Nicaragua

SECOND ANTIQUARIAN EXPEDITION—THE SHORES OF LAKE MANAGUA ONCE MORE—MATEARAS—DON HENRIQUE’S COMADRE—AM ENGAGED AS GOD FATHER—AN AMAZON—SANTA MARIA DE BUENA VISTA—A “CHARACTER” IN PETTICOATS—“LA NEGRITA, Y LA BLANQUITA”—PURCHASE OF BUENA VISTA—A YANKEE IDEA IN A NICARAGUAN HEAD—HINTS FOR SPECULATORS—MUCHACHO vs. BURRO—EQUESTRIAN INTOXICATION—ANOTHER APOSTROPHE!—PESCADORS—“HAY NO MAS,” AND “ESTA AQUI,” AS MEASURES OF DISTANCE—MANAGUA—THE “MAL PAIS,” NINDIRI, AND MASAYA—SOMETHING COOL—A POMPOUS ALCALDE—HOW TO ARREST CONSPIRATORS—FLOWERS OF THE PALM—DESCENT TO THE LAKE—MEMORIALS OF CATASTROPHES—LAS AGUADORAS—NEW MODE OF SOUNDING DEPTHS—ILL-BRED MONKEYS—TRADITIONAL PRACTICES—OVIEDO’s ACCOUNT OF THE LAKE IN 1529—SARDINES—THE PLAZA ON MARKET NIGHT—A YANKEE CLOCK—SOMETHING COOLER—A STATE BEDROOM FOR A MINISTER—ANCIENT CHURCH—FILLING OUT A VOCABULARY—“QUEBRADA DE INSCRIPCIONES”—SCULPTURED ROCKS; THEIR CHARACTER—ANCIENT EXCAVATIONS IN THE ROCK—“EL BANO”—PAINTED ROCKS OF SANTA CATRINA—NIGHT RIDE TO GRANADA—THE LAGUNA DE SALINAS BY MOONLIGHT—GRANADA IN PEACE—A QUERY TOUCHING HUMAN HAPPINESS—NEW QUARTERS, AND OLD FRIENDS—AN AMERICAN SAILOR—HIS ADVENTURES—“WIN OR DIE”—A HAPPY SEQUEL.

The dry season had now fairly commenced; for two weeks no rain had fallen on the plains of Leon, except an occasional “aguacéro” which sprinkled out its brief existence under the lee of the volcanoes. The circumstances were now favorable for carrying out my long cherished purpose of again visiting Granada, and from thence prosecuting my investigations of the antiquities reported to exist in its vicinity, and in the islands of Lake Nicaragua. Locking up the main wing of my house, and handing over my keys to Padre Cartine for safe keeping, with no other companions than M. and my servant, I set out on the expedition.

It was just daybreak when we rode through the suburb of Guadaloupe, but already the Indians were yoking their oxen and preparing for their day’s work. Here we overtook Don Felipe Jauregui, Commissioner of Honduras, who had started for Costa Rica, and who felicitated himself greatly on having our company during part of his journey. But Don Felipe had a servant with the mules and a led horse for emergencies, and valued time at its current rate in Central America, where it never rules at a premium. He had a long journey before him, and meant to take it easily. So, before we had gone a league, after trying in vain to seduce his horse into a pace, I took advantage of a little bend in the road to give him the slip, nor did I see anything more of him until the next day, in the evening, when he overtook us at the town of Masaya.

I never wearied of the ride to Pueblo Nuevo, and thence along the shores of Managua to Matearas; nor would the reader weary of its repeated description, could my pen truly portray its charms. The afternoon was still, and the beach, upon which the tiny waves toyed with a low, musical murmur, was cool in the broad shadows of the cliffs which bordered it upon the west, and crowned with verdure, shut off the rays of the evening sun. My old friends, the long-legged cranes, were there, distant and grave as usual, and clearly in bad humor at these repeated intrusions. And when we dismounted and took a bath in the lake, they audibly expressed their dissatisfaction, and marched off a few rods, where they held an indignation meeting, in company with a rabble of water-hens and disreputable “zopolotes.” I had great contempt for them ever after that.

We reached Matearas at sunset, and “put up” at the house of Don Henrique’s pet. She inquired about our friend, and felt “very desolate,” she said, because he had not sent her some pills he had promised—for be it known, every foreigner in Central America is more or less a “medico.” The little naked fellow for whom Don Henrique had stood sponsor, was tumbling about the floor, engaged in a pretty even contest with two pigs and three chickens, about a piece of tortilla. The pigs appeared most afflicted, and squealed in a distressful way because of their ill success. Our little hostess did not take the trouble to interfere, but gave “aid and comfort” to her boy, by keeping off a matronly porker, evidently deeply interested, which stood looking in at the door-way. I could not help laughing at the group, but my merriment puzzled the poor woman exceedingly. She looked at me inquiringly, blushed, and drew forward a large reboso, which was thrown loosely over her shoulders, so as to conceal her figure. I saw her mistake at once, and hastened to correct it in the most direct manner, for in these countries it is the only way of preserving a good understanding. A tear glistened in her eye, while a smile lit up her face, as she replied in a touching tone, “A thousand thanks, Señor; we are very poor people, and cannot afford to be laughed at.” She told me with the greatest frankness how soon another god-father would be wanted, and as she had had a Frenchman for the first, she should “so like” to have an American for the second. I assured her that I should be happy to serve, if I could make it convenient to be there at the proper time. A few minutes afterwards, I overheard her telling the gossiping female neighbors who had “dropped in,” that the thing was all settled. “El Ministro del Norte” was to be sponsor for the prospective immortal, “seguro! seguro!” sure! sure! How proudly the little woman moved about the rest of the evening! She superintended all the details of supper, and when I went to bed on the table, would have substituted her pillow, the only one in the house, for my saddle, had I permitted her. That table! There is but one thing harder under the sun, and that is Don Pedro Blanco’s bed of hide!

After this intimation, I need not add that I was not exactly “lapped in Elysium” during the night. It was not so much the fault of the table, as of some arrieros, stopping at the hut over the way, who had got together the belles of the village, and with the aid of aguardiente, a guitar, and two tallow candles, were making a night of it. I sat up several times to look at them through the little square window over the table. Various groups of dancers were whirling around a man playing the guitar, a gay mestizo with a red sash around his waist and his hat set jauntily on one side, who performed with all the vigor of “the bones,” in the Opéras Ethiopiennes, and from the shouts of laughter which followed some of the hits, evidently improvising the song with which he accompanied the music. Some of these hits, I infer, were personal, for suddenly a strapping yellow girl, in a dashing flounce, flung herself out of her partner’s arms, and seizing the performer’s hat, flung it under her feet. The next instant she had him by the hair;—there was a tustle, a mingled sound of laughter, supplication, and abuse, in the midst of which the table was upset, and the lights extinguished. I flattered myself this was the final “grand tableau.” Delusive hope! Half an hour of violent discussion ensued, in which the voice of the Amazon was highest, and then the entente cordiale seemed restored. Looking out of the window, I saw the man of the guitar in his former place, and everything going on as before. I presume, however, that the improvisor was now more respectful in his allusions.

We left before sunrise the next morning, deferring breakfast until our arrival at Managua, twenty miles distant. I rode ahead, and allowed my horse to take his own course. Upon reaching the volcanic ridge which I have mentioned as projecting into the lake, where the mule road diverges from the round-about camina real, he entered the wrong path, and we went on for half an hour before discovering the error. I then determined to push ahead, whatsoever the consequences. We soon came to a clearing, and a little beyond, to a number of huts, standing upon the very brow of the mountain, and looking out upon the lake, and beyond its shores, to the hills of Chontales. I involuntarily spurred my horse forward. It was the broadest, most luxuriant view upon which my eye had ever rested. That from Laurel Hill, descending the Alleghanies, is alone comparable to it, but lacks the grand and essential elements of lakes, volcanoes, and tropical verdure. The morning breeze swept fresh and exhilarating past us, and our very horses lifted their heads, and with expanded nostrils and ears thrown forward, seemed to drink in the cool air, and to enjoy the surprise and the scene not less than ourselves.

We were several times saluted with “buenas mañanas caballeros!” by a short, merry-faced old lady, the mistress of the huts, before we had the gallantry to turn from the scene to the señora. Two or three naked boys, with bows and arrows and cerbatanas or blowing-tubes, stood beside her, and a couple of grown girls peeped slyly at us from behind the broken door of the principal hut. The old lady was a sympathetic body, and her face was really brilliant with animation, as she exclaimed “buena vista, caballeros!” prolonging the “vees-ta,” as she swept her hand in the direction of the distant horizon. This “hatto,” she said, was called “Santa Maria de Buena Vista,” and she was the mistress. These, she added, are my niños, boys, and these “malditas,” pointing to the girls who dodged out of sight, are my “hijas grandes,” my big girls. “Venga!” come here, she ejaculated; but the girls wouldn’t come, whereupon the old lady went into the house and dragged them out. One was fair, with light hair and blue eyes, while the other, like her mother, was a brunette, her dark eyes, half shadowed by her long curling hair, fairly dancing with suppressed mischief. I had long before ceased to be surprised at wide differences of color and features in the same family; but the contrast here was so striking that I could not help exclaiming interrogatively “ambas?” both? “Si!” she answered, with emphasis; “esta negrita,” this darkey, is my husband’s, “y esta blanquita es una Francescita!” and this white one is French! The inference from this naivé confession was so obvious a reflection on the old lady’s honor, that I thought it but decent not to understand it, and modestly suggested, “Ah si, su compadre fue Frances,” ah yes, her god-father was French! “No, su padre—padre!” no, her father, father, interrupted the matron, with energy; “I was young once,” she added, after a pause, and with a toss of the head, which made me repent my ill-timed suggestion. Ah! the perfidious Frenchman who had abused the hospitalities of “Santa Maria de Buena Vista!” The wretch had evidently a taste for the picturesque.

The old lady inquired how I liked the place; I was, of course, delighted. “Very well,” said she, “buy“buy it;” and she went on to enumerate its advantages, making the most of the view. I suggested that there was no water; but that she said was of slight importance, it was only a mile to the lake—she had got water there for fourteen years, and there was plenty of it, as we could see. Besides, I could have either one of her girls to bring it for me; both if I liked; and all for a hundred dollars! But the concluding argument confounded me; she communicated it in a whisper. The Norte Americanos were building a canal, and in a few months, Buena Vista would be worth four times the money! I took off my hat incontinently, and only regretted that the old lady had no lithographic press, wherewith to convert Buena Vista into town lots! I promised to consider the proposition—particularly so far as it related to the “negrita,” and the “blanquita,” both of whom, I wished to have it distinctly understood, were to be included, because it was more than one ought to do, to bring all the water from the lake. The old lady admitted the force of the argument, and gravely assented. The final arrangement was deferred until my return. One of the boys pointed out the path, down the face of the mountain to the lake; we had only to follow the shore, he said, to reach Managua. I asked how far it was,—“hay no mas!” “there is no more, it is only a step,” he replied, and we left him in high spirits, thinking we had really discovered a short cut, instead of having gone two leagues out of our way. The path to the edge of the lake was steep, but well-worn, and we descended without much difficulty. The beach was broad and smooth, and on a little knoll, covered with grass, and arched with trees, was the place where the women of Buena Vista did their washing. The huts, as we looked up, seemed perched on the edge of a precipice, and with the palms that surrounded them, stood out in sharp relief against the sky. Cattle from the pasturage grounds were loitering in the edge of the water; there was a donkey, grave but stubborn, which a half-grown boy was trying to drive somewhere, but which not only wouldn’t go, but kicked viciously when the muchacho approached. The boy seemed almost ready to cry with vexation, and begged I would shoot the obstinate brute, which he denounced, not only as “sin verguenza,” but as a great many other things, which would hardly bear translating. We left him stoning the “burro,” at point blank distance, just out of the range of his heels; and if neither one has given in, they may be there still.

The shore was hard and smooth, and our horses moved along, the waves dashing to their fetlocks, with an elastic and nervous action, in which the merest clod must have sympathized. Occasionally arching their necks, and lifting up their heads, their whinny was like the blast of a trumpet! Ah, my noble gray—with thy clear eye, expanded nostrils, taper ears, and the veins swelling full on thy arching neck!—son of Arabian sires! hast thou forgotten that morning’s ride on the shores of Managua? Wine may quicken the blood with an unnatural, evanescent flow; the magic hakshish stupify the frame, and for the moment make the tense nerves vibrate to the melodies of the spirit world,—but give me a free rein, and the willing back of my Arab gray, and the full, expanding, elevating intoxication of a tropical morning!

On, on, we seemed to float along the edge of the lake. By-and-by the hills came down like barriers to the water. Here we scrambled for awhile amongst rough rocks, cutting vines and branches right and left with our swords, and emerged on the shore of a little bay. Two men, up to their arm-pits in the water, were throwing a cast-net near the rocks, while a third trailed after him what appeared to be a long branch of the palm tree, but which was a cord, whereon the fishes were strung. He towed it ashore, at our request, and showed us some hundreds of beautiful fish, most of them of a species resembling our rock-bass, and about the size of a small shad. I asked the price—ten for a medio, or sixpence! We declined purchasing, whereupon he offered ten for a quartillo, equal to three cents. I then told him we did not wish to buy, but that there was a real to drink the health of los Americanos.

We had now come more than a league, and I began to think as it had been “hay no mas” to Managua at Buena Vista, we must be near the place. We were now told “esta aqui,” “it is here, you are in it;” which we afterwards found to mean that it was only six miles further. After much experience, I came to understand that “hay no mas,” “there is no more,” or it is no further, is a figurative way of saying from nine to twelve miles; and “esta aqui,” “it is here,” from six to nine. “Una legua,” a league, I may add, for the benefit of uninitiated travellers, may be calculated at pleasure, at from a mile and a half, to five miles,—“you pays your money, and you takes your choice!”

Another league along the lake shore, occasionally turning a rocky headland, and we came to a large plantain walk, from which a broad path diverging to the right, assured us that we were approaching the city. The path was as smooth and as clear as a race course, and our horses, who had been in high spirits all the morning, struck at once into a fast gallop. I bent down on my steed’s neck, to avoid the branches of the trees, and gave him a loose rein. It was a very undignified race, no doubt, on the part of the riders, but both gray and bay enjoyed it, and so did we, by sheer force of sympathy. We met numbers of people going to their huertas, who leaped out of the path as we went scurrying along. Some cried “hoo-pah!” and others ejaculated something, in which I could only distinguish “borracho”—“drunk!” But that was a mistake.

We dashed into the plaza of Managua, with steaming steeds, and rode to the posada. It was not nine o’clock, yet we had ridden twenty-six miles. We ordered breakfast, and it was quite ready before Ben came trotting up on his mule. He was in bad humor, and I couldn’t blame him, for it was shabby to leave him alone in the chapparal.

At eleven, when we started for Masaya, the sky was clouded but it did not rain, and we rode at a rapid pace over the intervening thirty-six miles. Again we paused on the “mal pais” of the volcano, and looked down upon its broad, desolate fields—doubly black and desolate under a lowering sky. Again we lingered in the noiseless streets of sweet, embowered Nindiri, born of the lake and mountain,—and at four o’clock entered the suburbs of Masaya.

I had a letter to a gentleman, who, for reasons which will duly appear, shall be nameless, and inquired for his residence. In reaching it, we had to go through the plaza; it afforded a striking contrast to the appearance it had worn when we passed it before. The closed shops were now open, and flaunting with gayly-colored goods—groups of people with laden mules were scattered in every direction, and women with dulces stepped across it with the precision of grenadiers! A procession consisting of a boy ringing a little bell, and followed by some musicians and a priest, was just emerging from the great church, on its way to administer the last rites of religion to the dying. The hum of voices was stilled on the instant; every head was uncovered and every knee bent, as the little procession moved by on its mission of consolation and mercy; another moment, and the current of life and action flowed on as if nothing had occurred.

The house where we were to stop was a very good one, and we rode at once into the court-yard. A lady, fat and fair, and not without pretensions to beauty, was seated in the corridor. She invited us to dismount, which we did, and I handed her my letter of introduction. She looked at the direction, and said it was for her husband, who had gone out; she would give it to him on his return. I suggested that she had better read it; but, singular woman, “she never read her husband’s letters!” She nevertheless showed a distant relationship to the sex, by depositing it in her bosom—the bosom of her dress. Perhaps she had the ability, in common with certain maiden ladies of New-England, of taking in the contents by a mystical process of magnetic absorption. It wasn’t pleasant to sit waiting in the corridor; we had not come to make a call, but to stop for the night, and all the next day, and after waiting a reasonable time for an invitation, I told Ben to unsaddle the horses, and place our baggage in the corridor. The mistress looked a little puzzled, but said nothing. In fact the whole affair was getting to be awkward; so I suggested to M., that pending the return of our proposed host, we should visit the lake.

The first man we met in the street proved to be one of the identical alcaldes who were in such a fever to ring the bells, when we had passed through, six months before. He at once volunteered to accompany us to the lake, and took the lead with a magisterial air, as if heralding royalty, bringing his golden-headed cane down at every step with an emphasis which struck terror into all the muchachos within a square of him. Occasionally he would stop to point out to us, or to explain, some object of interest. That house, he said, the door and windows of which were riddled with bullets, had been the rendezvous of the “facciosos” during the late disturbances. The prefect having got wind of their meetings, silently surrounded it with soldiers, and the first intimation the conspirators had of danger, came with a hundred bullets through their doors and windows, and was followed by a charge of the bayonet—a mode of proceeding I thought sufficiently decided for any latitude! That house, falling into ruins, and surrounded by rank weeds, that was the house of a man who had murdered a padre; the bishop had cursed the spot, and it was fenced in with posts, so that stray porkers might not fall under ban by entering its crumbling portal! Those extraordinary clumps of flowers, looking like mammoth golden epaulettes, were flowers of the coyol palm—and those brown shells, each half shaped like a canoe, and almost as large, those were the cases in which the flower had matured. And thus our guide went on, marching us the while down a broad avenue, thronged with water carriers, in the direction of the lake. I observed that the jars here were not carried on the head, but in a kind of net-work sack, suspended on the back by a broad and gayly woven strap passing around the foreheads of the bearers, who came up panting and covered with perspiration.

Half or three-quarters of a mile from the plaza, we came to the edge of the immense sunken area, at the bottom of which is the lake. Like the “Laguna de Salinas,” near Granada, and which I have already described, it is surrounded by precipitous cliffs, except upon the side of the volcano, opposite the city, where the lava has flowed over, and made a gradual but rough and impassable slope to the water. The first stage of the descent is by a broad flight of steps, sunk in the solid rock, terminating in an area, fenced by a kind of balustrade, or parapet, of the same material. I looked over this, and below was a sheer precipice, from which I recoiled with a shudder. Here stands a little cross firmly fixed in the rock. The path now turns to the right, winding along the face of the declivity, here cut in the cliff, there built up with masonry, and beyond secured by timbers, fastened to the trees, many of which are of gigantic size, covered with vines, and twining their gnarled roots in every direction among the rocks. These rocks themselves are burned and blistered with heat, with vitrified surfaces of red or black, resembling, the hardest enamel. Were it not for the verdure, which hides the awful steeps and yawning depths, the path would prove a fearful road for people of weak heads and treacherous nerves, whose confidence in themselves would not be improved by the crosses which, fastened among the stones, or against the trees, point out the places of fatal catastrophes. Our guide advised us to take off our boots before commencing the descent, and the women whom we met slowly toiling up, in many places holding on by their hands, panted “quita sus botas!”—“take off your boots!” But we were more used to boots than they, and kept them on—not without subjecting ourselves to a suspicion of fool-hardiness. Down, catching glimpses of the lake, apparently directly beneath us, and as distant as when we started,—down, down,—it was full fifteen or twenty minutes before we reached the bottom. Here were numerous places among the fallen rocks and the volcanic debris of the cliff, where the aguadoras filled their jars. Many of these were bathing in the water, carrying their jars out several rods from shore, filling them there and then towing them in. They did not appear at all disconcerted by our presence, so we sat down on the rocks and talked with the brown Naiads. I asked one of them if the lake was deep? She replied that it was “insondable,” bottomless; and to give me practical evidence of its great depth, paddled ashore, and taking a large stone in each hand, went out not more than thirty feet, and suffered herself to sink. She was gone so long that I began to grow nervous, lest some accident had befallen her in those unknown depths, but directly she popped up to the surface, almost in the very place where she had disappeared. She gasped a moment for breath, and then, turning to me, exclaimed, “you see!”

The water is warm, but limpid, and, it is said, pure. When cooled, it is sweet and palatable. Considering that the lake is clearly of volcanic origin, with no outlet, and in close proximity to the volcano of the same name, this is a little remarkable. Most lakes of this character are more or less impregnated with saline materials.

The view of the lake, and the volcano rising on the opposite shore, from the place where we were seated, was singularly novel and beautiful. Above us towered a gigantic cebia, festooned with vines, amongst which a company of monkeys were scrambling, chattering, and grimacing. Occasionally one would slip down the long, rope-like tendrils of the vines, scold vigorously for a moment, and then, as if suddenly alarmed, scramble up again amongst the branches. The girls said they were specially indignant at us because we were “blancos,” and we had afterwards the most conclusive, if not the most savory, evidence of their dislike, which it would be indelicate to explain. Suffice it to say, we registered a vow to return the next day with our guns, and teach the ill-bred mimics better manners.

The cliffs which wall in the lake resemble the Palisades on the Hudson river, but are much higher, and destitute of the corresponding masses of debris at the base. The early Spanish chroniclers speak of them as a “thousand fathoms” high; later travellers have changed the fathoms to yards, but even that is probably an exaggeration. We had no means of determining the question, and wouldn’t have gone down again, after once regaining the upper earth, to have solved it a thousand times. The descent was mere bagatelle, but the ascent one of those things which answer for a lifetime, and leave no desire for repetition. We reached the upper cross after a most wearisome scramble, only fit for monkeys to undertake, and sat down on the last flight of stone steps, wholly exhausted, covered with perspiration, and our temples throbbing from the exertion, as if they would burst. The aguadoras, accustomed to it from infancy, seemed to suffer almost as much as ourselves, and as they passed the cross, made its sign in the usual manner, in acknowledgment of their safe return.

All the water for domestic purposes is thus painfully brought up from the lake. During the “invierno” the rain is collected in tanks, or ponds, in the courts of the principal houses, for the use of the horses and cattle; but when this supply becomes exhausted, as it does towards the close of the dry season, the water for their use has also to be obtained here. An attempt had been made to cut a path for mules down the face of the cliff, but it had failed. About two leagues from Masaya, however, the people had met with better success, and there is now a place where animals, with some difficulty, can reach the lake. There are a number of towns, besides Masaya, which obtain their water from the same source. These towns existed, and the same practice prevailed, before the Conquest, when the country was tenfold more populous than now. Water-carrying seems to have always been one of the principal institutions of this section of country, and as there are no streams, and never will be, it is likely to remain about the only enduring one, or until some enterprising Yankee shall introduce a grand forcing pump, worked, perhaps, by volcanic power—for, having made the lightning a “common carrier,” I do not see why volcanoes shouldn’t be made to earn their living!

Oviedo has described this lake as it was in 1529, and it will be seen that it has little changed since then. His estimate of the height of the cliffs surrounding it, about one thousand feet, is probably not far from the truth.

The little fishes found here are the same with those called sardines at Managua, and which I have described in another place.

It was dusk when we returned to the plaza, which was now filled with people, presenting the most animated appearance that it is possible to conceive. It was market evening, and every one who had aught to buy or to sell, was on the ground, exhibiting his wares, or in search of what he wanted. I have said that Masaya is distinguished for its manufactures, and we now had the opportunity of learning their variety and extent. Upon one side of the plaza stood mules loaded with grass or sacate, wood carefully split and bound up in bundles like faggots, maize, and the more bulky articles of consumption. Near by were carts overflowing with oranges, melons, aguacates, jocotes, onions, yucas, papayas, and the thousand blushing, luscious fruits and vegetables of the country, going at prices which we regarded as absolutely ruinous, while las vendedoras chanted:

Here were women seated on little stools beside snow-white sheets, or in the centre of a cordon of baskets, heaped with cacao or coffee, starch, sugar, and the more valuable articles of common use; here a group with piles of hats of various patterns, hammocks, cotton yarn, thread of pita, native blankets, petates, and the other various articles which Yankees call “dry goods;” here another group, with water jars, plates, and candlesticks of native pottery; there a sillero or saddler exposed the products of his art, the zapatero cried his shoes, the herrero his machetes, bits for horses, and other articles of iron; girls proclaimed their dulces, boys shouted parrots and monkeys, and in the midst of all a tall fellow stalked about bearing a wooden-clock from Connecticut, in his arms, gaudily painted, with the picture of the sun on the dial, which seemed to tip us a familiar wink as I inquired the price. Unfortunate inquiry! “Quarenta pesos; barato, barato, muy barato!” “Forty dollars; cheap, cheap, very cheap!” And the wretch followed us everywhere with that abominable clock. “Sir,” said I at last, “I make clocks, and will bring one here and sell it for five dollars, if you do not stop your noise!” Whereupon he marched off, still crying, “Un relox esplendidisimo, quiera á comprar!” Wherever we passed, we were stunned with the mercaders, who fairly hustled us, in their anxiety to thrust their various wares full in our faces. The hackmen at a steamboat landing could not be worse. Directly the alcalde, who had gone off to collect his official associates, rejoined us; and then, amidst the bustle of the market, we had ten minutes of laborious bowing and speechifying, much to the edification of the people, no doubt, who piled themselves up around us, full twenty deep. I had been enjoying myself mightily, but all was done for now, and leaving the busy scene of which I would gladly have seen more, I moved off to our quarters.

Our proposed host had returned, and received us almost civilly. He was a dark, saturnine looking man, and evidently not given to hospitality. We nevertheless got a very good supper, none the less acceptable because of our visit to the lake on the top of a horseback ride of sixty miles that day. We had not finished before Señor Jauregui trotted up to the door. He had heard where we were, and had come directly to our quarters. I thought he was better received than we had been, but the difference was not more than between cool and cold. I made a kind of apology for my desertion of the Señor, which was very politely received; but I hope it was more satisfactory to him than it was to me.

During the evening I hired some mozos to go to the Indian Pueblos of Jinotepec and Nindiri, to bring me next morning the oldest Indians who could be found, retaining any knowledge of the language originally spoken here, with the view of procuring a brief vocabulary. The rest of the evening was spent in inquiring about antiquities, and in listening to the family history of the Señora of the mansion, who, besides keeping a tienda in one corner of the house, had the honor of being sister of a late minister of the country in Europe, once Secretary of the Treasury, but who just now did not stand in the highest favor with Government or people. How much the fact of this relationship had to do with my reception, it is hardly worth the while to conjecture. The family history was not the most entertaining to weary travellers, and having a keen remembrance of the table at Matearas, and catching glimpses of inviting curtained beds in the inner rooms, I made no efforts to disguise my ennui. Finally, I plainly suggested that it was bed time. Our host took a miserable candle, but instead of leading to the inviting curtained beds aforesaid, marched us out into the corridor, to a kind of outbuilding at one extremity, with a rickety door, a single little window, unpaved floor, and mildewed walls. Here were two dirty hide beds, upon the headboards of which some chickens were roosting. There was not an article of furniture in the room; not a rag of clothing on the beds. He stuck the candle against the wall, and was about departing, when I called him by name. He turned round, and I looked him full in the face for a moment, and then told him “go!” He really had the decency to blush! Ben made up a kind of bed with the saddles and blankets, and spite of all discomforts I slept soundly and well. I was up early to enjoy the delicious air of the morning, and strolled out into the silent streets, and for half a mile up one of the avenues, to a small picturesque church in a little square, surrounded by a high cactus hedge, and filled with magnificent, ancient palms. The church was a quaint structure, and on a slab sunk in the wall of the façade was an inscription, of which I could only make out the words, “en el año 1684.” It had been long abandoned, and a flock of silent zopilòtes were perched on the roof, with wings half expanded to catch the breeze of the morning. The area around it was now used as a cemetery, and kept scrupulously neat and free from weeds.

Upon my return to the house, I found the Commissioner and the breakfast waiting. We had the table all to ourselves in the corridor, and in the intervals of his masticatory exercises, Don Felipe favored me with his private opinion of our host, which coincided wonderfully with my own. He also produced a letter, in a very confidential way, which he begged I would forward to Leon, as it contained a full exposure of the treatment to which we had been subjected; but which, it afterwards turned out, related to certain political movements of doubtful propriety. And as he mounted his horse to depart, he whispered in my ear, with the air of a man vindicating the national reputation for hospitality, that he had paid the bill for the party. I, of course, could only bow my acknowledgments, and with a “buena viaje,” the Commissioner rode off. The next time I saw him, three or four months later, a file of soldiers was marching him through the streets of Leon, a proscribed man, under arrest for treason!

Up to the departure of the Commissioner, I had been in doubt as to my position in the house, whether I was a paying guest or otherwise, and had in consequence put up with many things little agreeable to my feelings. I now felt relieved, and made a number of very imperative if not necessary orders, by way of compensating myself for lost time, and getting the worth of my money. Ben caught the spirit, and instead of attending to our animals himself, went through double the fatigue in making the servants of the house do the drudgery, treating them at the same time to a variety of forcible epithets, besides indulging in some reflections on their maternal ancestry.

Before eight o’clock the Indians whom I had sent for made their appearance, and squatted down in the corridor. Amongst them was a female, a little withered creature, with only a blanket around her middle, who seemed to know more than all the rest, and who was as prompt as an ambitious school-boy in replying to my questions. This annoyed her husband greatly, who, not content with berating her for what he called her impertinence, would have administered practical reproof, had he not been kept in check by our presence. “Ah, señor,” he said, “this woman has been so all her life! Heaven help me!” and he lifted his eyes and crossed himself. With great difficulty I filled out my blank vocabulary, and dismissed my swarthy visitors, giving an extra real or two to the woman, who gratefully volunteered to visit Leon, if I required further information.

I had heard of a ravine not far from Masaya, in which there were inscribed rocks, “piedraspiedras labradas,” and my official guide of the preceding evening undertook to lead us to the place. We went down the same broad avenue towards the lake, but before reaching it, turned to the left, and passing through luxuriant fields of yucas and tobacco, along the edge of the precipice, came at last to a hollow, where stood the hydraulic wonder of Masaya, called, par excellence, “La Maquina,” the machine. It was a very simple and very rude apparatus for elevating water from the lake. The water jars were placed in sacks attached to an endless rope, connected with a pulley below, and revolving on a wheel or drum, turned by horse power above. The cliff here was lower than at any other point, and for half the distance to the water absolutely precipitous. Below, the fallen rocks and the earth washed from the ravine had formed an inclined plane, up which the jars were brought on men’s shoulders. The proprietor of the Maquina, who seemed exceedingly proud of his achievement, told me that the machine raised the jars as fast as eight active men could bring them to the foot of the precipice. The water was emptied into a large trough hollowed from a single tree, and here the proprietors of the town watered their animals, at a certain rate per week. The whole affair was an experiment, and he was not yet certain that it would succeed, because of the opposition of the aguadoras, who regarded it as a flagrant innovation on their immemorial privileges. He concluded by inquiring if we had similar contrivances in “El Norte” and seemed very complacent when I assured him that there was nothing of the kind in the whole extent of our country. The Maquina stood at the mouth of the ravine of which we were in search. We entered, and proceeded up its narrow bed, shut in by walls of rock, and completely arched over with trees, for about a quarter of a mile. Here the face of the rock upon the left side was comparatively smooth, and literally covered with figures rudely cut in outline.outline. A few were still distinct, but most were so much obliterated that they could not be made out with any degree of satisfaction. Many were covered with the fallen debris, and the earth which the rains had brought down; and still others were carved so high up on the precipitous rocks, that their character could not be ascertained. They covered the face of the cliffs for more than a hundred yards, and consisted chiefly of rude representations of animals and men, with some ornamented and perhaps arbitrary figures, the significance of which is now unknown. Figs. 1, 2 of the “Sculptured Rocks of Masaya,” exhibit the principal outlines upon the first section to which we came, and Figs. 3, 4 those upon the second. Upon the latter there seems to have been an attempt at delineating the sun in two places, and perhaps also to record some event, for it is a plausible supposition that the straight marks on the upper section of Figure 3 were intended for numerals. The principal right hand figure of this section seems to have been designed to represent a shield, arrows, or spears, and the xiuatlatli, or aboriginal instrument for throwing spears, which are frequently grouped in similar manner in the Mexican paintings. The principal figure in the inferior section is evidently intended to represent a monkey. In respect to the other figures, the reader is at liberty to form his own conjectures. Rocks inscribed in very much the same manner, are scattered all over the continent, from the shores of New-England to Patagonia. Most, if not all of them, are the work of savage tribes, and seem generally designed to commemorate events of greater or less importance. They are however far too rude to be of much archæological value; and have little interest except as illustrating the first steps in a system of pictorial representation which it is supposed subsequently became refined into a hieroglyphical, and finally into an alphabetical system.