"I am of the children of the night
Who wander aimlessly in the darkness.
The beautiful moon with its golden rays
Is the companion of my sorrows.
"I am going to lose myself from thee,
Exhausted with weeping;
I am going sailing, sailing,
By the shores of the sea.
"You will see at the time of our parting
I will not allow you to love another.
For if so it should be, I would ruin your face.
And many blows we would give one another.
"So I am going to become an American.
Go with God, Antonia.
Say farewell to my friends.
O may the Americans allow me to pass
And open a saloon
On the other side of the River!"
The Hacienda of El Centro turned out to give us lunch. And there Fidencio offered me his horse to ride for the afternoon.
The Tropa had already ridden on ahead, and I could see them, strung out for half a mile in the black mesquite brush, the tiny red-white-and-green flag bobbing at their head. The mountains had withdrawn somewhere beyond the horizon, and we rode in the midst of a great bowl of desert, rolling up at the edges to meet the furnace-blue of the Mexican sky. Now that I was out of the coach, a great silence, and a peace beyond anything I ever felt, wrapped me around. It is almost impossible to get objective about the desert; you sink into it,—become a part of it. Galloping along, I soon caught up with the Tropa.
"Aye, meester!" they shouted. "Here comes meester on a horse! Que tal, meester? How goes it? Are you going to fight with us?"
But Captain Fernando at the head of the column turned and roared: "Come here, meester!" The big man was grinning with delight. "You shall ride with me," he shouted, clapping me on the back. "Drink, now," and he produced a bottle of sotol about half full. "Drink it all. Show you're a man." "It's too much," I laughed. "Drink it," yelled the chorus as the Tropa crowded up to see. I drank it. A howl of laughter and applause went up. Fernando leaned over and gripped my hand. "Good for you, compañero!" he bellowed, rolling with mirth. The men crowded around, amused and interested. Was I going to fight with them? Where did I come from? What was I doing? Most of them had never heard of reporters, and one hazarded the opinion darkly that I was a Gringo and a Porfirista, and ought to be shot.
The rest, however, were entirely opposed to this view. No Porfirista would possibly drink that much sotol at a gulp. Isidro Amayo declared that he had been in a brigade in the first Revolution which was accompanied by a reporter, and that he was called Corresponsal de Guerra. Did I like Mexico? I said: "I am very fond of Mexico. I like Mexicans too. And I like sotol, aguardiente, mescal, tequila, pulque, and other Mexican customs!" They shouted with laughter.
Captain Fernando leaned over and patted my arm. "Now you are with the men (los hombres.) When we win the Revolucion it will be a government by the men,—not by the rich. We are riding over the lands of the men. They used to belong to the rich, but now they belong to me and to the compañeros."
"And you will be the army?" I asked.
"When the Revolucion is won," was the astonishing reply, "there will be no more army. The men are sick of armies. It is by armies that Don Porfirio robbed us."
"But if the United States should invade Mexico?"