Chapter 32

A STEAMER took us down to Acapulco. It is probably athriving port now. When we were there, a few native huts andtwo or three stone buildings at the edge of the jungleconstituted the 'town.' We bought some horses, and hired twomen - a Mexican and a Yankee - for our ride to the city ofMexico. There was at that time nothing but a mule-track, andno public conveyance of any kind. Nothing could exceed thebeauty of the scenery. Within 160 miles, as the crow flies,one rises up to the city of Mexico some 12,000 feet, withPopocatepetl overhanging it 17,500 feet high. In this shortspace one passes from intense tropical heat and vegetation topines and laurels and the proximity of perpetual snows. Thepath in places winds along the brink of precipitousdeclivities, from the top of which one sees the climaticgradations blending one into another. So narrow are some ofthe mountain paths that a mule laden with ore has often onepanier overhanging the valley a thousand feet below it.

　　Constantly in the long trains of animals descending to thecoast, a slip of the foot or a charge from behind, for theyall come down the steep track with a jolting shuffle, sendsmule and its load over the ledge. We found it very difficultin places to get out of the way in time to let the trainspass. Flocks of parrots and great macaws screeching andflying about added to the novelty of the scene.

　　The villages, inhabited by a cross between the originalIndians and the Spaniards, are about twenty miles apart. Atone of these we always stayed for the night, sleeping ingrass hammocks suspended between the posts of the verandah.

　　The only travellers we fell in with were a party of fourAmericans, returning to the Eastern States from Californiawith the gold they had won there. They had come in oursteamer to Acapulco, and had left it a few hours before wedid. As the villages were so far apart we necessarily had tostop at night in the same one. The second time this happenedthey, having arrived first, had quartered themselves on theAlcalde or principal personage of the place. Our guide tookus to the same house; and although His Worship, who had abetter supply of maize for the horses, and a few morechickens to sell than the other natives, was anxious toaccommodate us, the four Americans, a very rough-looking lotand armed to the teeth, wouldn't hear of it, but peremptorilybade us put up elsewhere. Our own American, who was muchafraid of them, obeyed their commands without more ado. Itmade not the slightest difference to us, for one grasshammock is as soft as another, and the Alcalde's chickenswere as tough as ours.

　　Before the morning start, two of the diggers, rifles in hand,came over to us and plainly told us they objected to ourcompany. Fred, with perfect good humour, assured them we hadno thought of robbing them, and that as the villages were sofar apart we had no choice in the matter. However, as theywished to travel separate from us, if there should be twovillages at all within suitable distances, they could stop atone and we at the other. There the matter rested. But ourguide was more frightened than ever. They were four to two,he argued, for neither he nor the Mexican were armed. Andthere was no saying, etc., etc. . . . In short we had betterstay where we were till they got through. Fred laughed atthe fellow's alarm, and told him he might stop if he liked,but we meant to go on.

　　As usual, when we reached the next stage, the diggers werebefore us; and when our men began to unsaddle at a hut aboutfifty yards from where they were feeding their horses, one ofthem, the biggest blackguard to look at of the lot, andthough the fiercest probably the greatest cur, shouted at usto put the saddles on again and 'get out of that.' He hadwarned us in the morning that they'd had enough of us, and,with a volley of oaths, advised us to be off. Fred, who wasin his shirt-sleeves, listened at first with a look ofsurprise at such cantankerous unreasonableness; but when theruffian fell to swear and threaten, he burst into one of hiscontemptuous guffaws, turned his back and began to feed hishorse with a corncob. Thus insulted, the digger ran into thehut (as I could see) to get his rifle. I snatched up my own,which I had been using every day to practise at the largeiguanas and macaws, and, well protected by my horse, calledout as I covered him, 'This is a double-barrelled rifle. Ifyou raise yours I'll drop you where you stand.' He wasforestalled and taken aback. Probably he meant nothing butbravado. Still, the situation was a critical one. ObviouslyI could not wait till he had shot my friend. But had it cometo shooting there would have been three left, unless mysecond barrel had disposed of another. Fortunately the'boss' of the digging party gauged the gravity of the crisisat a glance; and instead of backing him up as expected, sworeat him for a 'derned fool,' and ordered him to have no moreto do with us.

　　After that, as we drew near to the city, the country beingmore thickly populated, we no longer clashed.

　　This is not a guide-book, and I have nothing to tell of thatreaders would not find better described in their 'Murray.'

　　We put up in an excellent hotel kept by M. Arago, the brotherof the great French astronomer. The only other travellers init besides ourselves were the famous dancer Cerito, and herhusband the violin virtuoso, St. Leon. Luckily for me ourEnglish Minister was Mr. Percy Doyle, whom I had known asATTACHE at Paris when I was at Larue, and who was a greatfriend of the De Cubriers. We were thus provided with manyadvantages for 'sight-seeing' in and about the city, and alsofor more distant excursions through credentials from theMexican authorities. Under these auspices we visited thesilver mines at Guadalajara, Potosi, and Guanajuata.

　　The life in Mexico city was delightful, after a year's tramp.

　　The hotel, as I have said, was to us luxurious. My roomunder the verandah opened on to a large and beautiful gardenpartially enclosed on two sides. As I lay in bed of amorning reading Prescott's 'History of Mexico,' or watchingthe brilliant humming birds as they darted from flower toflower, and listened to the gentle plash of the fountain, mycup of enjoyment and romance was brimming over.

　　Just before I left, an old friend of mine arrived fromEngland. This was Mr. Joseph Clissold. He was aschoolfellow of mine at Sheen. He had pulled in theCambridge boat, and played in the Cambridge eleven. Heafterwards became a magistrate either in Australia or NewZealand. He was the best type of the good-natured, level-headed, hard-hitting Englishman. Curiously enough, as itturned out, the greater part of the only conversation we had(I was leaving the day after he came) was about thebrigandage on the road between Mexico and Vera Cruz. He toldme the passengers in the diligence which had brought him uphad been warned at Jalapa that the road was infested byrobbers; and should the coach be stopped they were on noaccount to offer resistance, for the robbers would certainlyshoot them if they did.

　　Fred chose to ride down to the coast, I went by coach. Thisheld six inside and two by the driver. Three of the insidepassengers sat with backs to the horses, the others facingthem. My coach was full, and stifling hot and stuffy it wasbefore we had done with it. Of the five others two were fatpriests, and for twenty hours my place was between them. Butin one way I had my revenge: I carried my loaded riflebetween my knees, and a pistol in my belt. The dismay, theterror, the panic, the protestations, the entreaties andexecrations of all the five, kept us at least from ENNUI formany a weary mile. I doubt whether the two priests everthumbed their breviaries so devoutly in their lives. Perhapsthat brought us salvation. We reached Vera Cruz withoutadventure, and in the autumn of '51 Fred and I landed safelyat Southampton.

　　Two months after I got back, I read an account in the 'Times'

　　of 'Joe' Clissold's return trip from Mexico. The coach inwhich he was travelling was stopped by robbers. FriendJoseph was armed with a double-barrelled smooth-bore loadedwith slugs. He considered this on the whole more suitablethan a rifle. When the captain of the brigands opened thecoach door and, pistol in hand, politely proffered hisrequest, Mr. Joe was quite ready for him, and confided thecontents of one barrel to the captain's bosom. Seeing thefate of their commander, and not knowing what else the dillymight contain, the rest of the band dug spurs into theirhorses and fled. But the sturdy oarsman and smart cricketerwas too quick for one of them - the horse followed hisfriends, but the rider stayed with his chief.