The sun had gone down behind the mountains, but his rays still rested upon Orizava, bathing its cone with a yellow light, like a mantle of burnished gold. Clouds of red and white and purple hung like a glory upon his track, and, descending, rested upon the lower summits of the Cordillera. The peak of the “Burning Star” alone appeared above the clouds, towering in sublime and solitary grandeur.
There was a picturesque loveliness about the scene—an idea of sublimity—that caused me for the moment to forget where I was or that I was a captive. My dream was dispelled by the harsh voice of José, who at that moment came up with a couple of peons, carrying a large earthen dish that contained our supper.
This consisted of black beans, with half a dozen tortillas; but as we were all half-famished we did not offer any criticism on the quality of the viands. The dish was placed in our midst, and our arms were untied for the first time since our capture. There were neither knives, forks, nor spoons; but Raoul showed us the Mexican fashion of “eating our spoons”, and, twisting up the tortillas, we scooped and swallowed “right ahead.”
Chapter Thirty Seven.
Chane’s Courtship.
The dish was emptied, as Clayley observed, in a “squirrel’s jump.”
“Be my sowl! it ates purty well, black as it is,” said Chane, looking ruefully into the empty vessel. “It’s got a worse complaint than the colour, didn’t yez fetch us a thrifle more of it, my darlint boy?” he added, squinting up at José.
“No entiende,” (Don’t understand), said the Mexican, shaking his head.