large cleft was observable in them. The Sierra of San Martin, which extends from Tuxtla to the mouth of the Goazacoalco, was suddenly stripped of the veil which had, till now, hid the range from our eyes, and its sharp peaks were brought out in bold relief against the deep blue sky.
"Woe betide the-ships that are in the gulf just now!" said Calros, "for the north wind will advance upon them sword in hand;[1] this will be a tempestuous night. We shall know something more about it this evening at Bocca del Rio."
I made no reply at first. I was gazing on the ocean. To-morrow I intended to bid adieu to Mexico, and to embark for France. Contending emotions were striving for mastery within me. The joy at my return, long desired as it had been, was tinged with a momentary feeling of dejection. The country that I was about to leave had satisfied my thirst for adventure, and I wished ever afterward to lead a more calm and equable life. Calros's remark reminded me that I had not yet left this life of peril, from which I fancied I had been freed too easily. When, after saying nothing for a few moments, I told him a little confused, I own that I intended to embark in the first American ship that was leaving the roads, Calros objected with an air of chagrin, reminding me of my promise to accompany him to Bocca del Rio; and he then pointed out the threatening appearance of the sea. Not a single ship will lift her anchor here for four days, he added; and this last argument was decisive. I then agreed to his terms. I arranged to
- ↑ Con espada en mano, a local term to denote the fury of the north east wind. It commonly blows for fifty hours when it is strong. If weak, it, lasts sometimes five or six days.
