CHAPTER XXXV.
A VOICE FROM THE RUINS—BUYING BREAD—ARRIVAL OF PADRES—CURA OF PALENQUE—CARD PLAYING—SUNDAY—MASS—A DINNER PARTY—MEMENTOS OF HOME—DINNER CUSTOMS—RETURN TO THE RUINS—A MARKED CHANGE—TERRIFIC THUNDER—A WHIRLWIND—A SCENE OF THE SUBLIME AND TERRIBLE.
The third day I heard from the ruins a voice of wailing. Juan had upset the lard, and every drop was gone. The imploring letter I received roused all my sensibilities; and, forgetting everything in the emergency, I hurried to the alcalde's, and told him a hog must die. The alcalde made difficulties, and to this day I cannot account for his concealing from me a fact of which he must have been aware, to wit, that on that very night a porker had been killed. Very early the next morning I saw a boy passing with some strings of fresh pork hailed him, and he guided me to a hut in the suburbs, but yesterday the dwelling of the unfortunate quadruped. I procured the portion of some honest Palenquian, and returned, happy in the consciousness of making others so. That day was memorable, too, for another piece of good fortune; for a courier arrived from Ciudad Real with despatches for Tobasco, and a back-load of bread on private account. As soon as the intelligence reached me, I despatched a messenger to negotiate for the whole stock. Unfortunately, it was sweetened, made up into diamonds, circles, and other fanciful forms, about two inches long and an inch thick, to be eaten with chocolate, and that detestable lard was oozing out of the crust. Nevertheless, it was bread; and placing it carefully on a table, with a fresh cheese, the product of our cow, I lay down at night full of the joy that morning would diffuse over the ruins of Palenque; but, alas! all human calculations are vain. In my first sleep I was roused by a severe clap of thunder, and detected an enormous cat on the table. While my boot was sailing toward her with one bound she reached the wall, and disappeared under the eaves of the roof. I fell asleep again; she returned, and the consequences were fatal.
The padres were slow in movement, and after keeping the village in a state of excitement for three days, this morning they made a triumphal entry, escorted by citizens, and with a train of more than 100 Indians, carrying hammocks, chairs, and luggage. The villages of Tumbala and San Pedro had turned out 200 or 300 strong, and
