The Purple Land Part 6

"All flowers are pretty," I replied.

"But surely, senor, some are prettier than others. Perhaps you have observed a particularly pretty one growing in these parts--the white margarita?"

Margarita is the Oriental vernacular for verbena; the fragrant white variety is quite common in the country; so that I was justified in ignoring the fellow's rather impudent meaning. a.s.suming as wooden an expression as I could, I replied, "Yes, I have often observed the flower you speak of; it is fragrant, and to my mind surpa.s.ses in beauty the scarlet and purple varieties. But you must know, my friend, that I am a botanist--that is, a student of plants--and they are all equally interesting to me."

This astonished him; and, pleased with the interest he appeared to take in the subject, I explained, in simple language, the principles on which a cla.s.sification of plants is founded, telling him about that _lingua franca_ by means of which all the botanists in the world of all nations are able to converse together about plants. From this somewhat dry subject I launched into the more fascinating one of the physiology of plants. "Now, look at this," I continued, and with my penknife I carefully dissected the flower in my hand, for it was evident that I could not now give it to Margarita without exposing myself to remarks.

I then proceeded to explain to him the beautiful complex structure by means of which this campanula fertilises itself.

He listened in wonder, exhausting all the Spanish and Oriental equivalents of such expressions as "Dear me!" "How extraordinary!"

"Lawks a mussy!" "You don't say so!" I finished my lecture, satisfied that my superior intellect had baffled the rude creature; then, tossingaway the fragments of the flower I had sacrificed, I restored the penknife to my pocket.

"These are matters we do not often hear about in the Banda Oriental,"

he said. "But the English know everything--even the secrets of a flower.

They are also able to do most things. Did you ever, sir botanist, take part in acting a comedy?"

After all, I had wasted my flower and scientific knowledge on the animal for nothing! "Yes, I have!" I replied rather angrily; then, suddenly remembering Eyebrows' teaching, I added, "and in tragedy also."

"Is that so?" he exclaimed. "How amused the spectators must have been!

Well, we can all have our fill of fighting presently, for I see the _White Flower_ coming this way to tell us that breakfast is ready.

Batata's roast beef will give something for our knives to do; I only wish we had one of his own floury namesakes to eat with it."

I swallowed my resentment, and when Margarita came to us, looked up into her matchless face with a smile, then rose to follow her into the kitchen.

CHAPTER X

After breakfast I bade a reluctant good-bye to my kind entertainers, took a last longing, lingering look at lovely Margarita, and mounted my horse. Scarcely was I in the saddle before Marcos Marco, who was also about to resume his journey on the fresh horse he had borrowed, remarked:

"You are travelling to Montevideo, good friend; I am also going in that direction, and will take you the shortest way."

"The road will show me the way," I rejoined curtly.

"The road," he said, "is like a lawsuit; round-about, full of puddles and pitfalls, and long to travel. It is only meant to be used by old half-blind men and drivers of bullock-carts."

I hesitated about accepting the guidance of this strange fellow, who appeared to have a ready wit under his heavy-slouching exterior. The mixed contempt and humility in his speech every time he addressed me gave me an uncomfortable sensation; then his poverty-stricken appearance and his furtive glances filled me with suspicion. I looked at my host, who was standing near, thinking to take my cue from the expression of his face; but it was only a stolid Oriental face that revealed nothing.

An ancient rule in whist is to play trumps when in doubt; now my rule of action is, when two courses are open to me and I am in doubt, to take the bolder one. Acting on this principle, I determined to go with Marcos, and accordingly we rode forth together.

My guide soon struck away across-country, leading me wide of the public road, through such lonely places that I at length began to suspect him of some sinister design against my person, since I had no property worth taking. Presently he surprised me by saying: "You were right, my young friend, in casting away idle fears when you accepted my company. Why do you let them return to trouble your peace? Men of your blood have never inflicted injuries on me that cry out for vengeance. Can I make myself young again by shedding your life, or would there be any profit in changing these rags I now wear for your garments, which are also dusty and frayed? No, no, sir Englishman, this dress of patience and suffering and exile, my covering by day and my bed by night, must soon be changed for brighter garments than you are wearing."

This speech relieved me sensibly, and I smiled at the poor devil's ambitious dream of wearing a soldier's greasy red jacket; for I supposed that that was what his words meant. Still, his "shortest way" to Montevideo continued to puzzle me considerably. For two or three hours we had been riding nearly parallel to a range of hills, or _cuchilla,_ extending away on our left hand towards the south-east. But we were gradually drawing nearer to it, and apparently going purposely out of our way only to traverse a most lonely and difficult country. The few _estancia_ houses we pa.s.sed, perched on the highest points of the great sweep of moor-like country on our right, appeared to be very far away.

Where we rode there were no habitations, not even a shepherd's hovel; the dry, stony soil was thinly covered with a forest of dwarf thorn-trees, and a scanty pasturage burnt to a rust-brown colour by the summer heats; and out of this arid region rose the hills, their brown, woodless sides looking strangely gaunt and desolate in the fierce noonday sun.

Pointing to the open country on our right, where the blue gleam of a river was visible, I said: "My friend, I a.s.sure you, I fear nothing, but I cannot understand why you keep near these hills when the valley over there would have been pleasanter for ourselves, and easier for our horses."

"I do nothing without a reason," he said, with a strange smile. "The water you see over there is the Rio de las Canas [River of Grey Hairs], and those who go down into its valley grow old before their time."

Occasionally talking, but oftener silent, we jogged on till about three o'clock in the afternoon, when suddenly, as we were skirting a patch of scraggy woodland, a troop of six armed men emerged from it, and, wheeling about, came directly towards us. A glance was enough to tell us that they were soldiers or mounted policemen, scouring the country in search of recruits, or, in other words, of deserters, skulking criminals, and vagabonds of all descriptions. I had nothing to fear from them, but an exclamation of rage escaped my companion's lips, and, turning to him, I perceived that his face was of the whiteness of ashes.

I laughed, for revenge is sweet, and I still smarted a little at his contemptuous treatment of me earlier in the day.

"Is your fear so great?" I said.

"You do not know what you say, boy!" he returned fiercely. "When you have pa.s.sed through as much h.e.l.l-fire as I have and have rested as sweetly with a corpse for a pillow, you will learn to curb your impertinent tongue when you address a man."

An angry retort was on my lips, but a glance at his face prevented me from uttering it--it was, in its expression, the face of a wild animal worried by dogs.

In another moment the men had cantered up to us, and one, their commander, addressing me, asked to see my pa.s.sport.

"I carry no pa.s.sport," I replied. "My nationality is a sufficient protection, for I am an Englishman as you can see."

"We have only your word for that," said the man. "There is an English consul in the capital, who provides English subjects with pa.s.sports for their protection, in this country. If you have not got one you must suffer for it, and no one but yourself is to blame. I see in you only a young man complete in all his members, and of such the republic is in need. Your speech is also like that of one who came into the world under this sky. You must go with us."

"I shall do nothing of the sort," I returned.

"Do not say such a thing, master," said Marcos, astonishing me very much with the change in his tone and manner. "You know I warned you a month ago that it was imprudent to leave Montevideo without our pa.s.sports.

This officer is only obeying the orders he has received; still, he might see that we are only what we represent ourselves to be."

"Oh!" exclaimed the officer, turning to Marcos, "you are also an Englishman unprovided with a pa.s.sport, I suppose? You might at least have supplied yourself with a couple of blue crockery eyes and a yellow beard for your greater safety."

"I am only a poor son of the soil," said Marcos meekly. "This young Englishman is looking for an _estancia_ to buy, and I came as his attendant from the capital. We were very careless not to get our pa.s.sports before starting."

"Then, of course, this young man has plenty of money in his pocket?"

said the officer.

I did not relish the lies Marcos had taken upon himself to tell about me, but did not quite know what the consequences of contradicting them might be. I therefore replied that I was not so foolish as to travel in a country like the Banda Oriental with money on my person. "To pay for bread and cheese till I reach my destination is about as much as I have," I added.

"The government of this country is a generous one," said the officer sarcastically, "and will pay for all the bread and cheese you will require. It will also provide you with beef. You must now come with me to the Juzgado de las Cuevas, both of you."

Seeing no help for it, we accompanied our captors at a swinging gallop over a rough, undulating country, and in about an hour and a half reached Las Cuevas, a dirty, miserable-looking village, composed of a few _ranchos_ built round a large plaza overgrown with weeds. On one side stood the church, on the other a square stone building with a flagstaff before it. This was the official building of the Juez de Paz, or rural magistrate; just now, however, it was closed, and with no sign of life about it except an old dead-and-alive-looking man sitting against the closed door, with his bare, mahogany-coloured legs stretched out in the hot sunshine.

"This is a very fine thing!" exclaimed the officer, with a curse. "I feel very much inclined to let the men go."

"You will lose nothing by doing so, except, perhaps, a headache," said Marcos.

"Hold your tongue till your advice is asked!" retorted the officer, thoroughly out of temper.

"Lock them up in the _calaboso_ till the Juez comes to-morrow, Lieutenant," suggested the old man by the door, speaking through a bushy white beard and a cloud of tobacco-smoke.

"Do you not know that the door is broken, old fool?" said the officer.

"Lock them up! Here I am neglecting my own affairs to serve the State, and this is how I am treated. We must now take them to the Juez at his own house and let him look after them. Come on, boys."

We were then conducted out of Las Cuevas to a distance of about two miles, where the Senor Juez resided in the bosom of his family. His private residence was a very dirty, neglected-looking _estancia_ house, with a great many dogs, fowls, and children about. We dismounted, and were immediately taken into a large room, where the magistrate sat at a table on which lay a great number of papers--goodness knows what they were about. The Juez was a little hatchet-faced man, with bristly grey whiskers, standing out like a cat's moustache, and angry eyes--or, rather with one angry eye, for over the other a cotton handkerchief was tied. No sooner had we all entered than a hen, leading a brood of a dozen half-grown chickens, rushed into the room after us, the chickens instantly distributing themselves about the floor in quest of crumbs, while the mother, more ambitious, flew on the table, scattering the papers right and left with the wind she created.

"A thousand demons take the fowls!" cried the Juez, starting up in a fury. "Man, go and bring your mistress here this instant. I command her to come."

This order was obeyed by the person who had ushered us in, a greasy-looking, swarthy-faced individual, in threadbare military clothes; and in two or three minutes he returned, followed by a very fat, slatternly woman, looking very good-tempered, however, who immediately subsided, quite exhausted, into a chair.