Indeed, I had myself sworn a pretty stiff vow to visit every other quarter of the earth before thinking of setting foot again in this, the scene of my recent adventures; but so little do we know of what the future holds in store for us, that here I was on Tobasco soil again inside of thirty hours, and mighty well pleased to be there, too.
If necessary I was even willing to take chances and enter Bolivar—Hildegarde would require attention and a change of clothing—we could act cautiously, and keep our presence secret, watching a chance to slip on board some American fruit steamer and thus escape.
Oh! I felt bold enough to dare almost anything now that I had my own to battle for; life was worth living, the world seemed little short of heaven, and nothing daunted me.
We had been drying ourselves more than an hour before the hot fire when I heard voices, and saw two men approaching.
They were the ordinary half-breed natives, growers of bananas, perhaps.
I called to them in Spanish and they approached.
Then I told them we had been washed ashore from a vessel wrecked in the recent storm, and asked for shelter until we could proceed to the city.
Upon inquiry I found Bolivar was only a few miles away, just as I suspected.
The men looked surprised—I wondered why they exchanged such strange glances; but their invitation to provide for us was hearty enough.
So we slowly accompanied them to their cabin, which was a good mile away.