Jalapa.

If there is any place in Mexico where the sun shines upon a richer vegetation than that in the valley of Jalapa, there is certainly no part of the country that enjoys a moister atmosphere. A dense, compact mass of light gray vapors always stretches from the summit of the Cofre de Perote to the very verge of the horizon. From this dark canopy, which is always charged with moisture, a fine drizzling rain falls, cloudlets of mist roll along the roofs of the houses, the streets are deserted, and Jalapa suffers dreadfully during the greater part of the year for the magnificence of its perpetual verdure; but the sun has no sooner torn aside this cloudy veil, and the deep blue of the heavens and that of the hills has become blended into one, than Jalapa becomes the enchanting town which at a distance it promises to be. The steep streets, which have now put on a very lively appearance, present at every step some charm which is ever varying. The eye is arrested sometimes by the blue and red painted houses which peep out from clumps of guava-trees, of liquidambars and palms—sometimes by the mountains which overhang the town—by the rocks which are completely hidden by a drapery of convolvuli—by the thousand streams which burst from their sides—and by the paths which are soon lost to view between a double hedge of daturas, honey-suckles, and jasmines.

When evening has come a shade falls upon the landscape, but the veil is so transparent that it softens its contour without effacing it. Even the night at Jalapa is quite as beautiful as the day. It is then that life begins to stir in the town. The ground-floor is, in all houses in hot countries, the place of rendezvous for the family and friends. It is in the evening at Jalapa, and at several other towns in Mexico, that the stranger can obtain the best insight into the domestic life and manners of the inhabitants. Every open window then sends forth a welcome ray of light into the dark and silent street, and the traveler can not but hear the joyous merriment that is going on within. In the warm nights of this beautiful climate the stranger can thus share in these fÊtes every evening; he can see the JalapeÑas[47] display their charming vivacity without affectation, from the first moment that the fÊte commences till the flowers in their head-dresses wither, the harp ceases to be heard, and the windows are closed behind their iron bars.

It is always with regret that you leave this charming, warm valley, whether you are going to Mexico through the icy fogs of the frigid zone, or to Vera Cruz through the stifling and unbearable heat of the country between Jalapa and that city. I had deferred my departure from day to day, and two weeks had almost rolled away like a dream since that evening when, permitting the silver convoy to go on in advance after the death of Don Blas, I had entered Jalapa alone. My pecuniary resources were almost exhausted, and I was obliged to set out, taking with me my servant Cecilio and another traveling companion, a young spaniel bitch, answering to the name of Love, an appellation which Cecilio had transferred into a Spanish name with quite a different signification, Lova (she wolf). This dog followed me in all my wanderings; and my horse Storm, who had contracted an affection for her, never galloped with greater animation than when he felt her bounding between his legs or fawning upon his chest.

We soon left behind us the fertile hills of Jalapa, its orange groves and daturas, its plains dotted with bananas and guava-trees, and arrived at Lencero. This name was given to the place by one of Cortez's soldiers who had set up a venta there. In that quarter are still to be found some of these huts called jacales.[48] Lencero offers likewise an additional interest to the curious traveler. Near the hamlet, upon the top of a hill, from which, in a clear day, the serrated tops of the Cordillera and a distant view of the ocean can be easily obtained, rises a little house with red stained walls, ornamented with a modest veranda, and surmounted by a mirador (belvedere) of glass. This agreeable retreat is the country house of General Santa Anna.

At some distance from Lencero our road passed through the gorges of Cerro-Gordo, and a dull roar, like the sea-waves breaking on a rocky beach, warned us of our approach to the River Antigua. Seven arches, thrown with great boldness over a deep ravine, at the bottom of which the river flows; the blasted rocks and the filled-up abysses, still attest the ancient grandeur of the old masters of Mexico. This bridge is now called the Puente Nacional.[49]

Vera Cruz is only about forty miles from the Puente Nacional; but since our departure from Jalapa, the heat had become gradually overpowering. Storm snuffed up with delight the burning wind which imbrowned the grass; it reminded him of the hot breezes of the savannas. It was the first time for five years that he had bathed in the rays of a sun similar to that of his distant querencia, and his joy was manifested by his wild neighing. Love, on the contrary, her tongue lolling out, and her chest heaving, sought in vain for some drops of dew in the midst of a vegetation parched and withered by the heat of such a sun.

Fatigued by a ride which had lasted longer than I had anticipated, I pulled up for an instant. I had not intended that my halt should be long, as I wished to reach Vera Cruz that evening, leaving my servant to follow next morning if his horse could not keep up with mine; but Fate had decreed otherwise. Cecilio, who had lagged behind, came up at the very moment I was going to start. The sweat was rolling in beaded drops from his burning brow, and his face, ordinarily so calm and placid, wore an appearance of extreme uneasiness. He shuffled up alongside of me. I was doubly surprised. It was the first time that he had ever shown himself wanting in respect, and the effort he now made to keep his horse close to mine was quite without precedent.

"SeÑor," said Cecilio to me, "if the accounts I have picked up on the road are to be relied on, we have entered the district in which yellow fever is so rife, and I must say that I have strong fears for my personal safety, and, with your lordship's permission, will go no farther."

"Very true," said I, "the yellow fever has haunts peculiar to itself; it is, besides, very partial to stout, healthy people like you; but never mind; you know the road from here to Mexico, and you may consider the horse on which you are at present mounted your own, in lieu of the money I owe you."

Unfortunately, there was a question of wages between the valet and his master which the gift of a foundered horse, fit only for the knackers, could scarcely cover. The former hinted delicately at the difficulty, and wished to be paid on the spot. I had then recourse to an argument which I thought would leave him without any reply.

"You know why I left Jalapa so soon. Now, as there are no commercial houses in these deserts that will accept a bill of mine upon Vera Cruz, you must have patience till we get there."

Cecilio made no reply; but his attitude proved that he did not consider himself beaten. In fact, after riding in silence for about half an hour, he came again to the charge.

"If your lordship would take me to Europe with you," he said, "I should not care about running my chance of the yellow fever. He who runs no risk will never cross the sea, as the proverb says."

I reminded Cecilio that such a voyage was very expensive, and that among those foreigners who had emigrated to Mexico there were very few millionaires, and that the greater part generally went away as poor as they came. "Although," I added, "such men may be looked upon as of consequence here, when they arrive in their own country they are not treated with a like consideration."

This stopped his mouth, and he again lapsed into his former taciturnity. We continued our journey, but he still hung obstinately on my heels. All at once he uttered a cry of joy.

"What is the matter?" I asked.

"I have hit upon a capital way of settling the business."

"Ah! let me hear it."

"I propose to your lordship," he replied, gravely, "to stake your horse Storm against the wages which are due me. As it is impossible for you to pay me here, and you see that I am unalterably resolved to go no farther, your lordship can not refuse to assent to my proposition. If your lordship win, we shall be quits, and I shall then have only the honor of having served you for nothing. If your lordship lose, I shall have the chestnut horse and the favor of God."

At first I was on the point of rejecting with indignation a proposition so extraordinary, but the very idea seemed so extravagant that I laughingly accepted it. We alighted. According to a habit common enough in Mexico, Cecilio never stirred abroad without being provided with a pack of cards; and master and valet sat down, face to face, beneath a clump of trees on the off side of the road. Love stretched herself panting on the sand, while Storm, impatient of delay, pawed the ground with his hoof. At sight of the noble animal, that perhaps, in a short time, would cease to belong to me, I could not help regretting my rashness for an instant, but I had gone too far to recede. Cecilio passed me the cards.

"Your lordship will honor me by dealing them," said he, with redoubled gravity.

I shuddered, and took the pack with a hand not at all steady. Not to prolong my absurd position, I determined that the game be decided in three alburs.[50] Five minutes would then settle the question. I put down two cards from the pack. Cecilio chose one, I took the other; then, after laying down half a dozen cards in succession, I won the first albur. Not a frown crossed Cecilio's face; and, for my part, I thought that fortune was going to befriend me for once in my life, but I lost the second throw. The third albur remained, which would decide the affair.

While thus engaged, we had not perceived two horsemen who were advancing toward us. I did not see them, for my part, till they were almost at my side. The sound of their voices caused me to raise my head, and at a single glance I saw in one of the new-comers a perfect specimen of the Jarocho.[51] He wore in all its purity the peculiar costume of this class of men, a straw hat with a broad brim turned up behind, a fine linen shirt with cambric frills, without any vest above it, a pair of blue cotton velvet breeches open at the knee, and falling in a point to the middle of his leg. In a belt of Chinese crape of a scarlet color hung a straight sword (machete), without guard or sheath, the sharp and glittering blade of which sparkled in the sun. His feet, which were bare, were held in the wooden stirrup only by the tips of his toes. This Jarocho, his head inclined indolently upon one shoulder, sat his horse in the attitude peculiar to people of his caste, whose easy manner and unconstrained demeanor suited him to perfection. His complexion partook equally of the darkness of the negro and the copper color of the Indian. It was a more difficult matter to define precisely what the other cavalier was, who was habited in an Indian robe, blue pantaloons, and bottines of Cordovan leather, while a rich hat of Jipijapa straw[52] sheltered him from the rays of the sun. His face, with a slight tinge of sternness in it, might have become equally well a merchant, a horse-dealer, or a highwayman, and the easy-going horse that he bestrode seemed to suit equally all three suppositions.

Two gamesters at play, wherever they may be, are always an agreeable sight for Mexicans of all classes, and, to my great annoyance, the two horsemen stopped short to look at us. I sat quite motionless with the cards in my hand, and was much confused at being surprised at an occupation so contrary to my habits. As no stake was visible, however, I flattered myself that I would be able to keep up appearances so far as to make them believe that it was only the most innocent pastime; but I had to do with men who are acute judges of human character.

"Might I ask if this beautiful horse is the stake?" asked the horseman in the Indian robe, saluting me, and accompanying his request with a piercing look.

"Exactly so," I answered.

"In that case you are playing high, seÑor," replied the cavalier; "and if, as I fancy, the horse is your own, I wish Fortune may be propitious to you; but would you not like any body to help you with their advice?"

"I prefer finishing the game as I commenced it. I have always remarked that I have more luck when there is no one by."

The cavalier was too much of a gamester himself not to see at once the full force of my scruples, and, turning to his companion, said, "'Tis as well as it is. Time presses. We must part here, although, if I have time, you may trust on my rejoining you at the fandango of Manantial; still, to speak truth, if certain infallible signs do not deceive me, the north wind will not be long in beginning to blow."

"To-morrow, then, if it is possible," answered the Jarocho; and the two cavaliers separated, the first following the direct road, while the horseman in the Indian robe took a path on the left.

"What the devil has the north wind to do with a fandango in a little village?" I asked, mechanically, of my valet.

"The cavalier in the Indian robe is perhaps afraid of catching cold," said Cecilio, with an affected air.

After this absurd explanation, we again began the game which had been so unexpectedly interrupted. I once more drew two cards out of the pack. One was the sota de bastos (knave of clubs). Cecilio chose it. I shuffled the cards this time with a trembling hand. My heart beat. Perhaps I was going to lose the daily companion of five long years. Cecilio wiped away the sweat which ran in streams down his forehead. Suddenly he uttered a cry which pierced to my innermost core. I was just turning up the knave of hearts.

"You have lost, sir!" cried he.

At these words, spoken in good French, I regarded Cecilio with mute surprise. He, meanwhile, stepping up proudly to my horse, put his foot in the stirrup, and was going to spring upon Storm's back.

"Stop!" I cried; "the saddle does not go with the animal." I then ordered him to take the saddle off, and to put it on the back of the other horse. Cecilio executed this order, which would probably be the last he would ever receive from his old master, with sufficient readiness and good will. This done, he mounted that horse which was no longer mine. I cursed my folly, but it was too late. A feeling of pride, however, kept me from showing the remorse I felt; and, to hide my chagrin, I asked Cecilio how he had managed to pick up so much French without my knowledge.

"I have not been behind the chair of your lordship," he replied, "especially when you dined with your countrymen, without acquiring some of the language; and as for making you acquainted with that fact, I was too wide awake. Your lordship, from that time, would have kept your secrets to yourself."

Cecilio was evidently like one of that class of valets who figure so largely in the picaresque romances of Spain. More than once he had reminded me of Ambrosio of Lamela in Gil Blas. His physiognomy had not deceived me. However, in spite of the impudence which he here manifested for the first time, he seemed, when the parting moment came, to suffer considerably. It was natural, in fact, to show some emotion when he was leaving a master who had used him kindly. Moved by this token of feeling on his part, I showed that I was not without some affection for him.

"Cecilio, my friend," I said, "the horse you have won from me would have been yours before many days had passed. Are you grieved because you have been the means of taking him from me?"

Cecilio squeezed out a tear.

"The truth is," said he, "I regret seeing your beautiful saddle on the back of such a sorry brute, and I am ashamed at the miserable appointments that the horse I have won is provided with. But, if your lordship is in the humor, would it suit you to play for the saddle and bridle?"

This was too much. Overcome by this last piece of ingratitude, "Take care," I cried, cocking a pistol, "that I do not take back a horse which you are not worthy to mount."

Cecilio made no other reply to this threat than by spurring his horse and whistling on the Spanish dog, which had looked upon this scene with a painful air of dumb anxiety. I whistled also. Thus forced to choose between two parties whom he had affectionately loved all his life, the poor animal hesitated. He ran up to Storm, and then came back to me with a most pitying expression in his face. The convulsive movements of his body betrayed his anguish, and showed the struggle that was going on within. His limbs shook for an instant; he then gave three convulsive howls, darted-from me, and was soon lost in the dust raised by his much-loved companion. I remained alone. My heart was in a storm of rage and grief, and I was even tempted to vent my ill-humor on the miserable hack that fortune had left me, but this weakness lasted only for a moment. I had learned, in the many crosses incident to a life of stirring adventure, the difficult virtue of resignation, and the different phases of this sentimental episode had been accompanied by circumstances so ludicrous that I finished by throwing myself on the grass and bursting into a violent fit of laughter.

CHAPTER II.

I arrive at Manantial.—Superstitions of the Jarochos.

The unfortunate occurrence recorded in the preceding chapter caused me to change my route. It was impossible for me to reach Vera Cruz that day, mounted as I was; so I resolved to pass the night at Manantial, a little village which I supposed to be not more than a mile off. I had thus some time before me, and I thought it could not be better employed than in taking a siesta under the shade of the trees, amid the green solitude in which I found myself. It was a spot in one of the most picturesque forests which cover almost the entire country between Puente Nacional and Vergara. Amid these matted thickets, narrow paths, cut by the hatchet, run in different directions, overshadowed by the almost impenetrable foliage of the trees, while a wall of luxuriant vegetation on each side bars every where the entrance of man, and almost that of the fallow deer. The long, pendent branches twist and interlace their tendrils with the boughs of the neighboring trees. The cocoa-nut-tree covers, with its large leaves, its necklace of green fruit; and the Bourbon palms stretch their branches, covered with shining foliage to the ground; the silk-cotton-tree shows its white flakes of cotton just bursting from the dark green pod. In the deep shade of these inhabitants of the forest the friar's cowl abounds with its polished chalice; and at the bottom, as well as the top of this green vault, the gobeas hang their little bell-flowers of variegated colors. Such is the aspect of these woods—an appearance, however, which assumes a different phase according to the hour of the day. At midday the rank vegetation droops under the scorching rays of the sun, from the palm, with its towering crest, to the lowly moss which covers the ground. A hot breeze at that time rushes through the thickets, and appears to arrest every where the progress of vegetation; wild beasts, birds, insects, and plants—all animated nature, in fact, seems to languish under this stifling heat; but when the sun's rays no longer gild the tree-tops, and the vapors rise slowly from the ground, to fall back again in dew, these forests and their denizens, once so silent, start again into life.

Overcome by the powerful influence of the sun, I fell fast asleep without any thought about my horse. The pettiest thief, indeed, would have been ashamed of such booty; and I was, besides, in a district where no stain of dishonesty rested on the character of the inhabitants. The sun was yet high in the horizon when I awoke, but a refreshing breeze was beginning to temper the sultry heat. High up amid the branches of the trees which sheltered me, the paroquets had begun their discordant noises, and their infernal melody was of such a kind as to annoy even the strongest nerves. I got impatient; and, hastily bestriding the wretched animal which supplied the place of my excellent Storm, set out on the beaten path that led to Manantial.

After riding slowly and painfully along for about half an hour, the shrill croaking of the paroquets always paining my ears, I perceived a horseman a little way in advance. This cavalier, attired exactly like one of those who had interrupted Cecilio and me at our game, seemed, like myself, to be quite out of humor. He rode, as all the Jarochos do, with his body inclined more to one side of the saddle than the other. His horse shuffled slowly along, and every now and then he held up his fist to the skies in all the fury of passion. Delighted that chance had sent me a companion in misfortune, I wished to offer him my hearty condolence, and succeeded in that design beyond my expectation. Scarcely had I managed, by dint of hard spurring, to make up to him, than a loud ringing laugh replaced the mental irritation in which I thought he had been indulging a minute before.

"May I ask if you are laughing at me?" I said, abruptly; for, in the bad humor I was in, this hilarity seemed quite out of place.

"At you? No, SeÑor Cavalier," answered the Jarocho. "But you will excuse me if, at sight of your horse, I bid adieu for a time to all customary politeness."

"My horse is in no worse condition than the andante[53] you are on," I replied, almost choking.

"You may think so; but that hack of yours is a mere bag of bones, and it is no small satisfaction to me to find one worse mounted than myself."

The horseman then began to laugh in such a merry, unconstrained fashion, that, tickled with the very absurdity of the thing, I could not help joining him, and we had a good hearty laugh together. The squabbling of the paroquets, struck with the unusual noise, ceased all of a sudden. They recommenced their ear-splitting cries, till at last I discharged a pistol at random among the foliage. To my great surprise, a bird fell at my feet.

"Did you take aim at it?" asked the astonished Jarocho.

"Of course," I replied, sharply; "and this will serve to show you that it is not altogether safe to jest with people you don't know."

At these words the Jarocho stopped his horse, and, straightening himself in his saddle, placed one hand upon his haunch, and pulled his straw hat over his eyes with the other. He then cried out, "Oigajte, Ñor deconocio.[54] I am of a caste and of a country where words are few, and whose actions are prompt. I did not mean to offend you; but if you seek a quarrel, I shall not flinch. In spite of the disparity of our weapons, I am not afraid to try which of us is the better man."

He hummed a tune, drew his sharp sword from the leathern belt which encircled his waist, and flourished it in the air. I likewise drew my sabre.

The idea of crossing swords, mounted as we were on such sorry jades, was so absurd, that we at last burst into a mutual roar of laughter, which ended the matter. I then hastened to explain to the Jarocho that I had no inimical feeling toward him. He held out his hand.

"I am glad you are satisfied," he replied, "for I should have been very sorry to have an enemy in one so brave as you appear to be, as at present I have a more serious quarrel on my hands."

We then rode along together quite amicably. To turn the conversation, recalling, besides, to my recollection the parting words of the two horsemen at the cross-road, I said, in a careless kind of a tone, "Isn't there to be a fandango at Manantial to-morrow?"

"There is, confound it! I promised Ña[55] Sacramenta a bow of red ribbons for the occasion, and there is not a bit to be had in all the neighborhood. At the very moment you joined me I was cursing my unlucky star. Probably you are yourself going to the fandango?"

"Well, I am; but chance alone brought me to think of it, for I had reckoned on sleeping to-night at Vera Cruz, had not an unfortunate occurrence come in the way."

"You will have no cause to regret it, I hope, for the crowd will be as thick as smoke. But where will you put up at Manantial? There is no inn in the place."

"With you, perhaps, since you appear to be so desirous to have me at the fÊte."

The Jarocho bowed in token of assent, and then began to give me an account of the numerous pleasures that awaited me on the morrow. Conversing thus, we reached Manantial. Night had come. A few scattered lights gleaming from among the green foliage announced our approach to the village. We soon reached a little clearing in the wood, dotted with cabins formed of wattled bamboo. This was Manantial. Some men and women, clad in the national costume, were dancing to the monotonous sound of a mandolin, while the mothers were rocking their infants to sleep in hammocks formed of strips of aloe bark. I soon learned the name of my new host.

"Ah! it's Calros,"[56] cried they, in a tone as if his arrival had long been looked for. He paid no attention to the greeting of his friends, who advanced to welcome him, but his eye roved about till it rested on the slender and graceful form of a young girl, whose pretty little feet were twinkling merrily in the dance. Her hair, black as ebony, was ornamented with a wreath[57] of suchil flowers, interspersed with fire-flies, whose pale bluish light encircled her forehead with a mysterious and fantastic halo. Draped in a white robe, whose waving folds were every moment blanched by the pale rays of the moon, Sacramenta, with her bare shoulders and variegated hair, looked like a fairy dancing by night in a glade of the forest, when all around is at rest.

The almost disdainful glance which she threw at him showed me at once the true state of affairs. The Jarocho waited till the dance was finished, and then advanced toward the girl. By the entreating tone of his voice, it was clear that he was excusing himself about the red ribbons he had promised her. I was too far off to hear his words, but the light which streamed from a neighboring cottage showed me the full expression of her features. It was evident that all Calros's rhetoric had been useless, and he remounted, but with a saddened, irritated air. Sacramenta, in shaking her head to a remark of his, allowed one of the suchil flowers to fall from her chaplet. The Jarocho regarded it for some time with an undecided air; and she, marking his hesitation, and while pressing the wreath on her forehead, in a fit of coquetry, raised the flower on the tip of her tiny foot, and presented it to him. The cloudy countenance of the Jarocho was now lit up with joy; he seized the flower eagerly, spurred his horse, and was soon lost in the darkness.

It was quite clear that he had completely forgotten me, but it was as clear that I had no intention of taking up my quarters for the night in the forest.

"Halloo! SeÑor Don Calros," I shouted after him, "you have left me behind."

"Pardon me, SeÑor Cavalier," cried he, pulling up; "but there are times when I am hardly master of myself."

"I am convinced of that," I said; "and it is certainly no indiscretion in you to forget a stranger whom you met by the merest chance."

"In my country the stranger is at home every where; but you shall not have my hospitality for nothing, for you must pay me either by doing me a particular piece of service, or assisting me with your advice."

"With pleasure," I answered, "if it is in my power."

The dwelling of the Jarocho, called a jacal, was situated at the other end of the village. A small inclosure, in which a few goats were penned, was attached to it. The cabin was divided into three apartments by reed partitions. In one of these, the mother of the Jarocho was preparing the evening meal over a fire whose reddish glow lighted up the whole jacal. The repast consisted of rice boiled in milk, fried bananas, and red haricots from the Tierra Caliente, which enjoy a proverbial celebrity in Mexico. When supper was ended the old woman left the room, wishing me a pleasant sleep.

The distant thrumming of guitars apprised us that the company we had left were still keeping up their merriment. The voice of the Jarocho awoke me from the reverie in which I had been indulging.

"Do you see," said he to me, as we were lying at the door of the cabin, "that fleecy mist which dulls the light of the stars? These are the vapors which, at the end of every hot day, arise from the lakes, brooks, and waterfalls. Do you think it possible that, at the command of a mortal like ourselves, this shadowy impalpable fog should assume the form of a friend who has been lost, or an enemy that has been murdered?"

"I doubt that much," I replied, astonished at this preamble; "I fancied that these superstitious notions were peculiar only to northern climes."

"Here," said Calros, in a solemn tone, "ghosts haunt not the abodes of the living; they love to flit about in the woods, and to frisk among the leaves and flowers. But you smile. Let us talk of something else. Did you see Ña Sacramenta this evening?"

"The pretty girl with the wreath of cucuyos and the suchil chaplet?"

"The same. She is very beautiful, is she not? Six months ago, at a fandango in the neighborhood, a quarrel arose on her account, which was followed by the death of a man. The victim was a relation of mine; and, according to universal custom, it became my duty to avenge his death. I had, besides, an additional inducement in seeking the murderer; he adored Sacramenta, and every one who loves her is my sworn enemy. Twenty times have I persuaded myself into a belief that Sacramenta loved me, and twenty times have I been forced to confess to myself that I was deceived. I feel that I love Sacramenta more than my life—than my honor, perhaps—else I should have been on the murderer's traces long ago; and yet this evening I have even ventured to hope."

"Yes, a mere suchil flower may sometimes work miracles," said I, interrupting him.

"What!" cried Jarocho, "have you the gift of seeing what no one else has seen?"

"I only observed what every body else might have seen, had they chose; but when a man receives a flower from the hand of a girl he loves, he needn't, I think, despair."

"Thank Heaven!" cried the Jarocho, cheerfully. "Yet," he added, with a sigh, "this is not the first token I have had from her; to-morrow the illusions of this night may be dispelled. Ever since Ña Sacramenta came to live at Manantial I have suffered the utmost tortures of anxiety, and yet vengeance has not been done on my cousin's murderer. I have tried to forget that duty; unluckily, there are others who do not. The dead man's mother reminds me every day of the charge which has devolved upon me. Eight days ago I met the old woman. I wished to avoid her, but it was impossible. She is looked upon as a sort of witch by the people around. On passing me she cried out, 'The dead have better memories than the living.' I asked her what she meant, although I knew full well. 'You will see him to-night,' she replied. In truth, that very evening," Calros continued, in an altered voice, "I was seated at the same place where we now are, SeÑor Cavalier; the door was open, and my thoughts were engaged about nothing in particular. I was only listening to the voices in the trees and on the wind; a pale white mist was creeping up to the sky, as it is doing now. All at once a cloud came between my eyes and the stars; it took a human form, and the dead man was before me! I saw him distinctly, right in front of me. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them he was gone. You will now understand why I asked you, seÑor, who, as a European, must be a learned man, if mortals like ourselves can raise the dead."

These superstitious notions are not at all prevalent in Mexico, and the Jarochos seem to have a complete monopoly of them. I gently hinted that all this was nothing but the result of a diseased imagination.

"I know well," said he, "that the ghost of my deceased relative has not been raised by any human power, but I believe that God himself has sent it to me. I have taken my resolution. I shall not stay in the village a day after to-morrow, although I leave it with a broken heart."

"But is there no way of reconciling your duty with your love?"

"That can only be done by delegating my powers to a devoted friend. A guest makes a part of the family; and in this quality, seÑor, you might take my place and seek the murderer, who would not hesitate to give you satisfaction."

"That would be too glorious a mission for me, and I fear I should not be successful in the search," I said, modestly; "but I have no objections to accompany you, and aid you in your task."

"That is an offer which I will not refuse," Calros answered. "We shall then set out the day after to-morrow."

This delicate point settled to our mutual satisfaction, we stretched ourselves under a shed which served as a sort of veranda to the cabin. A gentle breeze was beginning to dissipate the heat of the day. The lizards were silent in the grass; and in the savannas, the wild cattle, by their joyful lowing, testified to the grateful freshness of the night. Lulled by the soft murmur of the twittering leaves, I soon fell asleep.

CHAPTER III.

The FÊte of Manantial.—The Combat.

The name of Jarochos is given to those peasants who live on the sea-board round Vera Cruz. Their costume bears no resemblance whatever to that of the people around them. The inhabitants of Andalusia wear a dress very similar to theirs, and it is the general opinion, from their manners and character, that they are the descendants of the Gitanos of that Spanish province. Their dialect is, like their attire, strange and singular. It abounds in words of the purest Castilian, interspersed with local terms disfigured by a vicious pronunciation, and can not be understood, even by those who know Spanish, without diligent and careful study. They are impatient of restraint, and, consequently, ill fitted for acting as soldiers or sailors, although well versed in the use of arms, and not unacquainted with the dangers of the sea. It is their love of independence which causes them to prefer the wandering life of the herdsman and the horse-dealer, and the machete plays no unimportant part in all their difficulties. The Jarocho would rather want the most indispensable part of his dress than be deprived of the long, sharp, glittering blade which he wears in his belt. This sabre is more generally in the hand of the Jarocho than at his side. A small point of honor, or the most futile remark, has often been the means of bringing on the most bloody and long-continued series of combats. They are possessed, however, of some rare qualities, which atone for their defects. The Jarocho is temperate, frank, loyal, and hospitable to the whites (by this term he means the higher classes); he looks upon theft with horror; he loves the place of his birth. A stranger to every desire for wealth, he lives contented with a little in the midst of a fertile country where three harvests a year cover the ground, which is sown but not tilled. The inhabitants of the country round Vera Cruz are in general robust and well made. They are strong and muscular; and nature has thrown round their persons an air of elegance in exact harmony with the devotion the Jarocho pays to three things: his horse, his sword, and his mistress.

Seven years before my arrival in Mexico, I once had an opportunity of meeting with one of this singular race; but, from want of familiarity with Spanish, I could not well understand his peculiar dialect.

As soon as I awoke in the morning, I was reminded, by the handsome and elegant dress of my host, that it was the fÊte-day of Manantial. A twisted fringe, strung with Venetian pearls, and studded at regular distances with little mirrors, ran round his hat; his shirt, of the finest linen, was embroidered in the most beautiful manner; the buttons of his velvet calzonera at his girdle were made of solid piastres, and those which ran down his legs of reals and half reals. On his feet were half-boots of Cordovan leather. His cortante,[58] polished to the highest degree of brilliancy, hung suspended from his girdle of scarlet silk, and two bows of the same color adorned its hilt. Set out thus to the best advantage, the Jarocho had an air of refinement about him which augured well for his success.

In spite of a degree of satisfaction which shone upon his countenance, Calros could not help twirling the end of his mustache with an anxious expression. His joy seemed to be mixed with an alloy of bitterness. I asked him the cause of it.

"Ah! if you could only free me of my vow of vengeance, I should be relieved of a charge which will embitter, I fear, all my pleasures."

"What! will your oath keep you from drinking, singing, and playing?"

"No, but it will hinder me from knocking a fellow down; and what is a fandango without some little quarrel to enliven it? No matter; one can not have all one's pleasures at once. I shall sing louder, play more, and drink as much as will soothe me for the disappointment."

I doubted much the calming efficacy of Catalonian brandy, but I affected to believe fully in the power of the remedy.

Manantial, like the Jarocho, had put on its holiday garb for the occasion. An unusual stir was visible in the village. At the doors of the cabins, women, arrayed in abundance of muslin and lace, appeared from time to time, decked with gold and coral ornaments, so dear to the swarthy beauties of Southern countries. In a glade, an estrade had been erected for the accommodation of the dancers; little shops had been improvised for the supply of water, tepache, and Catalonian brandy; gambling-tables had been set up. In a few hours the Jarochos from the surrounding villages would come pouring in. The sun was shining full upon the spot in all its dazzling brilliancy. The shadow cast by the palm-trees, already a little off the perpendicular, showed that it was two hours past noon. Crowds of horsemen now began to arrive, who, after alighting, tied their foaming steeds to the trunks of the trees or the pillars of the houses. Horses and men were soon mingled together in strange confusion; the cries of the men, the neighing of the steeds, and the tuning of guitars, were now heard on all sides. Circles were speedily formed round the gambling-tables, the ventorillos,[59] or the estrade reserved for the female dancers. Here I stationed myself.

The estrade, on which female dancers were alone to figure, was elevated a few inches above the ground. According to a singular custom prevailing in all the villages round Vera Cruz, the men on this occasion are mere spectators of the women's performances. A Jarocho squatted himself down on the ground close to the estrade, and commenced strumming his mandolin. Eight or ten girls answered to his call, and began to dance. I could not help admiring the graceful dexterity with which many of them carried a glass of water on their heads without spilling a drop, dancing, too, all the while with the greatest vigor; or the agility with which they untied, without using their hands, the silk bows attached to their shoes,[60] When this dance, very coldly applauded, was finished, the guitar struck up a new tune, that of the dance called petenera.

This time the estrade was quite full, and among the women who advanced to take a part in this measure I recognized, by her graceful mien and dazzling beauty, DoÑa Sacramenta, whom my host called, in his flowery language, his dearly-beloved angel on earth. She was attired in a beautiful dress of transparent muslin. Her rounded arms were adorned in the upper part by the embroidery and lace of her cambric chemise, the rest remained bare. The contour of her fair shoulders was masked, but not entirely concealed, by a gorget of lace very like Arlesian. She wore shoes of the most beautiful satin, and a tress of her magnificent black hair was wound round a tortoise-shell comb mounted with massy gold. Her eyelids, cast down under the fiery glances that were shot from all sides at her, allowed one to see the long silken lashes with which they were fringed. She was not now the calm beauty that I had admired the evening before in the moonlight, but an impassioned daughter of the tropics in all her brilliancy.

The excitement among the spectators, increased by their frequent libations, became greater and greater every minute, but another and a more intense interest was soon awakened in the minds of the crowd.

"Ah!" cried a Jarocho at my side, whose hair was beginning to turn gray, "at the last fandango held at Malibran,[61] Quilimaco lost one of his ears, and Juan de Dios the point of his nose, in a quarrel that arose about a beauty who was not worth a lock of hair compared with that girl there."

"Have patience, tio,"[62] answered another; "the beautiful Sacramenta has more than one aspirant in this village, and I venture to predict that, before nightfall, she will have danced the machete and chamarra for two at least among us."

I did not understand what they meant, but the events that followed soon explained it. Two groups had by this time formed round the estrade occupied by the dancers. In the first, a Jarocho, as richly dressed as Calros, seemed to exercise a marked ascendency. In the second, my host appeared to be the head of another party. Animated by the hope of some quarrel arising between the two factions, the musicians strummed their guitars with redoubled ardor, and a fearful discord filled the air. Just when the dancers were beginning to put themselves in motion, some singers chanted, in a nasal tone of voice, a couplet whose words bore no relation whatever to the present circumstances, and which consisted of a series of proverbs put in verse, almost devoid of meaning, but strongly tinged with obscene allusions. I was then standing near my host, whose eye was following with a jealous attention the least movement of Sacramenta, but she did not deign to bestow upon him the slightest glance.

"You see my hard fate," said he to me, in a low voice; "in high hope one day, in despair the next. We shall set out to-morrow."

These last words betrayed such poignant grief that I could not help cursing in my heart that pitiless coquetry which could wound the feelings of so ardent a lover.

"Ah!" he resumed, "she has not yet forgiven me for that confounded bow of red ribbons which I was unable to procure for her."

At this moment his rival advanced to the estrade, and uncovering, presented his hat to Sacramenta with a very gallant air. She received it with a smile, without interrupting for a moment the evolutions in which she was engaged. Calros's face appeared quite impassible, and he contented himself with making an almost imperceptible gesture to one of his partisans. This person then advanced in his turn and did the same. Custom demanded that, in a case like this, the maiden should show preference to neither; she therefore continued to dance with the two hats in her hand. The advantage of seeing his hat placed upon the head of the dancer would by right belong to the third gallant; and, as I expected, Calros was the one who profited by this usage. The two rivals then exchanged looks of mutual defiance, while the first, untying his sash of China crape, formed it into a rosette, and stepped forward to suspend it to the bare shoulder of Sacramenta.

The guitars, now struck with the greatest vigor, made almost as much noise as a band of trumpeters, and the voices of the singers increased in proportion. The men were exchanging looks of evident satisfaction, but the women were chattering among themselves, evidently envying the homage paid to Sacramenta. This young girl kept her feet in motion; her complexion was heightened by a reddish glow, which lent an additional charm to her radiant black eyes. A vague apprehension, however, seemed to agitate her bosom. At once happy and miserable, she dared not turn her eyes upon him whose heart yearned for her with such true affection. In spite, also, of Calros's apparent calm, the involuntary working of the muscles of his face disclosed the torture he was suffering.

"Courage!" said I to him, in a whisper; "have you not on your heart the suchil flower?"

Calros raised his head, as if the remembrance of that had restored all his confidence. He seized his machete, and went to suspend it at Sacramenta's shoulder. I then understood the meaning of the prediction that I had heard some time before. Sacramenta danced with the machete and chamarra of two of her suitors. It was a singular sight to see a long, sharp, glittering blade dangling from the nude shoulder of the young girl, in such close proximity to her heaving bosom.

A sudden silence now fell upon the crowd, similar to what sometimes takes place at a bull-fight when the arena has received its first stains of blood. All at once a loud and imposing male voice near the orchestra exclaimed "Bomba!" The instruments ceased to sound, and the song died away. The voice was that of Calros's rival, who now chanted a couplet expressive of his confidence in his mistress's tenderness, while the friends of the Jarocho repeated the last line in chorus. Calros then answered in a high key by saying that he would not have a divided heart, and that his rival was a traitor.

The Jarocho replied in another recitative, by inquiring if he had spirit sufficient to meet him in fair combat. Calros then, with a smile upon his face, expressed his willingness to meet this traitor, this vagabond, this false friend.

Whether Sacramenta was weary of the dance, or overcome by the general emotion which was manifested when this last couplet was chanted, I know not, but she stepped hastily from the estrade, and her companions followed her. Instructed by past experience not to wait for the commencement of the melee, as their instruments generally suffer in the fray, the musicians hurriedly retired. Some customary pieces of ceremony were still, however, to be gone through; the suitors must redeem the pledges given to the dancer. The customary fee for these is half a real each. The two rivals advanced, one after the other, and filled both hands of Sacramenta with silver coin. While she was receiving the forfeits, in the midst of murmurs of applause excited by the prodigality of the two Jarochos, and which she could not refuse without being guilty of rudeness, her two little outstretched hands trembled involuntarily, and her pale lips tried, but in vain, to smile. Calros fruitlessly sought a look of encouragement from her. Pale and mute, and evidently laboring under an emotion too powerful for concealment, she kept her eyes fixed upon the ground. The machete would decide the question; and the pleasures of the fÊte were going to be wound up by my host in spite of his sage resolutions, when an old woman, elbowing her way through the crowd, reminded him of the oath he was about to violate. She was the mother of his dead relative.

"It is a shame, Ñor Don Calros," cried the beldame, "to take a new quarrel upon you when your cousin's death has not yet been avenged."

The Jarocho was evidently taken aback at this unseasonable interruption, and he made all the efforts he could to induce the old woman to retract what she had said, but to all his reasons she had one unvarying reply.

"Well, Ña Josefita," said Calros at last, good-humoredly, "you are making a great work about nothing, and are mistrusting my good intention; for, if I fight this man, am I not keeping my hand in exercise?"

"And should you happen to be run through the body, who will then avenge my son?"

"You are right there," replied Calros, thrown off his guard by this argument; "but that's just the way: the women are always mixing themselves up in business that does not concern them. Any one may now take my place," he continued, with an ill-natured air, "if my adversary consent."

His rival bowed, and, poising his hat jauntily over his right ear, placed at the same time his hand upon the hilt of his machete, and with his right leg thrown slightly in advance, exclaimed, with an air of haughty condescension, "What do I mean by all this? Will the good folks of Manantial allow it to be said that they suffered their fandango to be terminated without bestowing the customary honors upon their visitors? Now," he continued, his eyes winking with increased rapidity, "if I can not knock a man down for the sweet eyes of Ña Sacramenta, I shall forfeit to any one who draws the first blood a bottle of Catalonian brandy."

Loud shouts of applause interrupted the orator, who, raising his head with an air of assurance, thus went on: "I must say, however, that, having expended my last real not an hour ago, I can not pay and must conquer. Will any one here fight me on these conditions?"

This ridiculous fanfaronade, quite in the spirit of a Jarocho, was welcomed enthusiastically by the by-standers. As for the speaker, looking upon Calros, who was biting his thumbs, he cried impudently, "Come, now, Don Calros, you have no lack of friends to take your place."

But the enthusiasm of the crowd had died away. The prospect of paying the forfeit in one's own person, and out of one's own purse, did not appear to be welcomed by any of the on-lookers, and I was not without some apprehension that Calros would revert to his former idea by asking me to become his substitute. Happily, an unexpected incident occurred which saved the honor of the villagers of Manantial.

By the same road that I had reached the village the evening before, a horseman was descried galloping along at his utmost speed. All eyes were turned upon the new-comer, who appeared to be a stranger, and whom I recognized as one of the horsemen who had interrupted my game with Cecilio. The unknown alighted, and, without saying a word, tied his horse to one of the wooden pillars of a house; then, still silent, he stepped to the estrade, drew his machete, at whose hilt fluttered a bow of red ribbons, with its point traced a circle in the sand, and then stuck his sword in the centre.

A dead silence welcomed this strange visitant. The sword stuck in the ground seemed to me to convey a defiance to all the village. The antagonist desired by the rival of Calros appeared to have stepped in at the proper time. The general gaze was now directed to the former boaster, but he evidently did not feel inclined to take up this unlooked-for challenge. The stranger, who looked like one of those Paladins on whom a vow of silence has been imposed, advanced as haughtily as he had come to one of the ventorillos, called for a glass of brandy, and raised it to his mouth; but, with the air of a man who disdains to assist his courage by artificial stimulants, instead of drinking it, he tossed the liquor over his shoulder. He then cast upon all the by-standers a proud glance of defiance.

All the villagers viewed the unknown with admiration, but none seemed so impatient to measure their strength with this brilliant champion as Calros. If the reader remember, he was not in favor with Sacramenta, owing to the affair of the bow of red ribbons. Now at the hilt of the stranger's sword hung a bow of ribbons of the very color she wanted.

"Viva!" he whispered to me; "the old woman may go to the devil; Sacramenta shall have her ribbons."

He then went and planted his sword beside that of the unknown. The challenge was accepted. The stranger courteously carried his hand to his hat, and, having considered his adversary for a moment, cast a rapid look among the group of females, as if singling out some one on whom to bestow the homage of his valor. He was not long in discovering the beautiful Sacramenta, and, stepping toward her, exclaimed, with admirable self-possession, "The fandangoes of Medellin have lost all their attraction since Ña Sacramenta is no longer there to enliven them with her presence. May I flatter myself that she has not forgotten them, and one of her most fervent apasionados?"

The young woman was going to reply, when Calros, whose jealousy was ever awake, approached the unknown, and said, "Pardon me, SeÑor Cavalier, but I have a particular liking for red ribbons. Will you surrender those that adorn your machete as forfeit for the first blood drawn?"

"With pleasure," answered the stranger. "I should hardly have ventured to offer them in homage to DoÑa Sacramenta; henceforth they shall have a certain value in my eyes, as being the price of blood shed for her."

After saying these words with a gracious smile, he uncovered himself, and plucked his sword out of the ground. Calros did so too. A polite altercation then took place between them as to who should be the first to place his hat on his head; but this was soon decided by bonneting at the same time. The most experienced of the spectators undertook the task of selecting a spot free from the sun's rays. This done, the combatants stood face to face, the villagers surrounded them, and they waited for the signal to begin. If the stranger was as skillful as he was brave, Calros would find in him a tough opponent, and the issue might probably be unsuccessful to this ardent lover of Sacramenta. The word was given, and the combat commenced. Their blows were so furiously put that it looked more like an encounter for life and death than a contest for the first blood.[63] Sometimes the swords cut the air with a mournful sough; sometimes they struck one another with a shrill clang. It was evident, however, that the stranger looked more to the honor of his antagonist than to his life. Now, in combats of this sort, the great point is to guard the hand. A wounded hand is the greatest stain upon the reputation of the most renowned swordsman. The loss of life even is not such a disgrace. Unluckily, the red ribbons, fluttering at the hilt of the unknown's sword, protected his hand more securely than even the best steel guard could have done. It was to deck the beautiful hair of Sacramenta that Calros was exposing his life; it was to guard these ribbons from stain that the Jarocho stood so grimly on his defense. In the course of the combat the swordsmen had now gone over a considerable space of ground. The tumultuous crowd wavered to and fro, and followed the two combatants as they were successively displaced. Neither had yet received a scratch, when the sword of the stranger, striking that of Calros, glided along the whole length of the blade. A moment after, my host's fingers being cut, he was just about to drop his machete, but a rude parry he made to save his arm failed, and the blood poured out from a wound above his wrist. At the same instant a bloody stain appeared upon the shoulder of the stranger. The two swords were lowered at once, and the combat was decided without it being possible for me to say which of the two had been first wounded; but the skilled and experienced eyes of the witnesses had decided that question. The unknown did not even appeal to their judgment; but, detaching the silk bow which adorned his machete, fixed the much-coveted ornament upon its point, and held it out to his adversary, thus confessing himself conquered. This last act of courtesy won him all hearts; and, in spite of his defeat, he partook with his rival in all the honors of victory. One thing only remained, which my host perhaps desired more. During the whole time the combat had lasted, a deadly paleness had overspread the countenance of Sacramenta, but that soon gave place to a more lively color when Calros advanced toward her. While she was receiving the precious ribbons which he had so valiantly fought for, the tumultuous heavings of her bosom, a sweet and radiant smile, and looks no more cast down to the ground, all proclaimed in the most eloquent manner to the happy Jarocho that his beloved attached as much value to the bow of scarlet ribbons as he had done to the withered suchil flower which had fallen from her hair the night before.

This last episode had passed unnoticed by almost every body. The men surrounded the stranger, who this time invited them to a ventorillo. Calros soon joined the company, and the two rivals began a contest of prodigality, to the great delight of all the villagers, who, as they swallowed the brandy in long draughts, congratulated themselves on having had such a brilliant fandango as would furnish matter for conversation for a week to come. For my part, after some words had passed between the former rivals, I was on the point of addressing the stranger, when the general attention was directed to a horseman who was seen advancing at full gallop. This cavalier was no other than the person with whom the unknown had agreed the evening before to meet at Manantial. When he saw the blood which stained his shirt, the new-comer cried, "Have you passed a pleasant time here, friend Julian?"

"Better than I could have expected, friend Ventura," answered the stranger.

"Well, did I not tell you what would happen?" said the horseman, pointing to the sky, which, having been covered with clouds for some time, now betokened a coming storm. "We shall have some hard work presently upon the beach. Will you accompany me?"

"Willingly," answered the unknown, sadly, "for I am afraid I have nothing to hope for here."

And, remounting his horse, after shaking every one by the hand, the two friends went off at a gallop. A general break-up then followed. The passage at arms between Calros and Julian had closed the fÊte in a worthy manner.

Who were Julian and Ventura? None of the Jarochos around me seemed to know them; but I intended to interrogate Calros about the strangers on the first opportunity. When night had come, and we were lying together under the veranda of my host's cabin, I was on the point of questioning him about the two mysterious individuals, when the light tread of a person walking over the dry grass interrupted me. It was the old woman Josefa. Carefully draped, in spite of the heat, in her rebozo, which allowed only her two sparkling dark eyes to be seen, the old woman presented a complete specimen of those sorceresses that are still to be found in Mexico among so many other remnants of the Middle Ages.

"I have been charged with a message for you," said she to Calros, "and from the lips of one dear to you, who will welcome you on your return, if you ever return alive. You will be told when to set out as soon as you are ready."

The Jarocho rose briskly, and followed the old woman. An hour afterward he returned. He knew that her most fervent wishes accompanied him in his perilous enterprise, and his brow was radiant with delight.

"It is, however, very hard to leave Sacramenta," he remarked, "but I have no longer a pretext for deferring my departure, and we shall set out to-morrow morning."

"So be it; but what road do you intend to take? Do you know to what place the murderer has fled?"

"We shall keep by the coast. Old Josefa assures me that the pilot Ventura will put me on his traces. He is at Bocca del Rio. Down there we shall certainly meet him."

When Calros named Ventura, I was desirous to satisfy my curiosity by asking who he was. I inquired if he knew this Ventura, and, above all, Julian, whose chivalrous conduct had singularly interested me; but, as I obtained nothing but vague replies, I was confirmed in my design of accompanying my entertainer to Bocca del Rio, where I hoped to meet the two friends.

Next morning we saddled our horses before dawn, and, as soon as it was daylight, quitted the village, which was still enveloped in its usual morning fog.

[58] Local name for a sword.