exchanged a few words of kindness. His brawny figure was prostrated by fever; at times he had vexed me almost beyond endurance; but with all my malice against him I could not have wished him in a worse condition. The boy sat by his side apparently softened by the illness of his master, and indifferent to my going.
For the first time in a long while we had a level road. The land was rich and productive; brown sugar sold for three-halfpence a pound and white lump, even under their sow process of making it, for fourpence, and indigo could be raised for one shilling a pound. I was riding quietly, when four soldiers sprang into the road almost at my mule´s head. They were perfectly concealed until I approached, and their sudden appearance was rather footpad-like. They could not read my passport, and said that they must conduct me to Chiquimula. My road Iay a little off from that town; and fortunately, while under escort, the soldier whom I had seen in San Jacinto overtook us, satisfied them satisfied them, and released me. A short distance beyond I recognized the path by which we turned off to go to Copan. Three weeks had not elapsed, and it seemed an age. We passed by the old church of Chiquimula, and, winding up the same zigzag path by which we had descended, crossed the mountain, and descended to the plain of Zacapa and the Motagua River, which I hailed as an old acquaintance. It was growing late, and we saw no signs of habitation. A little before dark, on the top of a small eminence on the right, we saw a little boy, who conducted us to the village of Santa Rosalia, beautifully situated on a point formed by the bend of the river. The village consisted of a miserable collection of huts; before the door of the best was a crowd of people, who did not ask us to stop, and we rode up to one of the poorest. All we wanted was Sacate[1] for the mules. The stores of the padre were abundant for me, and the deaf and dumb lad cut a few ribs from the side of the ox, and prepared supper for himself and the muleteer.
While supping, we heard a voice of lamentation from the house before which the crowd was assembled. After dark I walked over, and found that they were mourning over the dead. Inside were several women; one was wringing her hands, and the first words I distinguished were, "Oh, our Lord of Esquipulas, why have you taken him away?" She was interrupted by the tramp of horses' hoof, and a man rode up, whose figure in the dark I could not see, but who, without dismounting, in a hoarse voice, said that the priest asked six dollars to bury the corpse. One of the crowd cried out, "Shame! shame!" and others said they would bury it in el campo (the field). The horse-
- ↑ Sacate means any kind of grass or leaves for mules. The best is sacate of maize, or the stalks and leaves of indian corn.
