Vagabond Life in Mexico

by Gabriel Ferry

CHAPTER I.

There is one peculiar charm in the towns of Mexico, and that is the perfect straightness of the streets, along which the eye wanders till the point of sight terminates in the blue hills of the country. In Mexico especially I was never tired gazing upon the mountains which bound the horizon upon all sides. On the east I seemed to hear the murmur of the Pacific, and on the west the hoarse roar of the Atlantic sounding from behind these mountains. The first of these oceans reminded me of one of the most adventurous epochs of my life; and I never could forget that the second washed the shores of my native country. I never looked in that direction without feeling a kind of regret and sadness, which often merged into feverish anxiety. In this state of mind, I grasped at every thing which could afford me a pretext for quitting Mexico. I hastened to shake off the sluggishness which began to weigh upon me, and to abandon myself anew to the dangers and emotions of a wandering life—a sure remedy against home-sickness.

One evening, on reaching home, I learned that a stranger had called during my absence. The unknown had said that his business with me related to a matter of life and death; but, when asked to leave his name, had obstinately refused to give it. He happened to say, however, that he was living at an inn, the Meson de Regina, and had gone away expressing great annoyance at not finding me, and promising to return the next day. The strange air of the visitor, the numerous questions he put, the care that he evidently took not to allow his face to be seen by arranging the folds of his blue manga over it, and the large hat which shaded his eyes, combined to give to this visit a mysterious character, which acted very strongly on my imagination. When alone in my chamber, I called to recollection every one whom it might possibly be, but in vain, and I waited anxiously for the next day, which might probably unriddle the enigma; but the morning passed, the day advanced, and the unknown had not made his appearance. I resolved to go to the Meson de Regina; and, having got a description of the stranger, set out for the inn.

Although situated in one of the most central streets in Mexico, the Meson de Regina is only distinguished from other inns on less frequented roads by the greater number of travelers who are always coming and going. There is the same range of stabling, the same barrenness of furniture, the same absence of every comfort. I called for the huesped. In any other country it would have been an easy thing to find out the name of the unknown, whose costume I could describe to the most minute details, but it is very different in a Mexican hotel.

"Do you fancy," said the huesped to me, "that it is my business to ask the names of those who frequent my house? I have something else to think of, I assure you; but as for the person you are inquiring after, he set out, not half an hour ago, for Cuantitlan, as his servant, who accompanied him, informed me, and, if you are a swift horseman, you may overtake him, if you are so very desirous to know his name."

"What was the color of their horses?"

"Iron-gray and peach-blossom."

A ride of some hours before dinner could not but be salutary. Before setting out in pursuit of the stranger, I went home in order to ask some more questions of Cecilio, my valet, about my visitant. This lad had been already several years in my service, and his round chubby face, with an air at once hypocritical and simple, reminded me strongly of Ambrosio of Lamela in Gil Blas. As I expected, he gave me a very unsatisfactory description of the unknown. I then disclosed to Cecilio my intention of setting out immediately for Cuantitlan, ordering him at the same time to saddle our horses with all speed. Cecilio tried to convince me that, in an affair of so delicate a nature, it were best if I went alone, but I reiterated my order, and he left the room to execute my commands. As I was going to travel in the country, I donned my Mexican costume, and went down into the court in all haste. I remarked, without surprise, that my serape had been attached to the back of my saddle. My pistols were in their holsters; and I also carried a lance with a scarlet pennon, heavily shod with iron, which I was accustomed, when traveling, to have fixed to my right stirrup. A sabre hung from Cecilio's saddle-bow, and a tolerably well-packed valise was fixed to the croup of his horse. I asked him why he was making such preparations, as we were only going out for a short ride; but his only answer was, that the environs of Mexico were infested by robbers.

We set out. The travelers we were in pursuit of could not be more than an hour in advance of us, and the unusual color of their horses would aid us in tracking them easily. I flattered myself that if we pushed on we could overtake them without difficulty in two hours, and if that were beyond our power, a couple of fresh horses would not take long to cover the six leagues between Mexico and Cuantitlan. I thus set out with the intention of returning before sunset. The difference of speed, however, between my horse and that of my servant, forced me to slacken my pace. Two hours had already rolled away without catching the slightest glimpse of the man I was in quest of, and the spire of Cuantitlan had not even come in sight. I almost feared that the inn-keeper had sent us the wrong road, when some muleteers, returning to Mexico, told me that they had met two horsemen, one mounted on an iron-gray, the other on a peach-blossom. We reached Cuantitlan in a short time, and I was directed to the hostelry where the two horsemen had stopped. I had not been long in coming hither, and was at last soon to know what I was burning to learn. I went to the inn which had been pointed out to me, and my foot had no sooner reached the ground than I began questioning the huesped with the air of one who is sure of finding what he wants.

"Are your horses tired?" said the host, when I had finished.