Within the courtyard the negro slaves would lounge at their ease, while near them would repose the great guardian dogs of the house. Now and again would sound a heavy rumble from the street without that signified the advent of visitors in a cumbrous coach of state—an interruption that would still the notes of voice and guitar string, and that would excite the negro attendants into sudden life and the dogs into a delirium of barking. After which many grave bows and deep curtseyings would prelude the quiet ceremony of entertainment.
But if instead of this peaceful scene the wrong half of the past were to appear! For there were times when the heavy booming and uproar drew ever nearer from without, and then the faces of the señoritas as they peered through the elaborate bars were ashy pale. There were moments, too, when the last doubts had turned to a bitter certainty, when the forms of fleeing men passed the house, and those of others, who stayed, reddened the ground before the door. And last of all!—the apparition of the strange men in hostile garb, the lust of slaughter in their eyes as they rushed on, making another place of the once familiar street. Thirsting for blood, hungry for booty, and for all things beyond—the cheeks of the shuddering señoritas have not paled without reason. After all, perhaps it is better to leave undisturbed the knocker upon the old door.
Such mental apparitions, moreover, could be multiplied indefinitely, for there are a dozen houses of similar design, if of varied ruinous importance, in the town. Indeed, the place breathes strongly of the past. At a street corner here and there is an ancient cannon, buried muzzle upwards into the ground, that serves to fend off from the sidewalk such wheeled traffic as exists. After a while the narrow street falls away, and the wide sweep of the plaza extends to the front.
The place was once the site of a rather peculiar feat of frontier delimitation. The occasion was that of one of the numerous cessions by treaty to Portugal of the town that the Spaniards were wont to win by force of arms. On receiving the order from the Court of Spain to evacuate the province in favour of the temporarily reconciled enemy the staunch old Spanish Governor lost patience. The town, he knew full well, he must surrender, but he refused to give up more even at the command of his royal master. So he raised the muzzle of a cannon in the plaza, fired a shot to right and left, and told the Portuguese that the land within the range of the balls was theirs, but no more. And with this they had to be content.
There are now no cannon in the plaza, where, indeed, the wild shrubs and grasses alone thrive. Passing across it, the river is approached again, for Colonia covers a small promontory. Ere reaching the water on the farther side, however, it is necessary to pass by far the most imposing ruin in the place. By the side of the white lighthouse tower a tall fragment of grey fortress wall rears itself aloft. Some four feet thick throughout, its crumbling embrasures are strongly lit up by the blue sky behind.
From this point the ground slopes abruptly downwards towards the shore. Here are more rocks, more mounds of ruined masonry, more washerwomen—and the forms of a girl and of a man seated apart from the rest upon the stones. The girl is flaming in all the pride of red skirt and kerchief and yellow blouse. For all I know the latter garment may not technically be admissible within the strict category of blouses, but, failing a more intimate knowledge, it must pass as something similar! By comparison with the very brilliant butterfly, the man looms a dusky moth, whose only glitter lies in the great, round, silver spurs that protrude from his high heels. Yet the business of the pair is the same as ever! Though wrought out more frequently when Colonia really lived, it obtains still amongst the ruins. It is comforting to reflect that even the most simple of these rural chains of the affections continues with links far less unbroken than those of war!
Some three miles distant from Colonia, and situated likewise upon the banks of the river, is Real de San Carlo. Although such close neighbours, it would be difficult to find two spots that differed more widely from each other. Real de San Carlo is a mushroom of a place that has only known existence for some two or three years. Since it is planned as a pleasure resort pure and simple, the nature of Real de San Carlo is to a certain extent artificial, and the brand-new buildings have yet to be toned down by the softening process of age.
So far the new bathing-place is deficient in the private dwelling-houses and châlets that characterise the majority of such spots. On the arrival of the steamer at the imposing pier, the eye is arrested at once by the sight of two very large buildings, and by that of one of a more moderate size. Beyond these there is little in the way of architectural development, with the insignificant exception of the cottages that house the labourers upon the place.