Vagabond Life in Mexico

by Gabriel Ferry

"Have we no arms?" Calros inquired. "Are the pistols of my friend here, my machete, and your musket, to be reckoned as nothing?"

"In an open country such arms would be of the greatest service; here they are of no use. A person hidden in any of the trees which overhang the stream could pick out any of the three he chose, and send a ball through his head; or, by throwing the trunk of a tree across the river, might capsize our boat, if he did not smash it to pieces. What do you think of that?"

"I dare say you're right," answered Calros. "Luckily, nobody is to know that you are to be pulling up the river to-night."

"I am not so sure of that," said the pilot; "there are spies and traitors every where. If any of the marauders we put to flight this evening has the slightest inkling of our plans, be sure that his comrades will be apprised of it time enough to meet us at a part of the river I know. We have already rowed two hours," he added, shaking his head, "and the place is not far off. You now know what we have to fear. Consider, therefore, whether we shall push on, or land, and wait till daylight."

"I can not lose a minute," returned the Jarocho, coldly. "If we pull well, we shall reach the village where Campos lives in an hour."

"It is quite the same to me," Ventura replied. "Let us proceed."

A dead silence succeeded these words. Knowing now the dangers we had to run, I went and seated myself in the bow, to try to make out, if it were possible, the ambuscades that threatened us; but the darkness was so great that I could discover nothing. The leafy vault under which we moved threw a thick shadow over the bed of the river; at times, however, a gust of wind shook into the water, like a shower of golden rain, large cucuyos, which fell from the trees above us. Not a single star was to be seen through the interstices of the foliage. A quarter of an hour had now elapsed without in the least justifying the suspicions of the pilot. The Jarocho lay on his oars to take breath, and the boat, moved by the current, turned broadside on to the stream.

"Keep her head to the stream," cried the pilot, sharply. "Even supposing that we have no ambuscades to fear, the wind may, perhaps, have uprooted some dead tree, and should it happen to hit the side of our boat, it would cant over to a dead certainty; but if we are struck on the bow, it may do us no harm. The tide runs up as far as this, and sharks not uncommonly come up with it."

This last observation disclosed another danger which I had not suspected; and, in the presence of the increasing perils of this nocturnal expedition, I thought, with some bitterness, on the comfortable farniente and refreshing sleep I should have enjoyed had I been in my hotel at Vera Cruz.

Calros did not require a second warning, but resumed his oar with new vigor. We soon arrived at a place where a high rock on each side of the stream approached each other, narrowing very considerably the bed of the river. About a dozen paces farther up, the passage became so contracted that both oars could not be worked, and it was only by the assistance of a boat-hook that the pilot, by fixing it among the lianas, could pull us up against the force of the current. The river widened considerably at the head of this narrow pass, and allowed us again to ply our oars; but as the stream grew broader, the banks rose in proportion. On the right and left, high rocks curved gently inward, and then ran sheer down into the water, like the arch of a bridge broken at the key-stone. Under this vault every stroke produced an echo. We advanced by chance, and the darkness was so intense that we did not know but what every pull would send us up against the wall of rock on either side.