The Purple Land Read online

  CHAPTER II

  Several days passed, and my second pair of boots had been twice resoledbefore Dona Isidora's schemes for advancing my fortunes began to takeform. Perhaps she was beginning to think us a burden on her somewhatniggardly establishment; anyway, hearing that my preference was fora country life, she gave me a letter containing half a dozen lines ofcommendation addressed to the Mayordomo of a distant cattle-breedingestablishment, asking him to serve the writer by giving her _nephew_--asshe called me--employment of some kind on the _estancia_. Probably sheknew that this letter would really lead to nothing, and gave it merelyto get me away into the interior of the country, so as to keep Paquitafor an indefinite time to herself, for she had become extremely attachedto her beautiful niece. The _estancia_ was on the borders of thePaysandu department, and not less than two hundred miles fromMontevideo. It was a long journey, and I was advised not to attempt itwithout a _tropilla_, or troop of horses. But when a native tells youthat you cannot travel two hundred miles without a dozen horses, he onlymeans that you cannot do the distance in two days; for it is hard forhim to believe that one may be satisfied with less than one hundredmiles a day. I travelled on one horse, and it therefore took me severaldays to accomplish my journey. Before I reached my destination, calledEstancia de la Virgin de los Desamparados, I met with some adventuresworth relating, and began to feel as much at home with the _Orientales_as I had long been with the _Argentinos_.

  Fortunately, after I left the town, a west wind continued blowing allday, bringing with it many light, flying clouds to mitigate the sun, sothat I was able to cover a good number of leagues before the evening. Itook the road northwards through Camelones department, and was well oninto the Florida department when I put up for the night at the solitarymud _rancho_ of an old herdsman, who lived with his wife and children ina very primitive fashion. When I rode up to the house, several huge dogsrushed out to attack me: one seized my horse by the tail, draggingthe poor beast about this way and that, so that he staggered and couldscarcely keep his legs; another caught the bridle-reins in his mouth;while a third fixed his fangs in the heel of my boot. After eyeing mefor some moments, the grizzled old herdsman, who wore a knife a yardlong at his waist, advanced to the rescue. He shouted at the dogs,and finding that they would not obey, sprang forward and with a fewdexterous blows, dealt with his heavy whip-handle, sent them awayhowling with rage and pain. Then he welcomed me with great courtesy, andvery soon, when my horse had been unsaddled and turned loose to feed,we were sitting together enjoying the cool evening air and imbibing thebitter and refreshing _mate_ his wife served to us. While we conversedI noticed numberless fireflies flitting about; I had never seen them sonumerous before, and they made a very lovely show. Presently one of thechildren, a bright little fellow of seven or eight, came running to uswith one of the sparkling insects in his hand, and cried:

  "Look, _tatita_, I have caught a _linterna_. See how bright it is!"

  "The Saints forgive you, my child," said the father. "Go, little son,and put it back on the grass, for if you should hurt it, the spiritswould be angry with you, for they go about by night, and love the_linterna_ that keeps them company."

  What a pretty superstition, I thought; and what a mild, merciful heartthis old Oriental herdsman must possess to show so much tendernesstowards one of God's tiny creatures. I congratulated myself on my goodfortune in having fallen in with such a person in this lonely place.

  The dogs, after their rude behaviour to me and the sharp punishment theyhad suffered in consequence, had returned, and were now gathered aroundus, lying on the ground. Here I noticed, not for the first time, thatthe dogs belonging to these lonely places are not nearly so fond ofbeing noticed and caressed as are those of more populous and civiliseddistricts. On attempting to stroke one of these surly brutes on thehead, he displayed his teeth and growled savagely at me. Yet thisanimal, though so truculent in temper, and asking for no kindness fromhis master, is just as faithful to man as his better-mannered brother inthe more settled country. I spoke on that subject to my gentle herdsman.

  "What you say is true," he replied. "I remember once during the siegeof Montevideo, when I was with a small detachment sent to watch themovements of General Rivera's army, we one day overtook a man on atired horse. Our officer, suspecting him to be a spy, ordered him tobe killed, and, after cutting his throat, we left his body lying on theopen ground at a distance of about two hundred and fifty yards froma small stream of water. A dog was with him, and when we rode off wecalled it to follow us, but it would not stir from its dead master'sside.

  "Three days later we returned to the same spot, to find the corpse lyingjust where we had left it. The foxes and birds had not touched it, forthe dog was still there to defend it. Many vultures were near, waitingfor a chance to begin their feast. We alighted to refresh ourselvesat the stream, then stood there for half an hour watching the dog. Heseemed to be half-famished with thirst, and came towards the streamto drink; but before he got half-way to it the vultures, by twos andthrees, began to advance, when back he flew and chased them away,barking. After resting a few minutes beside the corpse, he came againtowards the stream, till, seeing the hungry birds advance once more,he again flew back at them, barking furiously and foaming at the mouth.This we saw repeated many times, and at last, when we left, we triedonce more to entice the dog to follow us, but he would not. Two daysafter that we had occasion to pass by that spot again, and there we sawthe dog lying dead beside his dead master."

  "Good God," I exclaimed, "how horrible must have been the feelings youand your companions experienced at such a sight!"

  "No, senor, not at all," replied the old man. "Why, senor, I myself putthe knife into that man's throat. For if a man did not grow accustomedto shed blood in this world, his life would be a burden to him."

  What an inhuman old murderer! I thought. Then I asked him whether he hadever in his life felt remorse for shedding blood.

  "Yes," he answered; "when I was a very young man, and had never beforedipped weapon in human blood; that was when the siege began. I was sentwith half a dozen men in pursuit of a clever spy, who had passed thelines with letters from the besieged. We came to a house where, ourofficer had been informed, he had been lying concealed. The master ofthe house was a young man about twenty-two years old. He would confessnothing. Finding him so stubborn, our officer became enraged, and badehim step out, and then ordered us to lance him. We galloped forty yardsoff, then wheeled back. He stood silent, his arms folded on his breast,a smile on his lips. Without a cry, without a groan, with that smilestill on his lips, he fell pierced through with our lances. For daysafterwards his face was ever present to me. I could not eat, for myfood choked me. When I raised a jug of water to my lips I could, senor,distinctly see his eyes looking at me from the water. When I lay down tosleep, his face was again before me, always with that smile that seemedto mock me on the lips. I could not understand it. They told me it wasremorse, and that it would soon leave me, for there is no ill that timewill not cure. They spoke truth, and when that feeling left me I wasable to do all things."

  The old man's story so sickened me that I had little appetite forsupper, and passed a bad night thinking, waking or sleeping, of thatyoung man in this obscure corner of the world who folded his armsand smiled on his slayers when they were slaying him. Very early nextmorning I bade my host good-bye, thanking him for his hospitality, anddevoutly hoping that I should never look upon his abhorred face again.

  I made little progress that day, the weather proving hot, and my horselazier than ever. After riding about five leagues, I rested for a coupleof hours, then proceeded again at a gentle trot till about the middleof the afternoon, when I dismounted at a wayside _pulperia_ or storeand public-house all in one, where several natives were sipping rum andconversing. Standing before them was a brisk-looking old man--old, Isay, because he had a dark, dry skin, though his hair and moustache wereblack as jet--who paused in the discourse he appeared to be delivering,to salute me; then, after
bestowing a searching glance on me out of hisdark, hawk-like eyes, he resumed his talk. After calling for rum andwater, to be in the fashion, I sat down on a bench, and, lightinga cigarette, prepared to listen. He was dressed in shabby gauchohabiliments--cotton shirt, short jacket, wide cotton drawers, and_chiripa_, a shawl-like garment fastened at the waist with a sash, andreaching down half-way between the knees and ankles. In place of a hathe wore a cotton handkerchief tied carelessly about his head; his leftfoot was bare, while the right one was cased in a colt's-skin stocking,called _bota-de-potro_, and on this distinguished foot was buckled ahuge iron spur, with spikes two inches long. One spur of the kind wouldbe quite sufficient, I should imagine, to get out of a horse all theenergy of which he was capable. When I entered he was holding forth onthe pretty well-worn theme of fate _versus_ free will; his argumentswere not, however, the usual dry philosophical ones, but took the formof illustration, chiefly personal reminiscences and strange incidentsin the lives of people he had known, while so vivid and minute were hisdescriptions--sparkling with passion, satire, humour, pathos, and sodramatic his action, while wonderful story followed story--that I wasfairly astonished, and pronounced this old _pulperia_ orator a borngenius.

  His argument over, he fixed his keen eyes on me and said:

  "My friend, I perceive you are a traveller from Montevideo: may I askwhat news there is from that city?"

  "What news do you expect to hear?" said I; then it came into my thoughtthat it was scarcely proper to confine myself to more commonplacephrases in replying to this curious old Oriental bird, with such raggedplumage, but whose native woodnotes wild had such a charm in them. "Itis only the old story over again!" I continued. "They say there willbe a revolution some day. Some of the people have already retired intotheir houses, after chalking in very big letters on their front doors,'Please come into this house and cut the owner's throat for him, so thathe may rest at peace, and have no fear of what may happen.' Others haveclimbed on to their roofs, and occupy themselves there looking at themoon through spy-glasses, thinking that the conspirators are concealedin that luminary, and only waiting for a cloud to obscure it, in orderto descend upon the city unobserved."

  "Hear!" cried the old man, rapping delighted applause on the counterwith his empty glass.

  "What do you drink, friend?" I asked, thinking his keen appreciationof my grotesque speech deserved a treat, and wishing to draw him out alittle more.

  "Rum, friend, thank you. They say it warms you in winter, and cools youin summer--what can you have better?"

  "Tell me," said I, when his glass had been refilled by the storekeeper,"what I shall say when I return to Montevideo, and am asked what newsthere is in the country?"

  The old fellow's eyes twinkled, while the other men ceased talking, andlooked at him as if anticipating something good in reply to my question.

  "Say to them," he answered, "that you met an old man--a horse tamernamed Lucero--and that he told you this fable for you to repeat to thetownspeople: Once there was a great tree named Montevideo growing inthis country, and in its branches lived a colony of monkeys. One day oneof the monkeys came down from the tree and ran full of excitement acrossthe plain, now scrambling along like a man on all fours, then erect likea dog running on its hind legs, while its tail, with nothing to catchhold of, wriggled about like a snake when its head is under foot. Hecame to a place where a number of oxen were grazing, and some horses,ostriches, deer, goats, and pigs. 'Friends all,' cried the monkey,grinning like a skull, and with staring eyes round as dollars, 'greatnews! great news! I come to tell you that there will shortly be arevolution.' 'Where?' said an ox. 'In the tree--where else?' said themonkey. 'That does not concern us,' said the ox. 'Oh, yes, it does!'cried the monkey, 'for it will presently spread about the country andyou will all have your throats cut.' Then the ox replied, 'Go back,monkey, and do not molest us with your news, lest we get angry and go tobesiege you in your tree, as we have often had to do since the creationof the world; and then, if you and the other monkeys come down to us, wewill toss you on our horns.'"

  This apologue sounded very well, so admirably did the old man pictureto us with voice and gesture the chattering excitement of the monkey andthe majestic _aplomb_ of the ox.

  "Senor," he continued, after the laugh had subsided, "I do not wish anyof my friends and neighbours here present to fly to the conclusion thatI have spoken anything offensive. Had I seen in you a Montevidean Ishould not have spoken of monkeys. But, senor, though you speak as wedo, there is yet in the pepper and salt on your tongue a certain foreignflavour."

  "You are right," I said; "I am a foreigner."

  "A foreigner in some things, friend, for you were doubtless born underother skies; but in that chief quality, which we think was given by theCreator to us and not to the people of other lands--the ability to beone in heart with the men you meet, whether they are clothed in velvetor in sheep-skins--in that you are one of us, a pure Oriental."

  I smiled at his subtle flattery; possibly it was only meant in paymentof the rum I had treated him to, but it pleased me none the less, and tohis other mental traits I was now inclined to add a marvellous skill inreading character.

  After a while he invited me to spend the night under his roof. "Yourhorse is fat and lazy," he said with truth, "and, unless you are arelation of the owl family, you cannot go much farther before to-morrow.My house is a humble one, but the mutton is juicy, the fire warm, andthe water cool there, the same as in another place."

  I readily accepted his invitation, wishing to see as much as I couldof so original a character, and before starting I purchased a bottleof rum, which made his eyes sparkle so that I thought hisname--Lucero--rather an appropriate one. His _rancho_ was about twomiles from the store, and our ride thither was about as strange a gallopas I ever took. Lucero was a _domador_, or horse-tamer, and the beasthe rode was quite unbroken and vicious as it could be. Between horseand man a fierce struggle for mastery raged the whole time, the horserearing, plunging, buck-jumping, and putting into practice everyconceivable trick to rid itself of its burden; while Lucero plied whipand spur with tremendous energy and poured out torrents of strangeadjectives. At one moment he would come into violent collision with myold sober beast, at another there would be fifty yards of groundbetween us; still Lucero would not stop talking, for he had begun a veryinteresting story at starting, and he stuck to his narrative througheverything, resuming the thread after each tempest of execration ventedon his horse, and raising his voice almost to a shout when we were farapart. The old fellow's staying powers were really extraordinary, andwhen we arrived at the house he jumped airily to the ground, and seemedfresh and calm as possible.

  In the kitchen were several people sipping _mate_, Lucero's children andgrandchildren, also his wife, a grey old dame with dim-looking eyes.But then my host was old in years himself, only, like Ulysses, he stillpossessed the unquenched fire and energy of youth in his soul, whiletime bestowed infirmities together with wrinkles and white hairs on hishelpmate.

  He introduced me to her in a manner that brought the modest flame tomy cheeks. Standing before her, he said that he had met me at the_pulperia_ and had put to me the question which a simple old countrymanmust ask of every traveller from Montevideo--What the news was? Then,assuming a dry, satirical tone, which years of practice would not enableme to imitate, he proceeded to give my fantastical answer, garnishedwith much original matter of his own.

  "Senora," I said, when he had finished, "you must not give me credit forall you have heard from your husband. I only gave him brute wool, and hehas woven it for your delight into beautiful cloth."

  "Hear him! Did I tell you what to expect, Juana?" cried the old man,which made me blush still more.

  We then settled down to _mate_ and quiet conversation. Sitting in thekitchen on the skull of a horse--a common article of furniture in anOriental _rancho_--was a boy about twelve years old, one of Lucero'sgrandchildren, with a very beautiful face. His feet were bare andhis clothes very poo
r, but his soft dark eyes and olive face had thattender, half-melancholy expression often seen in children of Spanishorigin, which is always so strangely captivating.

  "Where is your guitar, Cipriano?" said his grandfather, addressing him,whereupon the boy rose and fetched a guitar, which he first politelyoffered to me.

  When I had declined it, he seated himself once more on his polishedhorse-skull and began to play and sing. He had a sweet boy's voice,and one of his ballads took my fancy so much that I made him repeatthe words to me while I wrote them down in my notebook, which greatlygratified Lucero, who seemed proud of the boy's accomplishment. Here arethe words translated almost literally, therefore without rhymes, and Ionly regret that I cannot furnish my musical readers with the quaint,plaintive air they were sung to:

  O let me go--O let me go, Where high are born amidst the hills The streams that gladden all the south, And o'er the grassy desert wide, Where slakes his thirst the antlered deer, Hurry towards the great green ocean.

  The stony hills--the stony hills, With azure air-flowers on their crags, Where cattle stray unowned by man; The monarch of the herd there seems No bigger than my hand in size, Roaming along the tall, steep summit.

  I know them well--I know them well, Those hills of God, and they know me; When I go there they are serene, But when the stranger visits them Dark rain-clouds gather round their tops-- Over the earth goes forth the tempest.

  Then tell me not--then tell me not 'Tis sorrowful to dwell alone; My heart within the city pent Pines for the desert's liberty; The streets are red with blood, and fear Makes pale and mournful women's faces.

  O bear me far--O bear me far, On swift, sure feet, my trusty steed: I do not love the burial-ground, But I shall sleep upon the plain, Where long green grass shall round me wave-- Over me graze wild herds of cattle.