the days of my life-第78章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


it　represented；　grinning　a　wele　across　the　patio。　Now　by　some　strange　chance　from　that　moment　forward；　as　Mrs。　Jebb　tells；　everything　went　wrong　with　her　husband’s　affairs。　His　health　broke；　panies　with　which　he　was　connected　collapsed；　mines　proved　unpayable；　and；　lastly；　he　sold　a　reversionary　interest　in　a　considerable　sum　for　a　third　of　its　value　on　the　very　day　before　the　life…tenant　died！　Such　were　some；　but　by　no　means　all；　of　the　catastrophes　that　overwhelmed　him；　which　cause　one　to　wonder　for　what　exact　reason　the　finder　had　parted　gratis　with　this　peculiar　treasure　for　which　shortly　before　he　had　refused　good　gold。
One　of　the　places　in　which　we　stayed　in　Mexico　was　a　huge　hacienda　situated　by　a　lake。　This　vast　house　had　once　been　a　monastery；　and　the　great　chamber　in　which　we　slept　was　still　hung　round　with　the　portraits　of　ill…favoured　abbots。　A　feature　of　the　house　consisted　of　its　almost　endless　cemented　roofs；　on　which　we　used　to　walk。　It　was　tenanted　by　the　two　bachelor　stewards　of　the　great　estate；　who　kept　mastiff　dogs　to　guard　them　at　night；　friendly　creatures　enough　when　once　mutual　confidence　had　been　established。　Altogether　that　hacienda　was　not　a　cheerful　residence　to　my　mind；　although　the　wild…fowl　shooting　on　the　lake　was　excellent　and　the　farming　operations　that　were　carried　on　interested　me　much。
Shortly　after　the　receipt　of　the　desolating　news　of　which　I　have　written；　in　order　to　try　to　occupy　our　minds　we　made　an　expedition　to　a　place　called　Pinal　among　the　mountains；　where；　with　Mr。　Jebb；　we　were　the　guests　of　a　gentleman　named　Stockdale　who　had　charge　of　a　silver　mine　in　which　Jebb　was　interested。　It　was　a　spot　of　extraordinary　loveliness；　with　its　deep　valleys　and　pine…clad　heights；　but　the　journey　there　on　horseback　was　very　rough。　Sometimes　the　road　ran　along　the　dry　bed　of　a　river；　where　the　animals　stumbled　from　stone　to　stone；　while　at　others　it　wended　on　the　edge　of　precipices。　Down　one　of　these　precipices　I　nearly　disappeared；　for　my　horse；　a　wooden　brute；　took　the　opportunity　to　fall　at　a　spot　where　the　two…foot…wide　path　had　been　washed　away　by　rain；　in　such　a　fashion　that　his　front　legs　were　on　one　side　of　the　gap　and　his　hind　part　on　the　other。　How　I　escaped　I　am　sure　I　do　not　know。　Mr。　Stockdale　used　to　gallop　along　these　paths；　although　once　he　and　his　horse　fell　over　the　edge　and　were　saved　only　by　being　caught　in　the　flat　top　of　a　thick　thorn　tree。　He　laughed　at　my　dislike　of　them。　A　while　afterwards　I　heard　that　he　had　fallen　from　such　a　path　and　been　dashed　to　pieces。　He　was　a　young　Englishman　of　the　best　sort；　one　of　that　gallant　breed　whose　bones　whiten　every　quarter　of　the　earth。
The　traveller　on　these　mountain　paths　in　Mexico　will　notice　many　wooden　crosses　set　up　against　the　rocky　walls。　Each　of　these　shows　that　here　a　death　has　occurred；　sometimes　by　accident；　more　frequently　by　murder；　which　amongst　these　half…savage　and　half…bred　people　—　the　product；　many　of　them；　of　intercourse　between　the　Spaniard　and　the　Indian　—　is　or　used　to　be　of　mon　occurrence。　（Now　I　observe　that　under　the　name　of　Revolution　the　Mexicans　are　butchering　each　other　wholesale　in　the　hope　of　securing　the　plunder　of　the　State；　which　has　grown　wealthy　under　the　rule　of　the　fugitive　Diaz。）
I　remember　that　we　reached　Pinal　on　a　Saturday；　the　night　on　which　the　peons　get　drunk　on　mescal　and　aqua　ardiente　and　fight　over　gambling　and　women。　On　the　Sunday　morning　I　walked　down　the　street　of　the　village；　where　I　saw　two　men　lying　dead　with　blankets　thrown　over　them。　A　third；　literally　hacked　to　pieces　by　machetes；　was　seated　in　a　collapsed　condition　in　a　doorway；　while　the　village　barber　tried　to　sew　up　his　hideous　wounds。　I　do　not　know　what　became　of　him。　Such　was　the　Mexico　of　those　days。
One　of　the　towns　that　we　visited　on　this　journey　was　a　place　named　Queretaro；　with　a　plaza　where　the　band　played；　for　all　the　Mexicans　are　musical；　and　the　young　people　walked　about　in　the　evening。　I　felt　so　ill　there　that　I　thought　I　must　be　going　to　die；　but　a　travelling　American　doctor　whom　I　met　in　the　place；　and　who；　good　fellow　that　he　was；　kindly　examined　me；　told　me　that　I　was　suffering　from　nothing　except　shock　to　the　nerves。
At　Queretaro　I　was　taken　up　a　hill　and　shown　the　wall　against　which　the　unhappy　Emperor　Maximilian　had　been　butchered　some　five…and…twenty　years　before。　In　this　town；　as　in　most　others　in　Mexico；　the　church　bells　seemed　to　ring　continually；　as　I　was　informed；　to　frighten　away　the　devils；　of　whom　there　must　in　truth　be　many　in　that　land　—　if　devils　exist　anywhere　outside　the　human　heart。
We　made　some　part　of　the　return　journey　from　Pinal　in　a　kind　of　diligence　that　we　hired。　It　was　reported　that　brigands　were　active　in　the　country　through　which　we　had　to　pass；　and　therefore　we　were　not　best　pleased　when　a　fat　Mexican；　who　was　convoying　a　huge　mass　of　pure　silver　from　some　mine；　insisted　upon　joining　our　party。　When　asked　why　he　was　so　determined　upon　the　point；　he　answered：　“Oh！　I　have　silver；　in　front　hide　brigands。　You　are　Englishmen；　and　the　English　will　always　fight！”　However；　we　saw　nothing　of　these　brigands；　perhaps　because　of　the　warlike　reputation　of　our　race。
On　our　return　to　Mexico　City　I　undertook　a　longer　journey　to　the　State　of　Chiapas；　then　rarely　visited　by　Europeans；　where　Jebb　was　interested　in　a　certain　mine；　in　which；　to　my　sorrow；　I　had　shares。　The　original　arrangement　was　that　we　were　to　have　travelled　to　the　marvellous　ruins　of　Palenque；　which　were　built　by　some　preAztec　race。　But　this　was　given　up　for　the　same　reason　that　we　gave　up　digging　for　Montezuma’s　treasure。　In　place　of　it　it　was　settled　that　Jebb　and　I　should　make　the　journey　to　the　Chiapas　mine　and；　returning　thence　at　a　certain　date；　meet　our　wives　on　the　New　York　steamer　off　the　port　of　Frontera；　where　she　called；　and　thence　proceed　with　them　to　the　States　and　England。　Of　course　it　miscarried；　as　most　things　do；　or　did；　in　Mexico；　as　I　shall　tell　presently。　Indeed；　as　I　can　see　now；　the　whole　expedition　was　of　a　somewhat　crack…brained　order；　but　at　the　time　I　cared　little　what　I　did。
Jebb　and　I　proceeded　from　Mexico　to　Vera　Cruz　by　the　wonderful　railway　which　winds　from　the　7000　feet　high　tableland；　past　the　glorious　mountain　of　Orizaba　to　the　coast。　Then　the　train　only　ran　in　the　day…time　in　charge　of　an　armed　guard；　for　fear　of　brigands　who　could　be　relied　upon　to　throw　it　off　the　line　at　night。　I　recall　one　town　or　village　which　we　passed　where　there　were；　I　think；　thirteen　churches　and　twelve　houses；　or　so　I　was　told。　The　churches　were　said　to　have　all　been　built　by　successful　brigand　captains　when　they　retired　from　business　in　the　neighbourhood　in　order　to　expiate　their　not　inconsiderable　crimes。　By　the　way；　I　think　it　was　on　my　journey　to　Pinal　that　I　passed　through　a　place　of　some　size　where　we　saw　only　a　few　sullen　old　men　and　some　women　and　children。　The　rest　of　the　male　population　had　recently　been　killed　out　by　the　rurales；　or　mounted　guards；　I　forget　for　what　cause。　Indeed　all　my　recollections　of　Mexico　are　somewhat　fragmentary；　for　at　the　time　I　made　no　notes　of　my　experiences；　and　after　a　lapse　of　over　twenty　years　the　memory　is　apt　to　retain　only　such　occurrences　and　scenes　as　struck　it　with　peculiar　force。
At　Vera　Cruz；　a　beautiful　but；　at　that　time；　unwholesome　town；　for　yellow　fever　was　still　prevalent　there　and　the　vultures　were　the　chief　safeguards　of　the　public　health　（they　sat　on　the　scavengers’　carts　as　these　went　their　rounds）；　we　caught　the　steamer　which　was　to　land　us　at　Frontera。　I　had　left　Mexico　City　with　the　worst　cold　I　ever　experienced；　contracted　originally　through　my　folly　in　opening　the　window　of　a　stifling　Pullman　car；　not　knowing　that　we　were　to　run　over　high　mountains　in　the　night。　It　was　so　bad　that　I　had　to　pull　my　eyelids　open　in　the　morning；　and　even　my　ears　were　stopped　up；　nor　could　I　shake　it　off　in　the　piercing　atmosphere　of　the　central　Mexican　tableland。　The　mild　and　beautiful　climate　of　the　coast；　however；　acted　on　me　like　magic；　and　before　I　had　been　twenty　hours　at　sea　I　was　almost　well　again。
On　the　day　after　leaving　Vera　Cruz　we　reached　Frontera；　at　the　mouth　of　a　great　stream　that　I　think　was　named　the　Tobasco　River。　Frontera　was　a　village　with　a