Nicaragua

DEPARTURE FOR SAN LORENZO—MORNING SCENES—NOVEL CAVALCADE—A HIGH PLAIN—LIFE AMONGST REVOLUTIONS—NACAOME—MILITARY RECEPTION—GEN. CABANAS—AN ALARM—NEGOTIATIONS—BRITISH INTERFERENCE—A TRUCE—PROSPECTS OF ADJUSTMENT—AN EVENING REVIEW—THE SOLDIERY—A NIGHT RIDE—RETURN TO SAN LORENZO.

A little before sunset, the tide had lifted our boat, and the wind being brisk and fair, we embarked for San Lorenzo. Our course was along the base of Sacate Grande. The vaqueros had set fire to the dry grass that afternoon, and when the night fell, it revealed a broad sheet of flame, extending entirely across the island, sending up vast billows of black smoke, and moving onward with a deep and steady roar, like that of the ocean. Spires of flame, like flashes of lightning, often darted upward amongst these clouds of smoke, or swooping downward, set fire to the grass in advance of the devouring column. The spectacle was grand, and I watched it until midnight, and then crept beneath the chopa and went to sleep.

I was awakened by a sense of suffocation, and found that it had rained during the night, and that the sailors had let down the flaps of the chopa, thus confining us in a low and narrow space, not much larger than an ordinary oven. I hastened to drag myself out upon the pineta. Day was just breaking, and a hot, gray mist hung around us, half concealing yet magnifying every object. I could only make out that the bongo was lying high up on a broad, black beach, fifty yards from a sullen looking river, whose opposite shore was overhung with drooping trees. The sailors were all gone, and I was perfectly ignorant of our position. I felt oppressed by a lassitude such as I had never before experienced, and longed for water, if only to wash my hands and face. The river was dark and sullen, yet it appeared as if it might refresh me. So I got over the side of the boat, but sunk at once to the instep in a black, sickening mire. I nevertheless advanced towards the water’s edge, and had nearly reached it, when I discovered a number of large alligators, trailing their ugly carcasses through the mud, not ten feet distant. In the deceptive light they looked absolutely monstrous. I did not stop to take a second view, but retreated to the bongo with a rapidity which five minutes before I would have thought impossible. Here I roused Ben, and then commenced hallooing for our patron. Directly we heard his voice in the distance, and soon after he came stalking towards us, appearing through the mist like one of the genii of Arabian story.

It turned out that we were about three leagues up an estero formed by the river Nacaome, and within six leagues of the town of the same name, whither we were bound. A short distance in advance, and to the right of us, the patron said there were some cattle ranchos, whither he had gone with the officer who had accompanied us, to obtain horses for our expedition. I inquired with what luck, and received the expected answer, “no hay!” accompanied with the usual expressive wave of the forefinger. It was certainly a comfortable prospect, stuck there in the mud, amidst mists, and deadly damps, and alligators. My previous sense of exhaustion rapidly gave place to a vague feeling of injury and general discontent and disgust. Determined to know the worst, I ordered the patron to lead me to the ranchos. They were miserable huts, hastily constructed of bushes and palm-leaves, surrounded by a drove of melancholy cows, which some fever-and-agueish looking women were engaged in milking. A brawny mestizo, with a deep scar across his face, sat by a little fire, turning some pieces of meat on the coals; and a pack of mangy dogs, showing their long, white teeth, sneaked snarling around our legs. I bade the brawny mestizo good morning; he looked up with a furtive, suspicious glance, but made no reply. How far all these circumstances contributed to restore good humor, the reader can readily imagine. My first impulse was to shoot a dog or two, and their owner in the bargain, if he made any disturbance in consequence, but thought better of it, and sat down gloomily in a damp hammock which I found strung between the trees.

Shortly after, my companions came up from the bongo, and the mist lifting, and matters generally assuming a more cheerful aspect, we took possession of the mestizo’s fire, and began to prepare breakfast. A few conciliatory reals set the women to grinding tortillas for us, and really made the mestizo himself complacent,—at any rate, he exhibited some grim signs of gratitude by kicking his curs from around our legs.

We had hardly finished our breakfast, when our friend, the officer, returned, accompanied by some Indians, one of whom was an alcalde, each leading a couple of horses. Such horses! They were “caballos del campo,” rough beasts from the ranchos, long ago mortgaged to the buzzards. We had fortunately brought our saddles with us, and were not long in getting mounted, and on our road—if the bed of the river can be called a road. It was a cavalcade worthy of Hogarth’s pencil, and each horseman laughed inordinately, at the comical figure cut by his companions. At the head of the party rode our Indian alcalde, with the air of a man discharging an exalted and responsible duty. He had heard of “El Norte,” but had no clear notions of its whereabouts; he couldn’t tell whether it was northward or southward, but knew that it was “muy poderoso,” very powerful, and had vessels of war, and a great many cannons. He led us up the stream to a ford, crossing which, we struck into a broad path connecting with the camino real to Nacaome. The vegetation in the river valley was very luxuriant, affording food for many droves of cattle, which, at the height of the dry season, are driven down from the elevated, parched savannas of the interior to browse here. This practice accounted for the number of temporary huts which we passed in our march, and which were only built to last a month or two, while the cattle remained in the valley.

The alcalde took us out of our way to his own house, which was a rude but permanent establishment, where he insisted on our stopping long enough to drink a calabash of milk; I obliged him by dismounting and entering for a moment. The women were engaged in their eternal occupation of grinding tortillas, and, instead of rising to welcome us, bashfully continued their work. They were apparently pure Indians, but of a lighter shade than those of Nicaragua. They belong to a nation denominated Cholutecan, which is evidently a Mexican name, and probably the same with Cholultecan, i. e., people of Cholula, the place of the great teocalli or pyramid. A short distance beyond the alcalde’s house, we reached a broad plain, covered only with clumps of gum arabic bushes, interspersed with calabash trees. These did not particularly obstruct the view, and as the plain was high, we could overlook the country for a great distance around. Behind us was a wide expanse of low alluvial land, densely wooded, with the high islands of the Gulf distinctly visible beyond; while in front rose a series of ragged, blue mountains, the outliers of the great central plateau of Honduras. As we advanced, the plain became more open, but strangely traversed, at intervals, by narrow strips of lava, projecting only a few feet above the ground. Finally the bushes disappeared altogether, and the plain assumed the character of an undulating savanna. And now, looking like some old fortress, we discovered, a long way in advance, the low, straggling buildings of a hacienda, from which radiated lines of stone walls, the first we had seen in Central America. It was a grateful sight, and inspired our Rozinantes to such a degree, that, by a liberal application of whip and spur, they were actually seduced into a gallop—which they kept up in a paroxysmal way, until we reached the hacienda. In the laughter created by this race, we had not observed the commotion which our approach had excited. We were at first mistaken for a party of mounted ladrones; but as soon as we were distinctly made out, all alarm subsided, and the proprietor of the estate, a tall, courteous man, advanced to welcome us. Dismounting, we left our blown horses with the mozos, under the broad corridor, and entered the house. One half of the grand sala was filled with tobacco in bales, from the plains of Santa Rosa, in the interior, on its way to El Tigre, to be shipped, via Cape Horn, for Holland!

We had not been long seated, before a young lady of great intelligence of face, grace, and benignity of manner, and dressed in American style, entered the room. The proprietor introduced her as his daughter, who, in consequence of her mother’s death, was now his housekeeper. She conversed with us readily, and I soon discovered that she had been well educated, and had travelled with her father both in the United States and in Europe.

The conversation turned upon the present political disturbances, and we learned that General Guardiola, the night previously, had reached the village of Pespire, only two leagues from Nacaome, and that probably he would attack the place that very day. In fact, our host told me his valuables were already packed, and his horses saddled for flight into San Salvador, the moment the sound of guns should announce that all negotiations and attempts at compromise had failed. But I asked, if you leave, what will become of your property here? “It will be robbed,” was the prompt reply, “but not for the first time; the estate has been three times pillaged within the past six years!”

I shuddered to think what might be the fate of the gentle girl before us, if, when the worst came to the worst, her father’s plans of escape should fail him. She said she only wished that matters would take some decisive turn; the sternest reality were better than this painful suspense. She did not care for herself, (and she pointed significantly to the hilt of a poignard concealed in her belt,) she had little to choose between life and death, except for the sake of her father and her motherless sisters.

It was yet two leagues to Nacaome, and knowing the reputation of General Guardiola for impetuosity, I felt that the object of my visit could only be accomplished, if at all, by reaching the scene of action before any collision should take place. Our host was positive that the day would not pass without a battle. We accordingly mounted, and advanced as rapidly as our miserable horses enabled us. A little distance beyond the hacienda, the road struck again into the narrow valley of the river; and as we were now beyond the alluvions, and entering the mountains, it assumed all the appearance of a mountain stream. In fact, the whole scenery had changed, and was unlike that of any part of the country we had yet seen. The stones around us were rich in copper, and interspersed with quartz, and the granite outcrops here and there showed that we had reached the region of primitive rocks. The mountains were no longer isolated peaks, but took the form of continuous ranges, and made broad sweeps in the distance. The river too, here murmuring amongst the stones, there spreading out in broad, dark pools, reminded us of the upper tributaries of the Hudson.

We passed several houses, occupied only by women; the men had either joined the army, or had fled to the hills to escape the conscription. About a league from the hacienda, we met a man, splendidly mounted, with long hair, and a wild, bandit contour generally, who was riding express to the Port of La Union, with despatches from the commander of the San Salvadorean allies in Nacaome. He was known to some of our party as “Diablo Negro,” Black Devil, and had a twin brother who rejoiced under the hardly less objectionable designation of “Diablo Blanco,” White Devil. These twin devils were noted in the country as men of unbounded activity and daring, and their titles were intended to be complimentary. Diablo Negro told us that an Indian runner, despatched by our official friend, had reached Nacaome before he had left,—and that the army was ready to receive us upon one side, and Guardiola on the other. And then he laughed outright at his own observation, which he evidently thought was witty. The rebels, he said, were advancing, and if we rode fast we might witness an “escaramuza,” or scrimmage, such as it would do our souls good to see; and with a wild laugh, Diablo Negro struck spurs into his horse, and dashed off for La Union.

The valley widened as we progressed, and soon a grand amphitheatre, encircled by hills, opened before us. Upon an eminence in the centre stood the town of Nacaome, the white walls of its houses and the stuccoed tower of its principal church looking like silver beneath the noonday sun. A single glance revealed to us the capabilities of the position for defence, and explained why it had been chosen as a final stand point by the Government. We could distinctly see that the roof of the church was covered with soldiers, and martial music reached our ears, subdued by distance, but yet having a wonderfully earnest and ominous sound. Our official friend, who was in advance, stopped for a moment and listened with an attentive but troubled air, and then rejoining us, begged that we would move on slowly, and allow him to ride ahead and ascertain what was the cause of the peculiar activity of the garrison. I could see that he thought Guardiola was about making an attack, and was anxious not to involve us in the confusion, not to say danger, of a battle. We agreed to await his return in a little hollow, a short distance in advance. He thanked us, and galloped towards the town. Matters now appeared coming to a crisis, but we had gone too far to think of receding; besides, our horses were used up, and would make a sorry show with Guardiola’s lancers at their heels! Our Nicaragua servants were pale and silent, and I vainly attempted to rally them into good spirits. It was all very well for us to be merry, they said; we were in no danger; but Guardiola would make no ceremony with them, and the spokesman shuddered as he drew his hand across his throat, by way of commentary on his own observations. They seemed somewhat re-assured when Ben unfolded our flag, but yet kept religiously in the rear, ready to run at the first appearance of danger.

We waited in the hot sun for our official friend to return, until we were tired, and then moved on again towards the town. No sooner had we emerged from the hollow, however, than we encountered a large cavalcade of officers, full uniformed and mounted on splendid horses. Amongst them was a plainly dressed, unpretending man, to whom we were introduced as Señor Lindo, President of Honduras. He was of middle age, but looked care-worn and prematurely old. With him was Gen. Cabañas, and a large proportion of that devoted band of officers associated with Gen. Morazan in his last gallant, but unsuccessful, struggle to preserve the old Federation. I had heard much of Gen. Cabañas, his generosity, bravery, and humanity, and observed him with deep interest. He is a small, pale man, forty-five or fifty years of age, with a singularly mild face, and gentle, almost womanly, manners. Yet beneath that unassuming, retiring exterior, there slumbers a spirit which no disaster can depress, nor opposition subdue. For fifteen years he has been conspicuous in the political affairs of the country; yet his deadliest foes cannot point to a single one of his acts during that long, anarchical period, tainted with selfishness, or influenced by hatred or revenge. I could not help thinking that, in more favored lands, and other fields of action, his noble qualities might have won for him a name distinguished amongst those whom the world delights to honor.

Gen. Cabañas was now in command of the San Salvadorean allies, and had under him, as aid, the sole surviving son of his benefactor and friend, Morazan. He was a handsome youth, of noble bearing, and a frank, open expression of face,—a perfect type, it is said, of his father. He spoke English fluently, and at once explained to us the posture of affairs. Guardiola’s advance was already within sight, and a detachment had been thrown forward to meet them, under command of Gen. Barrios. It was this movement which had attracted our attention, and alarmed our conductor.

A short ride brought us to the suburbs of the town. The huts were all closed and deserted. Those within musket-shot of the plaza had their walls for several feet above the ground knocked away, so as to prevent their use by assailants for purposes of protection or concealment. The plaza itself was barricaded, with embrasures for cannon, which were so stationed as to sweep the streets leading to it. The sole entrance was by a covered way, so narrow as to admit the passage of but a single horseman at a time. The troops were all under arms, and the defences were fully manned, but by as motley an array of soldiers as it is possible to conceive. They received us, nevertheless, with prolonged vivas, and altogether seemed to be in high spirits. There was a kind of pleasurable excitement in the mere presence of danger, in which I must own I could not resist sympathizing.

We dismounted, and were ushered into the sala of a large house, fronting the church, and which had evidently belonged to a family of some wealth. But it was deserted, and destitute of furniture, excepting some tables and chairs, and one or two other articles, too heavy to be removed with ease.

We had hardly got seated, and the usual formulas of an official reception were not yet concluded, when a gun was fired on the opposite side of the plaza, followed by the rapid beat of a drum, and the cry of “to arms! to arms!” We started to our feet simultaneously, and the next instant an officer entered and announced that a party of Guardiola’s horse had eluded the scouts, and had already entered the town. Señor Lindo hurriedly bade us be under no alarm, begged us to excuse him for an instant, and in less time than I am writing it, we were left wholly alone. A moment afterwards, we heard the clear, firm voice of Gen. Cabañas, and going to the door, I saw him mounted on his horse in the centre of the plaza, giving his orders coolly and deliberately, as if engaged in a review. The men stood at the barricades three deep; the matches of the gunners were lighted; and an attacking party was sallying rapidly by the only gate, to cut off the assailants. Having been accustomed to regard a Central American army of new levies as little better than a mob, I was surprised to see the order, rapidity, and alacrity with which every movement was conducted, and was rather anxious, on the whole, to know how the motley fellows would fight, if driven to extremity. But it was soon apparent that we were not to be favored just then with anything beyond the excitement of preparation. For while we were helping ourselves to the contents of a box of claret and some bread and cheese, which the President, notwithstanding the bustle, had found time to send us, wondering why the performance did not commence, and speculating on the probable result, if Guardiola had really eluded the advance, and surprised the town—a young officer presented himself, bearing Gen. Cabañas’s compliments, and the information that the alarm had been occasioned by a petty detachment of lancers, who had entered the suburbssuburbs in mere bravado; that half of them had been captured on the spot, and that the rest were in full retreat, with a troop of the Government cavalry close at their heels.

Not long after, the President and his Secretary returned, and I learned that Commissioners had already been sent to Guardiola, with a view of disabusing him of certain errors into which he had fallen, and procuring his peaceable submission to the Government. The intervention of San Salvador, and if necessary of Nicaragua also, the President thought, would materially influence the conduct of the refractory General; but he feared, after all, that evil influences and counsels might prevail. It was clear that Guardiola had been imposed upon by the Serviles of Guatemala, and without being conscious of it, was in fact made use of by them, and their foreign coadjutors, to prevent Honduras from entering into the proposed new confederation. Señor Lindo showed me a letter from a man named Pavon, Secretary to the British Charge d’Affaires, Mr. Chatfield, addressed to a confederate, then under arrest for treason, in which the whole plot of the Servile faction was unfolded. This letter had been entrusted to Admiral Hornby, commander of the British naval force in the Pacific, now on board the Asia, eighty-four, in the Port of La Union, and by him had been inadvertently sent to the Government. Mr. Pavon congratulated his friend that matters were taking a decided turn against what he was pleased to call “the false American principles [i. e. of union], so industriously promulgated by the Representative of the United States;” and after complacently intimating that the British “Admiral goes to La Union, well instructed by Mr. Chatfield,” he proceeded to say, “I think that his arrival there will bring the revolution to a favorable close!” But whether Mr. Pavon told the truth when he added, “Mr. Chatfield is at this moment writing to the Admiral, but charges me to salute you in his behalf, and to say that all which this contains meets his approbation,” is a matter between himself and his principal. The President was naturally very indignant to find that the British Legatine was the centre of the intrigues and plots which distracted the State; and spoke with feeling of the attempt, made at this juncture, by the “well instructed” British Admiral, to coerce the State into a compliance with demands of doubtful validity, and the surrender of territorial rights, in violation alike of justice and the constitution. He very naturally conceived that this rude and hostile intervention was designed to favor the insurgents, and procure the substitution of a more manageable government than now existed.

The demands of the British Admiral were certainly very extraordinary. It appeared that Honduras had, some months before, delegated a commissioner for a specific purpose, to the State of Costa Rica. While there, this commissioner fell in with the British Charge d’Affaires and his industrious Secretary, who, between them, prevailed upon him to sign a treaty, providing, amongst other things, for the qualified cession of portions of the territory of Honduras to Great Britain. The commissioner had no power to treat with the British Representative, and the latter knew perfectly well that no arrangement with him could be in any way binding upon Honduras. In fact, the commissioner never presumed to communicate the so-called treaty to his Government; and the first official knowledge the President had of it, was a copy enclosed to him by the British Admiral, with a demand for its immediate ratification, under threats of blockades and territorial seizures in case of refusal!

The reply of the Government was courteous, but decided; it wholly declined to ratify or in any way acknowledge the acts of the commissioner, who had not only proceeded without authority, but had assumed the exercise of powers prohibited by the constitution, for which he had now been arrested, and would be tried on a charge of treason! These things may appear incredible, yet they are not only true, but a fair illustration of the whole course of British policy in Central America. It is proper to add, that, at the outset, the Admiral was probably unaware of the nature of the fraud which was attempted; for after the explanations of the Government, he seems to have permitted the whole matter to drop.

While I was occupied in examining the papers connected with these extraordinary proceedings, Don Victorino Castellano, an influential citizen of San Salvador, who had been delegated as a commissioner to Guardiola, for the purpose of procuring his submission, returned with the gratifying intelligence that there was every prospect of success; that Guardiola had called back his advance, and agreed upon a total suspension of hostilities for three days, to give time for a definite adjustment of differences. He, in fact, brought with him the outline of the terms upon which the General was willing quietly to lay down his arms, and disband his men, viz.: a general amnesty, and the immediate convocation of the State Legislature, to act upon certain alleged grievances in the internal administration, and particularly upon the pending plan of Federation. The last stipulation was made by the General with the evident purpose of relieving himself from the odium of favoring the predominant, but most artfully concealed purpose of his late Servile allies.

I was satisfied, from the moderate nature of these demands, that all danger of a collision was now over, and that my services “to keep the peace” would be no longer required. I therefore determined to retrace my steps to the Bay, and proceed on my proposed trip to San Salvador. This determination was received by our Nicaraguan attendants with a satisfaction bordering on ecstacy, and they would have saddled the horses, and started at once. But the day was intensely hot, and I preferred to ride to San Lorenzo by moonlight.

At four o’clock, Gen. Cabañas sent us a very fair dinner, and after it was despatched, we ascended the tower of the church, to witness the evening review. This church is a large, quaint structure, with a fine altar, and some dim, old paintings on the walls, which looked as if they might have hung there for centuries. From the tower we obtained a full view of the surrounding country. As I have said, Nacaome is a place of some three or four thousand inhabitants, clean, and very well built, and situated upon an eminence in the midst of a broad amphitheatre, shut in on every side by mountains. To this great natural circus there is but one entrance and exit, by the narrow winding valley of the river, which almost encloses the town in its embrace. It appears to constitute two distinct streams, and from this circumstance it may derive its name, which, in the Mexican language, signifies two bodies, i. e., double stream. The town is situated on the camino real, leading to Tegucigalpa and Comyagua, the principal cities of the interior, and derives some of its importance from that circumstance. It is also very well supported by the adjacent country, which is fertile, and under what, in Central America, may be called tolerable cultivation.

From the tower we could discover many hattos, surrounded by small patches of plantains and yucas; pictures of primitive simplicity, and suggestive of unbounded rural delights. But the huts were all deserted; their owners were fugitives in the mountains; and, excepting a troop of lancers, with their weapons flashing in the sun, it might have been a painted scene, in its total absence of life and action.

The review, which took place just outside of the town, afforded an agreeable relief to the contemplation of this picture, so lovely and luxuriant, yet so deserted and lonely. When the men were paraded, I was surprised at their number, and wondered where they had been kept concealed. There were between two and three thousand,—as motley a set as can well be imagined; and, with the exception of about four hundred “veteranos” from San Salvador, dressed in accordance with their individual tastes. Some had shirts, and others jackets, but many had neither; and although I believe all had breeches, yet the legs of those breeches were of all lengths, generally reaching but a little below the knee. There were wags amongst them also, who, probably for the sake of completing the diversity, had one leg rolled up and the other let down. There were the tall, sandalled Caribs from northern Honduras, grim and silent, side by side with the smaller and more vivacious Indians of San Salvador. There were Ladinos and Mestizos, whites and negroes, constituting a living mosaic, as unique as it was unparalleled by anything which I had ever before seen. To those accustomed to the well equipped and uniformed soldiery of other countries, this display would have been but little better than a broad caricature. It certainly afforded none of the “pomp and circumstance” of war, and would have made a very indifferent figure in Broadway or Hyde Park. But if brought to encounter the realities of war, weary marches, exposure, hunger, and privations of every kind, the disparity would not be so great. For these men will march, under a tropical sun, forty, fifty, and even sixty miles a-day, with no other food than a plantain and a bit of cheese; sleep, unprotected, on the bare ground, and pass, unimpaired, through fatigues which would destroy an European army in a single week. Military success depends more upon these qualities than upon simple bravery in battle. But in this respect the soldiers of Central America are far from deficient. When well officered, they fight with obstinacy and desperation. In their encounters with the Mexican troops sent against them by Iturbide, they proved themselves the better soldiers, and were almost universally successful, whatever the odds against them. The cruelties, barbarous massacres, and wholesale slaughters which have marked many of their struggles amongst themselves, have been rather due to the character of their leaders than to any natural or innate bloody disposition of the people themselves. Gen. Cabañas told me that he had never any difficulty in restraining the passions of his men; and to the credit of that officer be it said, that none of his victories have been disgraced by those atrocities which have been, unfortunately, the rule, rather than the exception, in Central America.

It was evening; the moon was shining brightly on the façade of the principal church of Nacaome, bringing in relief the gaunt, old statues of the saints which filled its various niches; the band was playing the national air on the terrace in front, and the men, relieved from duty, were reclining in groups around the plaza, and all appeared peaceful and cheerful, when our horses were led to our door. President Lindo was urgent that I should stay; but convinced that I could be of no further service, and that our presence would materially incommode him, I persisted in my purpose of departure. A party of lancers was deputed to accompany us; and bidding our friends farewell, and “un buen exito” to their campaign, we defiled through the silent streets, on our return. I observed, however, as we rode along, that notwithstanding the apparent favorable disposition of Guardiola, Gen. Cabañas had relinquished none of his precautions. Treachery had been the vice from which he had suffered most, and beneath which the Republic had fallen. We accordingly found picquets stationed all about the town, and were more than once startled by “quien vive?” from parties concealed in the chaparral which bordered our road.

I halted, for a moment, at the hacienda where we had stopped in the morning, and experienced a real delight in relieving the proprietor of a part of the anxiety and suspense under which he was laboring. His daughter pressed my hand thankfully when I left; her heart was too full for utterance, but her face expressed more plainly than words the strength of that filial feeling which finds its highest pleasure in the solace of a parent’s cares.

The heat, excitement, and exertion of the day had greatly fatigued us; and as we trotted slowly over the plain, which I have already described, I was overcome with an insurmountable drowsiness, and falling asleep, actually rode, in that state for nearly its whole length. I was only awakened by a sharp blow on my head, from an overhanging limb of a tree, just as we entered the thickly wooded valley of the river. Half an hour more brought us to our bongo, which, though far from affording luxurious accommodations, was yet, just now, a most welcome retreat. I lost no time in creeping under the chopa, and in five minutes was wrapped in deep and dreamless slumber.