THE HUERTA.
All southern nations are fond of shade, flowers, and birds; and as the heat of the climate compels them, so to speak, to live in the open air, they have arranged their gardens with a degree of comfort unknown among us. The Italians and Spaniards, whose houses, during the greater part of the year, are only inhabitable for a few hours a day, have striven to make their gardens veritable oases, where they can breathe the fresh evening air without being annoyed by those myriads of mosquitoes and gnats unknown in temperate climates, but which in tropical latitudes are a real plague. At midday they may be seen wheeling in countless myriads in every sunbeam. The Hispano-Americans especially have raised the gardening art to a science, being always engaged in trying to solve the problem of procuring fresh air during the hottest hours of the day—that is to say, between midday and three p.m., during which time the earth, which has been heated since dawn by the burning heat of a torrid sun, exhales deadly effluvia, and so decomposes the air that it is impossible to breathe it.
The Spanish language, which is so rich in expressions of every description, has two words to signify a garden. There is the word jardín, by which is meant the parterre properly so called—the garden in which flowers are cultivated that in those countries grow in the open air, but with us only in hothouses, where they are stunted and decrepit; and, secondly, the huerta, which means the kitchen-garden, the vineyard, and their clumps of trees, wide avenues, cascades, streams, and lakes—in a word, all that we, very improperly in my opinion, have agreed to call a park. The Hacienda del Toro possessed a huerta, which the Marquises de Moguer had in turn sought to embellish. This huerta, which in Europe would have seemed very large—for life among us has been reduced to the conditions of a mean and shabby comfort—was considered small in that country. It contained in all only thirty acres—that is to say, a surface of about twelve square miles; but this relative smallness was made up for by an admirable disposition of the ground, and an extent of shade, which had made a great reputation for the Huerta del Toro throughout Sonora.
At eight o'clock precisely the curfew was rung, as was the custom at the hacienda. At the sound of the chapel bell all the peons and vaqueros retired to their jacales in order to sleep. Paredes had placed sentinels at night on the walls ever since an attack from the Indians had been apprehended, and the precaution was the more necessary at this time, as there was no moon, and it is that period of the month which the Redskins always select to begin their invasions. When the majordomo had assured himself that the sentries were at their posts, he made a general inspection of the whole hacienda to have the lights extinguished, and then proceeded, accompanied by the tigrero, to the Blue Room, where Don Hernando and his son and daughter were assembled.
"All is in order, mi amo," he said; "everybody has retired to his jacal, the hacienda gates are closed, and the sentries placed on the walls."
"You are quite certain, Paredes, that no one is walking about the corals or huerta?"
"No one; I made my rounds with the greatest strictness."
"Very good; now, daughter, you can give your orders, and we are ready to obey you."
Doña Marianna bowed to her father with a smile.