Let us be thankful for what we have. Quintana, the great Spanish lyrical poet, pondering on these misdeeds and crimes, exclaims that they were crimes of the epoch, not of Spain. Fortunately it is, as we like to think, our privilege to live in an epoch when such things are impossible, when the mere thirst for gold, or its equivalent, cannot impel powerful nations to forget right and justice and to proclaim hypocritically that in so doing they are fulfilling the law of Him who said, ‘Love ye one another,’ and proclaimed charity amongst men as the supreme rule of life. Nowadays such wrongs as those perpetrated by the Spanish conquerors could not happen. Wars we have, and violence and destruction, and malcontents complain of them, saying that the same old burglarious spirit of brutal greed is the real cause of those wars; but those malcontents should not be (and, in fact, are not) listened to. I myself do not understand or pretend to explain where the justice of many wars comes in, but certainly they must be waged for good and honest ends, because the great and the powerful say that the ends are good and honest, that civilization and Christianity are served thereby; and it must be so since they say it, for they, like Brutus, are ‘honourable men.’ Let us be thankful, then, that we live in an age of justice and universal fairness amongst men!
CHAPTER IV
But let us go back to our subject.
All this time we journeyed on. The stars had kept their watch above our heads, and the moon, as if passing in review the various quarters of heaven, had been moving from west to east, and was very high on the horizon. We were chilled through after the night’s ride, longing to arrive at some wayside inn or venta where we might get something warm. The dawn was heralded in the far east by a broad streak of light, which grew rapidly, covering that side of the horizon like a fan, and soon bursting into glorious daylight. In equatorial regions there is hardly any dawn or twilight; in those latitudes there is no prelude of semi-obscurity that either waxes into day or wanes slowly into the dark, like the note of the lute, falling into silence so faintly and softly that none can tell the exact moment when it dies. At evening the sun sinks to the verge of the horizon, and disappears like a luminous orb dropped into empty space, and darkness sets in almost immediately. In the mountainous lands his last rays crown the highest peaks with a halo of glory, when darkness has settled over the valleys and mountain flanks. The moment the sun sets the stars assert their empire, and they are more numerous to the eye than anywhere else in the world. As for the moon, I have already spoken of its brilliancy. Another phenomenon connected with it is worthy of notice in our special case. During the various months of the trip which I am now describing, it seems to me that we had a full moon every night. I know that this is not quite in accordance with the established rules, or what in modern parlance is sometimes called the schedule of time for lunar service, but I am narrating my impressions, and, according to them, such is the fact. I should suggest that, as everything in Spanish lands is more or less topsy-turvy at times, the rules applicable to the moon in well-regulated countries do not hold good there, but I remember just in time that these irregularities apply solely to things human that happen ‘tiles downwards,’ as the Spaniards say, and cannot, therefore, affect the phenomena of Nature. As an explanation must be found for my permanent moon, an acceptable compromise would be that the ordinary moon did duty on its appointed nights, leaving the others—during which we wandered over mountain, through valley and forest, and on the waters of the silent rivers—to be illuminated for our own special benefit by some deputy moon, for whose services we were then, and still are, most grateful.
As to the topsy-turviness of things Spanish and Spanish-American, the story is told that Santiago, the patron saint of Spain, being admitted into the presence of God, asked and obtained for the land of Spain and for its people all sorts of blessings: marvellous fertility for the soil, natural wealth of all kinds in the mountains and the forests, abundance of fish in the rivers and of birds in the air; courage, sobriety, and all the manly virtues for men; beauty, grace, loveliness, for the women. All this was granted, but, on the point of leaving, the saint, it is said, asked from God that he would also grant Spain a good government. The request was denied, as then, it is said, the Lord remarked, the angels would abandon heaven and flock to Spain. The story has lost none of its point even at the present day.
With the morning we reached the longed-for venta, a square, thatch-roofed hut, which stood by the roadside quite close to the mountain-range which we had reached after crossing the whole breadth of the plateau. Outside stood several pack-horses and mules, tied to the columns and waiting for their loads. Under the roof the space was divided into three rooms, one of them provided with a counter and shelves running along the sides of the walls, whereon bottles of various sizes and contents were exhibited, and where chicha, the national drink, was served to thirsty travellers. The middle room was what might be called the sitting, waiting, sleeping, and dining room all in one, and the other was the kitchen. The fire was built on the ground, several logs burning brightly in the open air, filling the room with smoke and heat, On three stones—the traditional stones of the first hearth—a saucepan was seen in full boil. In the parlour we saw several peones, or labourers, from the highlands on their way to the coffee estates to help in the harvest. Behind the counter, the ventera, barmaid and landlady all in one, buxom and wreathed in smiles, was already filling either the totuma, a large bowl cut from a gourd, containing about a quart of chicha, or the small glass of native whisky (aguardiente).
We jumped from our horses and entered the so-called sitting-room, envying the men who slept deep and strong as virtue on the bare ground. In a few minutes Fermin had brought from our saddle-bags the copper kettle used for making chocolate, and the paste for the preparation of that delicious drink. Within twenty minutes of our arrival we had before us the steaming cups of chocolate which had been boiled three times, in accordance with the orthodox principle which lays it down that this must be done if it is to be rightly done; it was well beaten and covered with that foam peculiar to chocolate brewed in hot water, which looks at you with its thousand eyes or bubbles that burst as the liquor is imbibed. Never was a cup of chocolate more welcome. The night seemed to have been interminable now that it lay behind. We would fain have stretched ourselves on the ground with the labourers, but to reach our destination that day it was necessary to lose no time; so after an hour’s rest, during which our horses had had their pienso of fodder, we started again, now over more broken country, leaving the plain behind us, climbing and descending the road which was still available for carts and wheeled vehicles of all sorts.
And thus we advanced, seeing the sunrise darting its slanting rays, which were quite pleasant to feel in the early morning, until they became perpendicular, hot, and almost unbearable in the dusty road.
The horses, after the long journey, slackened their pace, and we looked upon surrounding Nature with weary eyes and that emptiness of feeling in the brain, that consciousness of a void somewhere, which always follow nights passed absolutely without sleep.
Towards four in the afternoon, after seventeen hours’ steady ride, interrupted only by the short stay at the roadside venta, we reached the hacienda of Gambita, where one of our companions, Raoul, who had started ahead to prepare everything for the longer journey, was waiting for us. He came up quite briskly along the road, joyful at our arrival, full of spirits, and most anxious that the journey should be continued. He might well feel thus, as he had not passed a sleepless night on horseback like a knight-errant over field and moor. The desire for sleep and rest was overpowering—all else lacked interest for us; so that, alighting from our horses, we walked into the house, and, finding convenient sofas, stretched ourselves and slept. Like Dante after listening to the sorrowful tale of Francesca, we fell as a dead body falls, which goes to prove that identical effects may arise from totally different causes. Towards ten at night Raoul waked us. The supper waiting for us was quickly despatched, and our mules were saddled and ready.