CHAPTER XII.
The individual thus addressed hastened towards me, but it was plainly to be seen by his countenance that this meeting was the reverse of pleasant. Hastily rallying himself, he began to explain in a rapid tone that he had not replied to my telegram because he had hoped to reach Comayagua before I left it. He thought I would wait till I heard from him, and so forth.
I replied that I assumed he had left for Europe, and reminded him that in his last letter to me he had mentioned that this was probable, and that in consequence his agent would be left with full power to act in his stead.
“Oh yes, yes,” replied Dr Pope; “but my departure for Europe is delayed. I have a great deal of law business to attend to—indeed I am going to Comayagua at this moment on a most important lawsuit, and cannot be back for a fortnight; in the meantime I have arranged with a lady at San Pedro Sula to receive you till I return.”
“The delay is unfortunate,” I answered; “but as I am nearly knocked up by much travelling and hardship, I shall be glad of a few days’ idleness. Will you be good enough to give me the address of the house that I am to go to?”
The gentleman, turning round, addressed himself to the muleteer, speaking in remarkably good Castilian; then, continuing his conversation with me, he added—
“I am afraid you will find everything very rough, as I have not had time to order a mattress for your bed; but you have in your journey been accustomed to sleep on bare boards,” he added, in a jaunty tone, “and so you will not mind.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” I replied; “I have been provided with my own hammock; and I take leave to say, that at the end of so long a journey, decent accommodation should be provided for me.”
I spoke slowly, looking at him steadily; for by his later tone I felt that he could be very impertinent both with and without provocation.
“Doña Engracia will do all she can to make you comfortable, I am sure,” he said apologetically; “but you must not expect English customs here.”
To this I made no reply, but inquired how soon it would be before he returned to San Pedro Sula?
“It depends upon business,” he replied. “I have also to attend a Synod to which the Bishop has summoned me; but I daresay I can get excused from being present at the meeting.”
“Very strange, the Bishop did not mention this when I saw him at Comayagua,” I answered.
“Have you seen the Bishop? Did you tell him you were coming here,” he asked quickly, his face lighting up with a mingled expression of suspicion and interest.
“I paid my respects to his lordship, and I told him I was coming here. To my surprise the Bishop hardly spoke of you, and certainly he was quite ignorant of your having arranged to bring me here,” I replied.
“Well, this is not the place wherein we can carry on a conversation on the matter. I regret,” continued he, “that I cannot turn back with you now. Kindly go to the house of Doña Engracia, and I will write you an explanatory letter from Comayagua, and send it by special messenger. Your neighbour will be Don Pedro Sturm, a Norwegian doctor, who has lived many years in San Pedro Sula; he will gladly be of service to you.”
The Justice of the Peace, who had waited patiently during this conversation, now came up and made some polite observations, and then we took leave and went on our several ways. But still the thought ran through my mind,—What could induce him to invite me to San Pedro Sula?
POSADA NEAR SAN PEDRO SULA.
Leaving the plantations, we splashed through a broad stream, and, after riding over the ruins of a part of the late Honduras railway, we at dusk entered into San Pedro Sula.
The environs of this town are far from unpleasing, and several respectable houses, erected mostly by German merchants, lent an air of stability to the town which could not fail to impress a stranger favourably. It was some little time before we found the house to which we had been directed; and when we did so, it seemed to me that the name of Doña Engracia did not command much respect. We made our way to a mean-looking dwelling, and at our summons a most unprepossessing woman made her appearance at the door.
“Are you Doña Engracia?” inquired Eduardo, looking aghast.
“Yes,” replied the woman, who was bare-necked and bareheaded, and had her chin bound up with a dirty rag; “and I suppose this is the lady I am to expect?”
“You are right,” I answered. “Have you prepared any accommodation for me?”
“Enter, and see,” was the reply.
I dismounted, and was ushered through an outer room furnished with shelves. Upon these were laid a few vegetables and some plantains. Opening another door with a flourish, an inner room was revealed, which contained two beds, one of which was furnished with bedding of some sort, whilst the other was perfectly bare, with the exception of a large bull’s hide, which was laid over the bars of the bedstead as an under-covering. Not a vestige of matting, or of any other furniture, did this apartment contain. It was miserable in the extreme.
“Is this the room assigned to me?” I asked at length, my heart really sinking into my boots.
“Si, Señora, si, y conmigo” (Yes, lady, yes, and with me). The conmigo was drawled out with a flourish.
“This will not do for me,” I answered. “I will have a room to myself, and shall go straight to the best inn; where is it?” And I turned to go out.
The muleteer, Andreas, who had been standing on the outer step, now spoke, and with some indignation in his tone. “This is no place for you, Señora; you had better come to Chicaramos. I know Chicaramos; you will be much better off there.”
Eduardo was with the animals, and in high converse with a nice intelligent-looking lad, dressed in neat white raiment, wearing a Panama hat and a gay pugaree. “I am Don Pedro Sturm’s servant—the doctor next door. He has sent me to show you the inn,” the lad explained. “Permit me to accompany you to the Posada Chicaramos.”
I thanked the lad gratefully, and we were soon on the march again. “What an extraordinary name!” I said to the lad. “Is Chicaramos a village or a suburb?”
“No, Señora,” he replied; “Chicaramos is a woman.”
“A woman!”
“Yes, Señora. Her real name is Francisca Ramos; the contraction of Francisca is Chica, and so the name has all got run into one. She is called Chicaramos all over the country. She is a wonderful woman.”
I was too exhausted to inquire in what might consist the wonders of Chicaramos, but contented myself by inwardly hoping that she might turn out to be an entirely different person from the one we had just left; and thus hoping, we rode up to the portal of the Posada Francisca Ramos, which was its polite designation.
The house was built in a square, the later and new addition being a salon and a billiard-room, which the owner had erected out of the money made by boarding and lodging the engineers and others concerned in building the Honduras railway. On this night this salon showed to the greatest advantage, as a ball was about to be held therein, and the long room was gay with light and flowers and brightly painted cane seats. It was for this reason that we were kept waiting a little at the half-opened door, although voices and exclamations were heard in all directions, and in all keys of the gamut.
Our guide proposed that we should go round to the other side, and enter the court-yard through the great gates, where we would most probably find some one to attend to us. This being done, a mozo flew towards us, declaring that the hotel was full on account of the ball. The Señora could have refreshment, but not a room—all were engaged, &c., &c.
Never heeding this, we rode into the centre of the court-yard and dismounted. A handsome untidy-looking woman, dressed in a bright blue muslin dress, came up and looked at me, then turned away, and went into the house through a door on the right-hand side of the square.
“That is Chicaramos’s daughter-in-law,” said our new friend; “the wife of the hijo mayor (eldest son). They live on this side of the square, and their front door opens into the business street. She has gone to look for her husband.”
Almost as he spoke a plain genteel-looking young man came out and advanced towards me. “My mother is busy,” he said, “preparing for a ball, which is to take place here in an hour. The house is full, but if you will accept a bedroom in our part of it, it can be made ready at once. You will have to pass through our room, but you will not mind that.”
This was the best thing I could do; and accommodation being found for the muleteer and Eduardo, our guide took his leave, saying that his master, Don Pedro Sturm, would call on me on the morrow.
After a slight supper, which I took at a round table, with the son’s wife staring at me from the opposite side, I was making ready to go to rest, when the door opened, and a lady, in a yellow silk dress, black lace trimming, and rich gold ornaments, entered. As she closed one door, the son’s wife rose quickly, and rushed out at the other.
It seemed probable that these two women were not d’accord.
Chicaramos—for it was she—came forward in a graceful manner, and apologised for the negligent way in which I had been received, but expressed a hope that “mi hijo mayor” (my eldest son) had represented her properly.
She was a handsome woman; and from the manner in which she looked about, I saw that she managed well the affairs of her household. She then added that I might be kept awake by the music and the rattle of the billiard-balls, but to-morrow, being Sunday, would be a quiet day.
I was conducted to a room on the ground-floor, which was paved with red tiles, and was as mean as possible in its surroundings. However, it did contain some crockery ware, and this fact of itself announced Chicaramos to be a well-to-do woman. Two window apertures, filled by massive shutters, which served to keep the room dark and cool, rejoiced my sight, as the window-frames were so wide that plenty of air could always enter, and mosquitoes, ad libitum, at night.
A voluble young Creole woman had been sent to help me, and she was loud in her expressions of surprise that a gentlewoman should have come to San Pedro Sula to superintend the school.
“But the doctor is quite done up now,” added this damsel; “and you have had a long journey for nothing.”
“Why did he bring me, I wonder?” was the answer I made.
She could not say.
“Where does the agent, Mr Brady, live?” I inquired. “I wish to see him the first thing in the morning.”
“He lives very near this,” was the reply; “and I will go to him to-morrow morning.”
“Thank you. Good night.”
In spite of the drawbacks to repose enumerated by Chicaramos, I did sleep, and that long and well; and it was late (for Honduras)—almost seven in the morning—when Eduardo knocked, and announced that Andreas must return at once to Potrerillos, and that he only waited to be paid.
This business was transacted through the window; and then I told Eduardo that I would pay him during the day, and that he must look at once for other employment, for I could not afford to keep a servant longer.
“I have thought over this, Señora,” answered the lad; “and as the billiard-marker is going to leave in a day or two, I shall apply for the place. You see, by this I can be near you, and do many little things for you till you leave for Puerto Cortez and for England. This is not a place for you, Señora.”
“But I have not money enough with me to get out of it,” I answered; “and, Eduardo, though I like to have you near me, I would rather you were not a billiard-marker: it is not good for you. Cannot you get some other occupation?”
“Not at present. I have made inquiries, and I am told, Señora, that Chicaramos’s service is the best in the place.”
Everything about the premises was very quiet, the day being Sunday, and the inmates being tired also with the dance of the preceding evening. Some large patient oxen were looking out of their open stall at the lower end of the court; and some cocks and hens chased one another in various directions; whilst a number of pigeons flew to and fro, and settled on the roofs of the various out-houses which surrounded this enclosure. A large pepper-tree overshadowed the lower buildings, and an impudent lora (small parrot) walked about and kept the whole in order. Altogether it was a pretty court for an inn.
The next sign of life was a rattling sound, and the voice of woman, neither soft nor low, calling upon the household, and hijo mayor especially, to arise. Soon the voice travelled in my direction, and my hostess looked through the aperture at me, pushing the shutter back on its hinges as she bade me “Good morning.”
“I am glad to see you, Señora,” I said. “I want to arrange to stay here a short time till my business is concluded. What am I to pay you for board and lodging?—by the day, we had better say, as my affairs are uncertain.”
Señora Ramos reflected a moment, and then said: “My charges are 5s. a day; but if you remain by the week they will be a peso (4s. 2d.) per day. I hope you will stay, as I hear the charge of the public school is to be offered to you.”
“I have not heard of this, Señora.”
“I daresay not, but the matter was discussed among a few last night after the dance was over. Don Pedro Sturm, the head doctor here, is one of the municipal council, and he will call upon you to-morrow. They all talk before me,” continued Chicaramos, elevating her head, “as I am one of the principal people in the place.”
I bowed at this, and told her that I did not feel justified in doing anything till I had come to an arrangement with Dr Pope.
“Oh, as to Pope,” continued the Señora with the greatest contempt, “he can’t do anything here. Ah, the money he owes me! And when I sent in my bill he threatened me with the law-courts. Ho, Vicente!” holloaed the Señora to a fat mozo who was slinking along the other side of the yard, “you have been too long in your bed. Chop up some wood, and tell Elenita to bring the Señora here a glass of milk.”
Then she darted into my side of the house, and I heard her rattling up mi hijo mayor and his wife without the smallest ceremony, at the door of the room next to me.
A glass of milk was brought by the trim little girl called Elenita; and she told me that her grandmother bade her say that I had better dine in my own room always, as Señora Ramos never allowed meals to be taken in the salon under any circumstances. And she thought the English lady would not like to dine in the public room, over which her daughter-in-law presided.
I thought it well to close with this arrangement, and had subsequently reason to congratulate myself that I had done so.
Mr Brady called the next morning, and it was very much to his own surprise that I informed him that he was Dr Pope’s agent. He was a good-natured-looking young man, with some means, I was informed; and it was between him and Dr Pedro Sturm that Dr Pope was now living.
An entry in my journal of August 2, 1881, runs as follows: “Don Pedro Sturm called, and we had a discussion about my taking the public school. Nothing, however, can be arranged about this until the Governor of Santa Barbara comes here, which may be in a month, or in two months, or next year. Everything seems to be a matter of mañana,—and salary, a very unknown quantity.”
Don Jésus Gonsalez also came to see me on the same subject. This gentleman seems to have influence with the governor, and expressed his intention of writing to that dignitary, and urging the matter. By the way, I got set down by Chicaramos for taking exception at the name of Jésus for an ordinary appellation (although it is pronounced “Hesooz”).
“I thought you were superior to cant, Señora,” flared up my hostess. “You northern people have your Christian; and pray, what is the name of Christina but little Christ? Caramba!”
I confessed that I had not sufficiently studied the meaning of Christian names, but stuck to it that Christian seemed less familiar than the other sound.
For some mornings I had observed several little children in the court-yard, and I inquired if these belonged to the house?
“Not exactly,” Elenita answered; “but we take care of one or two. That little Félipe is a poor orphan, and grandmother has adopted him; that other is not a child of matrimonio, but the pobrecita (poor thing) cannot help that, and we promised the mother when she was dying to take care of her. Of course,” continued the girl, “the father cannot come here, for the mother was our friend.”
Ah! respectable, moral England, is it not too often the case with you, that the betrayed girl and her child are spurned to the dust, whilst the man goes free, and society opens her doors wide unto him, and even caresses him for the wrong he has done? I have often admired the kindness of the Hondureians to deserted children; most houses have one or two in charge, and the charity is given without ostentation and as a matter of course. These outcasts are received really as members of the family, and I have never heard of their entrance causing vexation or annoyance to any of the other members of it.
Dr Otto, the latest imported medical practitioner in San Pedro Sula, also called upon me. He was a young man of strong opinions, and never evinced the slightest qualm in calling a spade a spade. He was a German, and spoke English remarkably well. Being of very “advanced” opinions, he seemed to have but one object, and that was to make money as fast as possible. Chicaramos was a patient of his; but she was a match for him, as, his fees being high, she raised the rent of his house accordingly, the doctor being her tenant. The humour with which the lady confided this piece of diplomacy to me was enough to make a cat laugh.
With such a character, my correspondent, of course, could not be let off; indeed the young gentleman said so much, that I at last asked him if he were not afraid to venture such and such observations. “Not a bit,” was the reply; “and now, can you bear to hear an unpleasant truth?”
“Really, sir, I have had to bear so much lately that I think I can stand anything.”
“Very well. Now, you wonder why Pope brought you here; I will tell you. He is played out; he thought if you came that he would get a footing in the schoolhouse which would have been assigned for your use. This would give him a home; for the rest, he hoped you would bring a little money wherewith to set a plantation going; in fact you told him so in one of your letters.”
“How do you know this?” I asked aghast.
“It is simply told. A young lad, whom I know something about, was sitting with the fellow when the runner brought your letter. Pope was in an indiscreet mood, so he read a portion of the letter out, remarking, ‘The lady has a little money, so I shall invite her to come.’”
This was, as I found, the true explanation; and as Dr Pope had no house of his own, the Government refusing to assign him one after the first year, the idea of taking up his abode in the schoolhouse must have been a most convenient scheme. All was frustrated by the people rising en masse against him and demanding his expulsion.
That a colony was never more recklessly ruined, let all the officials, English, Spanish, and Hondureian, tell.
Don Jésus brought his wife to visit me, and a very sweet young woman I found her to be. She often sent preserved fruits and chocolate, and good Don Pedro Sturm sent in some light wine. These gifts were most acceptable, as Chicaramos’s table was of the most coarse and meagre description, and the cooking was filthy. Many a day an egg and a cup of coffee were my only meal. My living could not have cost her more than fourpence a day on the average; but it was in these ways that Chicaramos proved herself a wonderful woman. As Dr Otto often remarked, a mat, some raw plantains, and a stream of running water in the midst of the village, were all that was necessary to keep the inhabitants of San Pedro Sula alive. What could other people want with more?
The alcalde often came to see me in the evenings, and to him I owe some of the pleasantest hours I spent in San Pedro Sula. He was a Scotchman by birth, but had become quite a naturalised Spaniard, speaking the language well. He it was who was keeping the key of the church, and this he handed over to the new priest one sunny morning, singing a pæan over the fact that this act completely ousted the late incumbent. “And now, my dear lady,” said he, “a ball is to be given in a night or two to celebrate the fourth anniversary of the Government of Honduras, and I am charged by the municipal committee with this letter of invitation to you.”
So saying, Don Juan pulled out an elegantly written note of invitation, addressed to me as Señora Maria, the English stranger.
At first I felt inclined to refuse, but, on reflection, I saw that it would be ungracious to do so. The hand of friendship had been so cordially held out that it was with lighter heart that I selected evening raiment to wear—the first time for many weeks—wherein to appear at the ball, given, as usual, at Chicaramos’s salon.
Whilst I was dressing, I thought I heard voices in dispute in the part of the house occupied by hijo mayor; a door was banged with more than ordinary force after a scuffle from within; then all was silent. It was some one, perhaps, who had forced himself in to see the preparations. Thus I dismissed the subject from my mind. I should hardly have noticed this, but I fancied I had previously heard footsteps approaching my apartment.
My toilet finished, I went into the salon, which was really very tastefully decorated and lighted. As nobody had come in, I drew a rocking-chair to the large entrance door, and sat watching the fire-flies as they powdered the grass opposite with their golden sparks. Brilliant lightning flashed in the far distance, which contrasted in fantastic guise with the gloom of an unusually still night, there being neither tingle of guitar nor rattle of billiard-balls, and few people were moving about.
Presently my attention was attracted to a white object moving in a straight line towards the house. What it was it was impossible to discover: perhaps a visitor arriving in fancy dress! The figure crossed the grass and stood before me. It was the Rev. Dr Pope, hatless, wearing a man’s night-shirt over his clothes, and bola (Spanish for intoxicated).
Surprise held me to my seat, and prudence chained my tongue. He glared at me, and opened his lips as if to speak; then he looked over my head into the salon, as if he were searching for some one, gave a lurch, turned on his heel, and was gone!
I rose, shut the door, and went through the salon into the patio. Eduardo was at a table washing some glasses; he anticipated my inquiry, for he said—
“Not now, Señora—I will come to you—the company has arrived.”
The door which I had shut in such haste was thrown open, and the company walked in by twos and threes, and then seated themselves round the room, the principal ladies occupying the rocking-chairs. Soon followed the music; the musicians—three in number—playing some selected piece, now entered, and they were listened to with marked silence to the end.
I could not help contrasting this politeness with the rude inattention which I have seen displayed in circles of far higher pretension during the execution of instrumental music by some amateur, or even professional performer. In both cases the music seems to be regarded solely as an aid to conversation, and the performer receives the tribute of silence only when the instrument ceases to vibrate.
The young men moved among the ladies with well-bred ease, and when the Lanza was called every one stood up. The Lanza, I was told, is an old national dance, and it always stands first on the programme. The gentlemen select their partners, and those who do not join reseat themselves. In the old times referred to, the cavaliers carried short lances, and crossing these in some turns of the dance, the ladies passed beneath them.
The air of the dance is of itself very monotonous, the art of playing it consisting in strict emphasis on some few notes. The figure is not unlike the last—the fifth—in the set of our “Lancer Quadrilles.” There is a good deal of advancing and retiring in ring, and an in-and-out chain, in the mazes of which each one purposely loses his partner. A movement, which I do not pretend to describe, brings her back again, and the whole is wound up with the graceful waltz.
Yes; as it is danced by this people, it is graceful and even dignified. Strict attention is given to the execution of the step, and the time is often marked on the part of the gentleman by a sharp quick stamp on the floor. The figures of both waltzers undulate with the motion of the feet; indeed, the seriousness with which all is gone through, indicates that—in the mysteries of the dance at least—the Hondureians agree that what is worth doing at all is worth doing well.
The gentlemen dance quite as persistently as the ladies, and their manner in soliciting a partner is highly respectful always.
Between the dances, at intervals, refreshments were handed about; and these were upon a most limited scale, the whole consisting, generally, of a small glass of liqueur, a larger one of water, and a few little fancy cakes. Outside, at the table in the patio, some of the gentlemen could be descried indulging liberally in bottled beer and other liquids. This expenditure, and the hire of the salon, was Chicaramos’s harvest. Such a thing as a ball-supper had never been heard of in the whole of the Honduras.
Cigars and cigarillos really seemed to be the bread of life here, to judge by the numbers which were smoked by both sexes in that entertainment. During the interval allowed to the musicians they smoked too, and long before the ball was over the floor had become quite disgusting from the expectoration; and the smell of tobacco which pervaded the salon from end to end was enough to poison a whole province.
I remained no longer, and withdrew unperceived to my den. The lightning was playing in the distance, but it was of the harmless summer kind, and so I watched it between my half-opened shutters without fear, indeed with somewhat of interest. The contrast between the solemn night, with its flashing zigzag lightning, which resembled an array of scimitars, withheld only by the Great Captain’s hand from leaping down and scattering destruction on the earth, and the dance and glare, and paltry talk close by, was sufficiently striking. A few moments later, and Eduardo stood beneath the window.
“That drunken man was the doctor,” said I, in a tone which might be taken either as assertative or interrogative.
“Yes, Señora; he came into the other house. Hijo mayor did his best to persuade him to retire; but it was of no use. I came in behind him, and not knowing who it was, I took him by the shoulders and put him into the street.”
“He must have come round afterwards to the front door, where I was sitting,” I said.
“That was it, Señora; I hear that he is afraid to see you, and keeps out of the way. He must have returned to enter the house, but he did not expect to meet with you.”
“How do you know, Eduardo?”
“Chicaramos hears plenty of remarks from the people who come into the store, Señora; and so much news gets into the billiard-room.”
“Well, when you have a spare moment, will you go to Dr Otto, and ask him to call upon me as soon as it may be convenient, to-morrow? Be sure and ask Señora Ramos’s leave before you go.”
“Certainly, Señora; good night.”
The lad went his way, and I remained at the open shutter watching the lightning and thinking. This, then, was no scandal, as to the man’s personal habits: under any circumstances, it would be neither safe nor proper to hold any appointment under such a person; and it was evident that very little could be done with the Justice of the Peace, or the Governor of Santa Barbara either. The latter, I knew, had promised to come to San Pedro Sula to inspect matters generally, and to establish a public school, eight times in so many months, and had failed to put in an appearance up to the present time. The alcalde was very much my friend; but it had been hinted to me, more than once, that this functionary was only anxious to keep me in the place because I was an Englishwoman, with whom he, being partly a Scotchman, found it pleasant to converse. Be this as it may, one thing was certain, Don Juan Jack, with all his goodwill, could not command either the Governor of Santa Barbara or the public funds of San Pedro Sula.
My best plan, therefore, was to leave as soon as possible; for though Chicaramos behaved well in the main, yet her ménage was so wretched that semi-starvation was what I was paying for at the rate of four shillings a day. I was determined to consult Dr Otto, and then act as he should advise.
The doctor came early in the morning. Nothing could of course be said until the gentleman had gone through his usual objurgatory language against the Spaniards, the natives, the Governor, Don Juan Jack, and the inhabitants generally and severally;—one was a rascal; the Justice of the Peace was a dawdle; the Governor never kept his word; and Don Pedro Sturm was a fool. Chicaramos had the brains of the whole lot.
“Now, Dr Otto, if any one else had declaimed against any one of these persons in the way you have done, you would be the very first to defend him. I do not like to hear a word against Don Pedro Sturm. He has been kind to me.”
“Well, all right; he is kind, certainly.”
“I want your wisdom now to bear upon my affairs. I am certain it will not do to stay here; both time and money are being wasted, and I hear nothing can be done about the public school till the Governor of Santa Barbara arrives.”
“Don’t you rely on his coming; and the chances are if he does come—and I don’t believe he will, for he is like all the rest of these dawdling, offputting, gandering idiots——”
“Now, doctor, no abuse. I want to know if you think I had better write at once to Mr De Brot, the consul at Puerto Cortez, and ask him to arrange the necessary business for getting money from England to take me away. The truth is, I feel weaker, and I think I have a little fever on me now, and I dread being ill here.”
“If you get ill you can’t go; write to Mr Albany Fonblanque, the consul at New Orleans: that will be quicker. Mr De Brot is at his country place just now, on one of the islands, so there would be delay if you consult him. Fonblanque is a thorough man of business, and if you write and state the case plainly, he will give you the best attention. The Wanderer will sail from Puerto Cortez in three days, and your letter will be in time—that is to say, if that infernal ‘Maquina’ does not break down, or they forget the mail-bag, or devise some blunder which could only occur in these regions. Now, mind you write a short intelligible letter to Fonblanque, and to the point.”
“Trust me. I think I will ask Mr Fonblanque to send it on to my lawyer in London,” I replied.
“Yes, that is a sensible idea. Now, never mind more business, but look here, Mopsey has come to see you.”
As he spoke, the doctor lugged out of his capacious pocket a huge silk pocket-handkerchief, which was tied at the four corners in a loose knot. He opened this, and forth came Mopsey, the little pet parrot.
“You don’t mean to say that you carry the bird about in this fashion?” I asked.
“Why, yes; you see he mopes when I go out, and is utterly miserable, and so I shall carry him when I go my rounds. They are so gentle and lovable are these loras.”
Certainly Mopsey was a true specimen of what Dr Otto said of the race. It was curious to see the little bird climbing up his shoulder and sitting on his head, and testifying her delight in many caressing ways; the doctor’s fiery, excited-looking face being at the same time smoothed into a somewhat benevolent mould, as he rendered up his finger as a perch for his pet and addressed her as “Du.”
We chatted a little while, and I could not help wishing that this gentleman, so brilliant and agreeable, could bestow a little of the goodwill which he testified towards the animal creation upon the human portion of it also. Some bitter wrong, or maybe, a long course of being misunderstood, (and what more hardening to the spirit than this?) must have turned a naturally good disposition into gall; and it was only by an occasional flash of sympathy, expressed as if he were ashamed of it, that I discovered that Dr Otto possessed a vein of human feeling.
One thing I had resolved upon, and that was, that some final understanding must be come to with Dr Pope, and that if I had an interview with him, it should take place in the presence of witnesses. I therefore wrote to Dr Sturm, in whose house he was staying, and also to the lawyer of San Pedro Sula, stating my intention of applying for my travelling expenses, and asking for a legal opinion upon the matter.
These two gentlemen called upon me on the following day, and informed me that at first Dr Pope expressed himself willing to see me in their presence, but afterwards shirked doing so, and had requested them to apply to me for a copy of his letter in which he had so specially engaged me to come to San Pedro Sula.
I felt inclined to refer his reverence to his own copy of the letter written to me; but as it was important to see what he meant to do, I consented, and sent him a copy of his letters, adding that I retained duplicates of all my correspondence with him.
This last piece of information, I was told, considerably surprised him, and the next day I received a note from the lawyer, saying that Dr Pope did not look upon that letter as an agreement; but he proposed, if I would consent, that the matter should be referred to Mr De Brot, the consul at Puerto Cortez, for arbitration. I was strongly advised to accept these terms, the lawyer adding that Mr De Brot was an upright and most conscientious man.
“You have had quite expense enough,” said this gentleman when I saw him the next day, “and I do not wish to hamper you with law. The proposal came from Pope himself; it is no suggestion of mine, or of Don Pedro Sturm. I may add that if you see fit to accept this proposition, Dr Pope will undertake to pay your expenses to Puerto Cortez; you can then see the consul personally.”
The dismay of this generous gentleman was indeed only overpowered by his disgust, when, on the following morning, he found that Dr Pope had stolen off on his mule during the night to Puerto Cortez, forgetting to leave the funds for my journey behind him.
This, however, was of little consequence, as I could despatch my letters to the consul by the train, and I would prefer going to the port when I could be sure that I was leaving the country. So I wrote my letters and waited patiently.
Little remains to be recorded of this weary stay at San Pedro Sula, and my journal at this period runs only that one day telleth another and one night certifieth another. A touch of fever; no news from the Governor of Santa Barbara about the school; a letter of promises and no results from one Government official or another; a pleasant chat with the alcalde,—and this was about the sum of my life for upwards of a month.
At length came a letter from Mr Fonblanque announcing that money had been placed in his hands, and that he would send a sum by the Wanderer steamer, which would sail in a few days from New Orleans to Puerto Cortez. Telegraph and steam and business-like lawyers in London had greatly facilitated matters, and I was free to depart at once.
As the Wanderer steamer only remained at Puerto Cortez twenty-four hours, and I was anxious to get away quickly, I found I must start without delay.
Dr Otto, who had gone down to the port on business, sent me a telegram, desiring me to start without an hour’s delay, in order to catch the steamer for New Orleans.
As the train for Puerto Cortez did not run for two days, I was obliged to ride; and thus, from force of circumstances, I have traversed the province of Spanish Honduras from Amapala to Puerto Cortez on mule-back. Don Pedro Sturm got mules and a confidential man for me, and bidding adieu to Chicaramos, I set off for Puerto Cortez.
Although the distance was under forty miles, the road was so abominably bad, and the detentions in consequence were so great, that it was literally impossible to reach the port before the Wanderer sailed.
It was at the ranche of General Z——, where I had halted for refreshment, that I was told this: “You cannot ride out at night,” said the general. “Man as I am, I would not attempt to do so. The road is dangerous in daylight. I cannot allow you to pass my door; so pray, Señora, dismount and stay here till to-morrow. You can take time, and it will only be a detention of fourteen days before the Wanderer returns.”
Accustomed as I had been to delay and disappointment, this was a bitter trial, and I could not refrain a burst of tears. Everything seemed to go against me. The general turned away to call his niece; her pleasant face acted like a cordial, and after a few moments I was able to say that I would take the advice so generously proffered.
“You surely must have been late in setting off,” said General Z——; “under the best of circumstances you could only have reached Puerto Cortez an hour before the steamer sailed.”
I handed him the telegram which Dr Otto had despatched.
“When did you get this?” he inquired.
“Late last night.”
“You ought to have had it six hours earlier or more. This telegram has been delayed. Some fault in the telegraph office,—nobody knows, or will know, why; but it is very provoking.”
It was indeed, but there was no use in repining; and as I knew that there was a respectable house to go to, kept by Madame B——, in Puerto Cortez, I tried to make the best of the matter. My chief anxiety was about the money.
“The purser of the Wanderer has very probably left that in the charge of Mr De Brot for you,” he said. “Nobody will wonder at your non-appearance; they are all up to the ways of the country. Go in and take some refreshment, and then I will escort you and Anita to the corral. I have some fine horses to show you.”
I took leave of the general and his pretty niece in better spirits on the following morning, and as haste was not now necessary, I was more at liberty to admire the wild magnificent country which extends to within a few miles of the port.
In addition, I bore with the greatest sang froid the total immersion of the baggage-mule in a swamp, and the delay and worry of getting her out again. This accident happened, fortunately, near a native village, and so assistance was easily obtained. Owing to the detention which this occasioned, it was late before we reached Madame’s house.
This good lady was on the look-out for us, and her brother helped me from the saddle almost before the mule had come to a standstill. “We are not astonished at your being late,” he said, “but all is arranged. Mr De Brot has got your money, and we will make you comfortable here till the Wanderer returns, and my sister’s charges will be moderate.”
How many, how very many simple kind people are there after all in Honduras!
Puerto Cortez is not much better than a sandy swamp, only waiting an opportunity to slip into the sea and be lost for ever as a human dwelling-place. Its only sight is at the shed which forms the terminus of the railway communication between it and San Pedro Sula. There, piled up in rust and dust, are to be seen heaps of material imported to form the railway of Honduras. Bolts, tires, wheels, rails, chains, and various other of the material necessary to make a railway, are to be found piled up in profusion in this place; and the Hondureian points at it with a kind of grim delight as he tells you that thousands of pounds are rotting there.
Let us hope that this waste is only temporary. Late letters inform me that Dr Fritz Gartner and Mr Shears, American citizens, have entered into a contract with the Government of Honduras for the navigation of the Ulua river and its tributaries, the Venta and the Blanco. This accomplished, the reconstruction of the railway is sure to follow.
The ménage of Madame B—— was on a much more liberal scale than that of Chicaramos; and in consequence my strength partially returned to me, although I suffered fearfully from the sand-flies, which at Puerto Cortez are minute demons. Mr De Brot was also kind and attentive, but, as a matter of business, Dr Pope’s name had been scarcely mentioned.
At length a missive, which ran as follows, was handed to me one hot morning:—
“I, John Frederic De Brot, Her Britannic Majesty’s Consul at Puerto Cortez:—
“Whereas Miss Mary —— and the Rev. Dr W. L. Pope have consented to submit to my arbitration the question in dispute between them, about the unnecessary expenses accrued to the former in a useless voyage to this country; and whereas I declared myself willing to accept the office of arbitrator in this matter, I have come to the following decision, based on the letters and other documents presented to me:—
“That the Rev. Dr Pope pay to Miss Mary —— the half of the expenses she has incurred in her voyage to and from this country.
“Given under my hand and seal, this tenth day of October 1881.