Large herds of cattle were grazing on the skirts of the wood, and about one hundred mules were scrambling and picking their food in a rocky river-course which bisected the valley. The hills, tree-covered, rose around this solitary residence in all directions, as if it had been situated in the bottom of a punch-bowl; while a small waterfall, about thirty feet high, fell so near one of the corners of the building, that when the wind set that way, as I afterwards found, the spray moistened my hair through the open window in my sleeping apartment. We proceeded to the door and dismounted, following the example of our host, and proceeded to help the gentlewomen to alight from the volante. When we were all accounted for in the porch, Don Ricardo began to shout, “Criados, criados, ven aca-pendejos, ven aca!” the call was for some time unattended to; at length, two tall, good-looking, decently— dressed negroes made their appearance, and took charge of our bestias and carriage; but all this time there was no appearance by any living creature belonging to the family.
The dark hall, into which the porch opened was paved with the usual diamond-shaped bricks or tiles, but was not ceiled, the rafters of the roof being exposed; there was little or no furniture in it, that we could see, except a clumsy table in the centre of the room, and one or two of the leather-backed reclining chairs, such as Whiffle used to patronize. Several doors opened from this comfortless saloon, which was innocent of paint, into other apartments, one of which was ajar.
“Estrailo,” murmured Don Ricardo, “muy estrailo!”
“Coolish reception this, Tom.” quoth Aaron Bang.
“Deucedly so,” said the skipper.
But Campana, hooking his little fat wife under his arm, while we did the agreeable to the nieces, now addressed himself to enter, with the constant preliminary ejaculation of all well-bred Spaniards in crossing a friend’s threshold, “Ave Maria purissima,” when we were checked by a loud tearing fit of coughing, which seemed almost to suffocate the patient, and female voices in great alarm, proceeding from the room beyond.
Presently a little anatomy of a man presented himself at the door of the apartment, wringing his hands, and apparently in great misery. Campana and his wife, with all the alacrity of kind hearted people, immediately went up to him, and said something which I did not overhear, but the poor creature to whom they spoke appeared quite bewildered. “What is it, Don Picador?” at length we could hear Campana say,—“what is it? Is it my poor dear Maria who is worse, or what—speak, man—may my wife enter?”
“Si, si—yes, yes,” said the afflicted Don Picador—“yes, yes, let her go in—send—for I am unable to think or act—send one of my people back post to Santiago for the doctor—haste, haste. Sangre—hecha sangre por la boca.”
“Good God, why did you not say so before?” rejoined Campana.
Here his wife called loudly to her husband, “Ricardo, Ricardo, por amor de su alma, manda por el medico, she has burst a blood vessel Maria is dying!”