Not far from the main Cathedral are the ruins of the Convent of San Francisco. It is easily three hundred years old, and is of immense size. Over the door of the chapel part we could trace "Property of King Philip, of Spain," while cut in gilt letters on a black plate, just a little nearer the edge of the building, is the inscription, "Land of Benito Juarez." The baths are now used for the benefit of the public, costing only six cents. The open swimming baths are used for horses and dogs, the former costing three cents, the latter gratis, providing the canine accompanies the horse. The public laundry is another place of interest. It is situated in the center of the town, built of brick, with stationary porous stones for washboards. The city charges nothing for the use of the place.
When evening came I called my old landlady up and offered her three dollars for the day. "No," she said, "I want six dollars." I was astonished, but managed—with a mixture of English and Spanish—to tell her I would pay no more. She went to her husband and he made out a bill "payable by Nellie Bly for two—supper, all night, coffee and breakfast, six dollars." I told her it was all wrong, and added that she was bad, because I did not know a Spanish word for cheat, but I wanted to get as near it as possible. At last I tried to drive some sense into her head, and explained that the bill for one day for two was three dollars. "Si hay" (pronounced "see eye"), she asserted. "Well, I came last night, was here till this afternoon; one day, eh?" "No, two," was her astonishing reply. "Well, madame, twenty-four hours is one day in the United States, and if it isn't so here, I will start it now." I gave her three dollars; and, remembering the old adage that "he who fights and runs away lives to fight another day," and having no desire to leave my bones in Jalapa or go to Vera Cruz with a map drawn on my face with her fingernails, returned to my room and left her to vent her rage on her husband or servants, as she wished. But she was not going to be beaten by a "gringo," so she sent for the Frenchman who brought me there. He rapped on my door, and asked what was wrong. I told him the old lady was not only seeing double, but counted everything by the second multiplication table. He laughed, and said she thought I was a "gringo," and she could cheat me. He soon made her see clearer, and we remained the following night and had supper for seventy-five cents. I had learned pretty well how to make all arrangements first, and proposed in the future not to drink a glass of water until I knew the price. I had no intention of allowing a Yankee girl to be cheated by a Mexican, man or woman.
The next morning we started on our return trip to Vera Cruz. We looked forward to it with pleasure, as the former day spent on a street car was one of the most pleasant and unique experiences of my life. We had very few passengers down, the conductor, two soldiers, driver, one old woman and ourselves, and a game rooster, who crowed at every village, and was treated with as much consideration as a babe would have been. At the station, just before we started, an old man who had heard us speaking English, came up and spoke to us. He was an American, but having lived in this town for forty years had forgotten his mother tongue. His English was about as good as the newsboy's who took me to his hotel in Vera Cruz. The old woman was going about one hundred and twenty-five miles to see her married daughter, and she was bare-headed. This woman did not know there was such a thing as the United States, could not imagine what New York meant, and had never heard of George Washington, not to mention the little hatchet and the democratic cry of "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again." She made the day's trip alternately smoking a cigarette and reading her prayer-book. A short way out on the road the driver got off and picked up a little gray bird by the roadside. On examination I found its side was terribly lacerated by a shot, but I bound it up with my silk handkerchief and decided to carry it to Vera Cruz, where I would try my hand at surgery. The day passed similar to the former one, everybody going to sleep after dinner; but the beauty of the country, and the novelty of a day in a street car, robbed it of all disagreeable features, and as we neared Vera Cruz I not only noted this the spiciest experience of my life, but said I would not exchange it for any other in the Republic of Mexico.
[CHAPTER XX.]
WHERE MAXIMILIAN'S AMERICAN COLONY LIVED.
On opening my door one morning to leave for the railway station a man, who had evidently been waiting by the side of the entrance, sprung forward and seized my baggage. My first impression was that he was a robber; but I retained my screams for another occasion and decided it was a mozo who wanted to help me to the train. Remembering former experience, and wishing to profit thereby, I rushed after and caught him just at the head of the stairway. Clutching his blouse with a death grip, I yelled, "Cuanto?" "Un peso," he answered. Well, as I was a healthy American girl, and as strong as one can be after several months' training on beans and cayenne pepper, I had no intention of giving a great, big, brown fellow $1 for carrying a five-pound sachel half a square. I said "no" in a pretty forcible manner, and gave weight and meaning to my monosyllable by jerking the sachel away. He looked at me in amazement, and as he saw I was not going to be cheated he said fifty cents. I said nothing, and, picking up the sachel, trudged down-stairs. At the door he once more approached me and asked how much I would give. "Un medio" (six and a quarter cents), I replied. "Bueno," he said, and took it at the price, while I congratulated myself on saving ninety-three and three-quarter cents.
The car was full of people who, we found out afterward, composed a Spanish opera troupe. Although they were not many they filled the car, and in order to get a seat we had to put down shawls, beer and wine-bottles, band-boxes, lunch-baskets, a pet dog, a green parrot, and numerous small things. Every woman had at least three children, which were cared for by as many nurses. Oh, what a howling, dirty, lazy mob!
The pretty little town of Cordoba lies about two miles from the station, and street cars, hauled by four mules, await each train and carry the passengers to the village—first-class, twelve and a half cents; the cars wind through little streets shaded on either side by beautiful foliage, which, every here and there, gives the tourist tantalizing glimpses of the exquisite tropical gardens within; the street car passes the only hotel in the town—the Diligencia. It is a low, one-story structure, and looks more like a cattle-yard than a habitation for human beings; the overhanging roof droops toward the pavement, and is within a few feet of the ground. Inside one sees a little porch on one side, which, covered with many trailing, curling vines, serves for the dining-room. Opposite is an office and bedroom combined, where, at the desk, sits a grizzly-haired man writing, ever writing, from morning until night's shade hides the tracing from his aged eyes.
He greets one with a weary, pathetic smile, and a far-away look in his saddened eyes, as though wondering what has become of all the guests who used to trip in gayly, with black eyes and white teeth sparkling in evident pleasure at reaching his hospitable board, with whom he grasped hand, and in true Mexican style said, "My house is yours," and that friend responded, "Your humble servant." Poor old landlord, he has lived too long! The advent of civilization has rushed in upon his friends and crushed out his trade. The noisy old diligencia has long ceased to rattle except in his memory, and the modern street-car stops at his door once in many months to leave him a white-faced, curious stranger, whom he greets with that strange smile and then returns to his writing, waiting for that which is nevermore.