The same evening we reached the town of San Miguel, when another of these infernal pronunciamentos was brewing, but a polite old gentleman procured me a relay, and away we rattled over a dry undulating champaigne country to Mirondillo, where finding another remuda, and leaving Cerro Gordo on the left, the full moon lighted us safely into Tepetitlan. Here I proposed tarrying, but the meson was so filthy and detestable—so full of fleas and uncomfortable, that wearied as I was, after vainly trying to sleep on a table, I ordered fresh horses, and departed at midnight. In two hours, becoming too sleepy to keep the saddle, notwithstanding José made his macarte fast to my steed's neck and towed us some distance, we fell in with an encampment of arrieros and their mules, who, after a strict sance, very kindly allowed us to bivouac near their fires.
In no other part of the world do I believe there can be found such a worthy, brave, hardworking, and industrious class of persons as the arrieros of Mexico; they are proverbial for honesty, and there is scarcely an instance known where they have proved unfaithful; trusted for weeks and months with the most valuable cargoes, from silks to gold, in a country, too, where crime in its worst forms is rife, and where detection is vain, they still appear a distinct race from their thievish countrymen, and preserve an integrity seldom met with.
At the first blush of morn, the encampment was astir. Calling and whistling to the mules, the sagacious brutes came regularly to the spot where their pack was deposited, were in turn loaded, and sent on after the bell mules in advance. Meanwhile, the drivers prepared a hasty breakfast, which was hastily eaten—the cigarillo lighted, and off they trotted after their beasts. A good day's journey is six leagues—resting during the heat of the day.
I stood gazing at them until they disappeared in the dim light of morning; then, by the embers of their fires, my guide boiled a small measure of coffee in a broken earthen pot found near by, when we put foot in stirrup, and came on in the opposite direction. We rode rapidly to Puente Calderon, a small village at the foot of an abrupt elevation, with a noisy torrent dashing its turbid waters against the stone arches of the bridge. It was the spot where was fought one of the bloodiest revolutionary battles between the republican and royalist forces. Dismounting at a rude dwelling fronting the shelving, rocky street, with Meson de la Patria chalked over the entrance, we entered the patio, where was standing a huge, ungainly vehicle—a kind of family van, drawn by nine stout mules—while beneath the portals of the inn-yard were half a dozen juveniles and a couple of staid, portly parents. Para servir ustedes, quoth I, Pasé vd bien, murmured the party; Vamonos almorzar! and accordingly I sat down on a saddle and partook of their hospitality. The family were destined to Guadalajara from a two months sojourn on their plantations, and were as ignorant of what was going on in the world as a fish under water. Indeed, in this particular, they were not singular examples; and the ignorance of the peasantry was almost incredible. I frequently met individuals in the Western provinces, who, though they had heard of the war, had not the slightest conception with whom—unos gringos—some foreigners, they would say—and as for the simple information regarding short distances from place to place, or the nature of the road, and such trifling matters, it defied the most acute cross-examinations.
The conversation at our breakfast ran upon the war, and revolutions of the country. "And where are you from, Señor?" asked the old lady, as she chucked a hot tortilla towards me. "From Mexico, and the peace is declared!" Valgame Dios!—is it possible! exclaimed they all in a breath; "and will those horrible Yankees ever leave the city?" Si! si! "But, Señor, we are wondering who you are?" Oh! I'm one of those demonios Yankees! Jésu Maria! dispense mi amigo! screamed the Señora. The old gentleman offered his apologies, and we all laughed heartily; but still I remarked the younger shoots of the family observing me with furtive glances, as if I might have been a wild animal lately uncaged. My hunger was soon appeased, and fresh horses carried us to Puente Grande. The river was much swollen and flowing over its rocky bed with turgid violence. Before crossing, I turned up the stream, selected a clean grassy bank, threw off my clothes, and plunged in. It afforded me great relief, in its icy coldness, for my leg was still painful with the hoof-prints of the vicious brute near San Juan del Rio. My ablutions seemed to create much surprise and amusement to a group of brown damsels washing on a green islet near by, who, on swimming towards them, changed their tune and retreated to the willowy thickets. My guide, José Maria, was vastly horrified and shocked, not so much at the conduct of the girls, as my own regardlessness of life and health, in having the temerity to lave in cold water. Se hace daño—be the death of you—he continually repeated, and related many direful incidents where persons had contracted diseases thereby, and had lived but a very few minutes after coming out; perceiving that I was not affected to that extent, he at last discovered me to be a gringo, who could endure anything. We again mounted—changed horses in the town—were exempted from paying the rial toll at the bridge, on account of being an extraordinario del Gobierno—ate a melon—purchased a new whip with a lash like the thongs of a knout, and thence proceeded towards Guadalajara. Half way, we overtook two ladies with servants, mounted on fast mules, and we accompanied them to the city. As we rode through the suburban town of San Juan—where is the residence of the Bishop of Jalisco, with many fine houses and beautiful gardens, the rain began to fall, and by the time we reached the long Paseo, it was descending in cataracts, with thunder and lightning resounding and flashing around us. I halted for shelter under the close-leafed protection of the trees that fringed the promenade; but no arguments could induce my lady companions to do the same, and they were drenched with a torrent of waters, while standing in the middle of the road, fearing a shock of the rayo, beneath the foliage.
I was the first to bring confirmed intelligence of the peace, to Guadalajara. The news of its passage through the Mexican Congress had already been received, and had caused some demonstrations in one of the regiments, instigated by agents of Paredes: more was anticipated upon the confirmation of the treaty, but nothing of importance occurred. There existed, as in Querétaro, a violent party among the military, opposed to the new government under Herrera. All moderate and reflecting ciudadanos were for peace: it was the policy of the State of Jalisco, though as patriotic as any. It was the wealthiest district of the whole Republic, and had much to lose and naught to gain, should the waves of invasion have rolled towards the Pacific. They had drawn a sage moral from the misfortunes of the neighboring provinces: they had beheld the largest and best appointed army Mexico ever put in the field, vanquished at Buena Vista; they had seen a compact body of six thousand troops cleave their way through six times that force into the garitas of the capital, and they felt convinced that even half that veteran band of North Americans could sweep over the grand plateau, and as easily conquer the fair city of Guadalajara.
At the time of my arrival, the state government felt assured of support, and besides having means at hand to prevent any insurrection, had dispatched a battalion of three hundred soldiers, with two pieces of artillery, to oppose Paredes. Nevertheless, preparations had been made to guard against any attempt nearer home, and on passing through a private apartment of an official residence, I observed a number of persons busily employed making ball-cartridges, but, as usual, they were too greatly disproportioned with powder, and as a consequence the Mexicans generally overshoot the mark.