admiral, to coerce the
State into a compliance with demands of doubtful validity, and the
surrender of territorial rights, in violation alike of justice and the
constitution. He very naturally conceived that this rude and hostile
intervention was designed to favor the insurgents, and procure the
substitution of a more manageable government than now existed.
The demands of the British Admiral were certainly very extraordinary. It
appeared that Honduras had, some months before, delegated a commissioner
for a specific purpose, to the State of Costa Rica. While there, this
commissioner fell in with the British Charge d’Affaires and his
industrious Secretary, who, between them, prevailed upon him to sign a
treaty, providing, amongst other things, for the qualified cession of
portions of the territory of Honduras to Great Britain. The commissioner
had no power to treat with the British Representative, and the latter
knew perfectly well that no arrangement with him could be in any way
binding upon Honduras. In fact, the commissioner never presumed to
communicate the so-called treaty to his Government; and the first
official knowledge the President had of it, was a copy enclosed to him
by the British Admiral, with a demand for its immediate ratification,
under threats of blockades and territorial seizures in case of refusal!
The reply of the Government was courteous, but decided; it wholly
declined to ratify or in any way acknowledge the acts of the
commissioner, who had not only proceeded without authority, but had
assumed the exercise of powers prohibited by the constitution, for which
he had now been arrested, and would be tried on a charge of treason!
These things may appear incredible, yet they are not only true, but a
fair illustration of the whole course of British policy in Central
America. It is proper to add, that, at the outset, the Admiral was
probably unaware of the nature of the fraud which was attempted; for
after the explanations of the Government, he seems to have permitted the
whole matter to drop.
While I was occupied in examining the papers connected with these
extraordinary proceedings, Don Victorino Castellano, an influential
citizen of San Salvador, who had been delegated as a commissioner to
Guardiola, for the purpose of procuring his submission, returned with
the gratifying intelligence that there was every prospect of success;
that Guardiola had called back his advance, and agreed upon a total
suspension of hostilities for three days, to give time for a definite
adjustment of differences. He, in fact, brought with him the outline of
the terms upon which the General was willing quietly to lay down his
arms, and disband his men, _viz._: a general amnesty, and the immediate
convocation of the State Legislature, to act upon certain alleged
grievances in the internal administration, and particularly upon the
pending plan of Federation. The last stipulation was made by the General
with the evident purpose of relieving himself from the odium of favoring
the predominant, but most artfully concealed purpose of his late Servile
allies.
I was satisfied, from the moderate nature of these demands, that all
danger of a collision was now over, and that my services “to keep the
peace” would be no longer required. I therefore determined to retrace my
steps to the Bay, and proceed on my proposed trip to San Salvador. This
determination was received by our Nicaraguan attendants with a
satisfaction bordering on ecstacy, and they would have saddled the
horses, and started at once. But the day was intensely hot, and I
preferred to ride to San Lorenzo by moonlight.
At four o’clock, Gen. Cabañas sent us a very fair dinner, and after it
was despatched, we ascended the tower of the church, to witness the
evening review. This church is a large, quaint structure, with a fine
altar, and some dim, old paintings on the walls, which looked as if they
might have hung there for centuries. From the tower we obtained a full
view of the surrounding country. As I have said, Nacaome is a place of
some three or four thousand inhabitants, clean, and very well built, and
situated upon an eminence in the midst of a broad amphitheatre, shut in
on every side by mountains. To this great natural circus there is but
one entrance and exit, by the narrow winding valley of the river, which
almost encloses the town in its embrace. It appears to constitute two
distinct streams, and from this circumstance it may derive its name,
which, in the Mexican language, signifies _two bodies_, i. e., double
stream. The town is situated on the camino real, leading to Tegucigalpa
and Comyagua, the principal cities of the interior, and derives some of
its importance from that circumstance. It is also very well supported by
the adjacent country, which is fertile, and under what, in Central
America, may be called tolerable cultivation.
From the tower we could discover many hattos, surrounded by small
patches of plantains and yucas; pictures of primitive simplicity, and
suggestive of unbounded rural delights. But the huts were all deserted;
their owners were fugitives in the mountains; and, excepting a troop of
lancers, with their weapons flashing in the sun, it might have been a
painted scene, in its total absence of life and action.
The review, which took place just outside of the town, afforded an
agreeable relief to the contemplation of this picture, so lovely and
luxuriant, yet so deserted and lonely. When the men were paraded, I was
surprised at their number, and wondered where they had been kept
concealed. There were between two and three thousand,—as motley a set as
can well be imagined; and, with the exception of about four hundred
“veteranos” from San Salvador, dressed in accordance with their
individual tastes. Some had shirts, and others jackets, but many had
neither; and although I believe all had breeches, yet the legs of those
breeches were of all lengths, generally reaching but a little below the
knee. There were wags amongst them also, who, probably for the sake of
completing the diversity, had one leg rolled up and the other let down.
There were the tall, sandalled Caribs from northern Honduras, grim and
silent, side by side with the smaller and more vivacious Indians of San
Salvador. There were Ladinos and Mestizos, whites and negroes,
constituting a living mosaic, as unique as it was unparalleled by
anything which I had ever before seen. To those accustomed to the well
equipped and uniformed soldiery of other countries, this display would
have been but little better than a broad caricature. It certainly
afforded none of the “pomp and circumstance” of war, and would have made
a very indifferent figure in Broadway or Hyde Park. But if brought to
encounter the realities of war, weary marches, exposure, hunger, and
privations of every kind, the disparity would not be so great. For these
men will march, under a tropical sun, forty, fifty, and even sixty miles
a-day, with no other food than a plantain and a bit of cheese; sleep,
unprotected, on the bare ground, and pass, unimpaired, through fatigues
which would destroy an European army in a single week. Military success
depends more upon these qualities than upon simple bravery in battle.
But in this respect the soldiers of Central America are far from
deficient. When well officered, they fight with obstinacy and
desperation. In their encounters with the Mexican troops sent against
them by Iturbide, they proved themselves the better soldiers, and were
almost universally successful, whatever the odds against them. The
cruelties, barbarous massacres, and wholesale slaughters which have
marked many of their struggles amongst themselves, have been rather due
to the character of their leaders than to any natural or innate bloody
disposition of the people themselves. Gen. Cabañas told me that he had
never any difficulty in restraining the passions of his men; and to the
credit of that officer be it said, that none of his victories have been
disgraced by those atrocities which have been, unfortunately, the rule,
rather than the exception, in Central America.
It was evening; the moon was shining brightly on the façade of the
principal church of Nacaome, bringing in relief the gaunt, old statues
of the saints which filled its various niches; the band was playing the
national air on the terrace in front, and the men, relieved from duty,
were reclining in groups around the plaza, and all appeared peaceful and
cheerful, when our horses were led to our door. President Lindo was
urgent that I should stay; but convinced that I could be of no further
service, and that our presence would materially incommode him, I
persisted in my purpose of departure. A party of lancers was deputed to
accompany us; and bidding our friends farewell, and “un buen exito” to
their campaign, we defiled through the silent streets, on our return. I
observed, however, as we rode along, that notwithstanding the apparent
favorable disposition of Guardiola, Gen. Cabañas had relinquished none
of his precautions. Treachery had been the vice from which he had
suffered most, and beneath which the Republic had fallen. We accordingly
found picquets stationed all about the town, and were more than once
startled by “quien vive?” from parties concealed in the chaparral which
bordered our road.
I halted, for a moment, at the hacienda where we had stopped in the
morning, and experienced a real delight in relieving the proprietor of a
part of the anxiety and suspense under which he was laboring. His
daughter pressed my hand thankfully when I left; her heart was too full
for utterance, but her face expressed more plainly than words the
strength of that filial feeling which finds its highest pleasure in the
solace of a parent’s cares.
The heat, excitement, and exertion of the day had greatly fatigued us;
and as we trotted slowly over the plain, which I have already described,
I was overcome with an insurmountable drowsiness, and falling asleep,
actually rode, in that state for nearly its whole length. I was only
awakened by a sharp blow on my head, from an overhanging limb of a tree,
just as we entered the thickly wooded valley of the river. Half an hour
more brought us to our bongo, which, though far from affording luxurious
accommodations, was yet, just now, a most welcome retreat. I lost no
time in creeping under the chopa, and in five minutes was wrapped in
deep and dreamless slumber.
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[Illustration: LA UNION AND VOLCANO OF CONCHAGUA.]
[Illustration: CHURCH OF LA UNION.]