We had cleared the Tierra Caliente, or strip of sultry seaboard, and as we ascended the steep hills of the temperate region, or Tierra Templada, we congratulated ourselves at having left the yellow fever behind us. Up we went, up the rugged mountain road, with immense straining, tugging, and exertion; but our progress was slow, in spite of the oaths of the conductor and postillions, and the continual lashing of the heavy whips as they fell on the backs of the struggling cattle. We got up the ascent, tediously but successfully, and thought ourselves fortunate. Our confidence proved premature, for in crossing the high table-land near Xalapa, we came upon a piece of road far worse than any we had traversed. Indeed, there had been a fight between some wandering band of guerillas and the government troops, and the road had been torn up to render the transport of artillery difficult. It had been very imperfectly repaired, and there were holes of surprising depth, while broken gun-carriages and the wreck of mule-carts encumbered the way. We plunged into one of these holes, and it is no wonder that the diligence was upset, smashing one of the axles, staving in much of the woodwork, and causing no little pain and inconvenience to its human freight. It was not a very dreadful accident. No lives were lost: nor, beyond a sprained thumb, which injury fell to the lot of the German, were any bones broken or dislocated. But many of the company were severely bruised, though the contusions, as usually happens, were very unequally shared among the sufferers. Thus, I was scarcely the worse for the shock, while two or three of the party were sad objects, with bleeding and discoloured features. When we had extricated ourselves and the more feeble or injured of our fellow passengers from the shattered diligence, when the disaster had been commented on to a sufficient length, and the whole extent of it ascertained, a new question arose—
“What was to be done?”
The effort of righting the vehicle was beyond our united force, and even had we set the clumsy machine on its wheels again, the dilapidation of its panels and axle would have rendered it useless. The horses were cut adrift, and stood with heaving flanks, with their heads turned towards the cool breeze that came whispering through the pine trees. The conductor was like one distracted. In his gay dress of slashed jacket, morocco boots, and gaudy yellow sash, he strode up and down, cursing and abusing everybody and everything, from the poor nags to the Liberal Faction, as the cause of the mischief, and we had to wait until this storm of senseless rage had spent itself, before a council could be held. As for the postillions, wild, bare-legged boys from one of the mountain hamlets, they merely grinned and chuckled, and I believe were more amused at our rueful aspect than concerned at the catastrophe. After a long time, during which the conductor was absolutely raving against all heaven and earth, he calmed down enough to answer questions.
“Would the carriage serve for the rest of the journey, if repaired?”
“Caramba! who can tell? We are five good miles, my malediction upon them, from Xalapa. It is too bad! And after burning six pounds of candles, too, all good wax, before my patron St. Antonio! If ever he gets another candle from me, may I—”
“Hush! we’ve heard enough of your cussin’ for one while, mister,” growled a tall American, a teller in one of the foreign banking-houses at Vera Cruz, putting his broad hand very unceremoniously across the conductor’s open mouth; “jest keep a civil tongue, if you’d keep a whole skin, and let us know how we’re to git on. Tell the critter that in Spanish, will ye, some one?”
This reasonable request was complied with. The Yankee’s words were translated to the petulant native, who sullenly replied that “he did not know. We were in the country; who could tell how to get on?”
Here the corporal of the escort very opportunely interfered. He informed us that a capital blacksmith, a skilled workman, a “viejo Christiano,” and, to cap all, his own maternal uncle, resided in a neighbouring village. He would undertake to fetch that worthy man, as well as the carpenter, and as many stout young mozos as might be required to right the unlucky vehicle, and indeed, being stimulated by a dollar, he did set off at a brisk canter.
Some time elapsed before the blacksmith and carpenter came, guided by the corporal, and accompanied by eight or nine sturdy young peasants. To lift the diligence would now have been easy enough, but to mend it was more difficult, and the artisans we had called in to help us, after many exclamations, and much needless talk, made a demand of a hundred dollars, and three days, for the execution of the necessary repairs. Then there was a Babel of discord; the conductor, as representative of the coachowners, seemed disposed to leave the whole onus of paying for the injuries the vehicle had sustained, to the passengers, volubly observing that it was nothing to him when he saw Mexico, soon or late. The Anglo-Saxon part of the company, however, made common cause, and it was at length settled that the broken diligence was to be mended forthwith, that the sum of fifty dollars should be paid for the repairs, and that one-half of this expenditure should be defrayed by the passengers. The smith and carpenter now bustled off to fetch tools and materials, pledging themselves to work on by torchlight, and to cobble up the vehicle so as to enable it to bear the jolting, at any rate, as far as the city of Puebla, where more regular repairs could be executed.
It was then that I asked the tall American I have mentioned, and who was one of the most sensible men of the party, if he could point out to me any more speedy way of pushing on to the metropolis, even at some little personal risk. I was, indeed, already somewhat behind time with my despatches, and I was afraid that the Minister’s next missive might censure my tardiness. The Yankee’s deep-set eyes twinkled as he eyed me, and then glanced upwards at the fast declining sun.
“You’re not far wrong, mister, in reckoning our pro-gress. We shall go slow—’nation slow. First, those yeller skinned dawdlers won’t finish work till after midnight; then we must go on at a