We arrived in the broad bay of La Paz. Circling hills and mountains arose red, parched and arid, enclosing on three sides a vast sheet of water—like an inland gulf—thirty miles in length and fifteen wide.
Vegetation appears to have forgotten this portion of the Peninsula entirely, at least to deck it in that delightful greenish hue that attracts the gaze when beheld from a distance—creeping up narrow valleys, or reposing, like an emerald carpet, on the sloping plains. Here Nature looks as if baked in an oven, until she had been thoroughly done too! A mile from the anchorage, at the head of the bay, another large lake extends beyond, and near by is the little town of La Paz—the ancient Santa Cruz of Cortez. The place has nothing to recommend it, except the fig-groves and vineyards of a Portuguese, named Manuel, and a tank of fresh water, where one may have a morning dip, before the vines are irrigated. There were a score or more señoritas, who danced with us all night, and washed our clothes all day, and very well they performed both accomplishments, being withal intelligent, and, to a certain degree educated; also two or three billiard-tables; a monté bank, of course; millions of cat-fish; plenty of fleas, dust, and heat; and about an hundred of Yankee Volunteers—charming follows they were, as was remarked, "for a small tea-party without spoons." I think this is a correct summary of all the diversions and societies of La Paz, in the which we soon became contented and domesticated.
No civilized beings excepting those unkillable gentry, yclept salamanders, could by any chance endure the noontide heat on shore; no one ever had energy to consult the mercury, but we presumed it was very high—say three or four hundred. We never left the ship until after the land wind came from the lofty heights to apprize us, perhaps, that we might risk a visit, without becoming sublimed in perspiration. Then the vine-clad arbors of the Portuguese were our favorite resort, where we killed time, devouring figs and grapes, or puffing cigarillos; the evenings came cool and temperate, with never a cloud in the heavens; the lassitude and languor of the sultry day gave place to more invigorating influences, and we sauntered from casa to casa, wherever lights were twinkling. The doñcellas were seated on low stools beneath the leafy awnings, whilst careful amas—house-keepers—were plying the needle or tambour work within.
"Kiss your hands, señoritas." "Shall we dance this evening?" Con mucho gusto! cry they all in a breath. Aye! the Graces doubt them! who ever knew a lithe young creole to turn her pretty toes away from whirling waltz or contra-danza. "Where shall we dance?" At Lola's, or Mariana's, or Ampara's—it matters not. "But the music?" Pshaw, you gringo! as if those well-fingered old harps and guitars were not ready tuned for the occasion, and the old night owls of musicians ever watchful, playing around the girls, like pilot fishes about the sharks. Vamanos pues! The well-known faces are shortly assembled in a neighbor's dwelling; the listless, indolent air of morning has gone—at the first tinkle of the harp, eyes are sparkling with rapture, and feet patting the floor, like prisoned birds, only awaiting the harmonising crash of the little orchestra to be in motion. Contra-danza! shrieks the old leader. Two lines are formed—swinging gracefully to and fro, figures are changing, hands clasping and thrilling, arms are twining and winding, until the different bands are wound into beautiful and panting groups, when the music pauses a moment—hands fall, and to be convinced that our angelic partners have not wings, each seizes his fair companion around the waist, and away we spin in the waltz.
In return for the nightly tertulias on shore, we gave them a little ball on board the frigate—the quarter-deck was gaily dressed and bedizzened with parti-colored bunting, flags, chandeliers of bayonets and other nautical ornaments; but in the absence of any marketable matter, the supper-table below presented more variegated hues than the ball room itself; being all lights, glass, fancifully carved melons and dulces. However, they had capital music by the German Confederation, led by Peter the Greek—dancing until midnight—the old ladies were allowed to puff cigarillos on the quarter-deck, and all went away apparently highly delighted.
When becoming a little ennuied with these light pleasures, we made boating expeditions, and afterwards returned to them with renewed zest. Once on the glorious anniversary of Yankee Independence, we made the lease of a jolly boat. It was a capacious, portly and staunch receptacle of marine locomotion, generally used for big market baskets, beef, vegetables, and at times to transport drunken sailors. Our party was select and companionable; the General, Luigi, Canova, Speckles, Magarrabin, Earl and myself—a tambourine and fiddle, with each a nigger accompaniment, both combining with music a taste for cooking. We had fishing lines and fowling pieces, which last were voted bores and forthwith ordered to be discharged, and kept so during the cruise; then there was plenty of malt and sherry, a huge jug of punch after the ancient Romans, a comfortable chowder kettle and bag of biscuits. We were up betimes, and as the first ruffle of the sea breeze disturbed the quiet surface of the bay, we pushed off from the ship.
Here let me apostrophise! I hate ships, I hate boats, I hate everything that floats! even more than I detest poor people; but at times they are all endurable, and marine misanthropic as I am, once in a great while I become reconciled; but should I ever have a son, and should ships exist and not merge into balloons, and he wish to become notorious for filial piety by reading the book his sire wrote—and be thus imbued with that parent's ideas and prejudices—I beseech him never to trust his precious toes with only half an inch of plank betwixt them and the briny deep. But providing he should be so fortunate as to fall into a roomy bowl of a boat, like to our jolly, then after selecting the smoothest, shallowest of water, the gentlest of breezes, and flimsiest of sails, that will fly out of their bindings at the first puff of wind—armed with a broad sombrero, summerly jacket and trowsers, let him recline pleasantly on the seats, with a leg and arm thrown over the side, trailing in the rippling current—if there be the slightest suspicion of a shark, don't do it—then I say, let him lounge and doze as we did, as our richly freighted argosie calmly turned the native element from her prow, and proceeded majestically up the inner bay.
We had a ten miles voyage, pausing occasionally to cast out the lines, temptingly baited by choice bits of meat, whereby were hooked great numbers of horned fishes of the feline species, commonly called cats, which served to divert our leisure moments until the cooks pronounced the market glutted, and we accordingly drew in the hooks, and again steered lazily towards our destination. It may have been an hour past meridian when the keel grated softly on the strand. We had chosen a little jutting sandy point, where the wind made a cat's paw of us, and came fawning and eddying around in the coolest manner imaginable. Days are ever the same in La Paz—there had not been a sprinkle of rain for a century, so we had naught to fear but the clear bright glare of the sun, which poured down light and heat on the arid mountains and glassy sheet of water, from which, like a polished mirror of silver, it was reflected back again.
On the little promontory there chanced to be a stunted olive, and it was but a minute's labor to cut away the lower branches, clothe the umbrella-shaped top with a boat's sail, spread mats and awnings beneath, build a temporary fire-place near by, and then repose happily in the shade, with cigars in full blast, and supervise the interesting process of cleaning fish, by the sailors, whilst the negro minstrels charmed us with falsetto ballads, or highly-complicated jigs.