Six days on the hurricane deck of a mule — Key Ideas to Explore

Hardly had we settled ourselves under this shelter when a man rode up, apparently "the lord of the manor." He was about fifty years of age, whiter than the women, and was getting a horrible _goitre_, an affliction that one of the girls, his daughter, was also suffering from, and which seemed quite a common one in the vicinity.

A few words of explanation from the pretty cigarette-smoker, who, though not his wife, seemed to be the mistress of the household, apparently satisfied him, and he subsequently took our presence as a matter of course.

He seated himself in the chair by the table, his supper of black beans, meat, cheese, and _tortillas_ was brought and dispatched without the aid of either knife or fork, and then he turned his attention to our entertainment.

Notwithstanding the unwelcome sights and odors, we were becoming very hungry again, and as our men still abstained from putting in an appearance, we were more than glad to take the eggs, _tortillas_, and coffee given us. True it is that oftentimes during that six days, I ate and relished such food in places where, under ordinary circumstances, I would not have tasted a mouthful of the most tempting delicacies.

About dark one of the men came with three of the mules, but the other man had lost himself in trying to find us, and not until several hours later did he succeed in his quest.

Meanwhile I was secretly tormented by the painful anxiety to know where I was to sleep. One dark, ill-smelling room was all the house contained, except a shed used as a kitchen, and I could not see how the most ingenious hostess could make two guests of different sexes comfortable, however much she might incommode the family.

To my utter horror I learned that, with no conception of any possible scruples on my part, she had arranged for me to have one of the four beds, the women of the house the remaining three, while the master and Vincent were to occupy hammocks in the same room.

With stoical disregard of masculine observance, these native families disrobed themselves, skilfully it is true, though the process of necessity was a short one, and then, in company with their male companion, deliberately set themselves to watch my preparations for the night.

These last, you may be sure, were of the simplest kind. I took off my shoes and let down my hair, and then in my still wet dress, which was fortunately a flannel one, I crept into the bed the servant had made up with the clothes we carried with us.

Vincent's night toilet was still less elaborate.

He unbuckled the leather belt upon which hung his revolver, and brought it over to me with a brief injunction that I was to use it if need be. A startling suggestion truly, but the weapon gave me a sense of security, though it was such an enormous one that I knew with both hands on the trigger, both eyes tight shut, and mouth firmly set in the usual feminine way, I could never make the thing go off, in time to render me more than a _post-mortem_ defence.

As the burning pine sticks which had furnished light for us, slowly crumbled into ashes, I heard a wonder-struck voice ask if all the American ladies went to bed with their clothes on, to which Vincent, sharing my desire to do or say nothing that could hurt their feelings, gravely replied that it was the national custom.

Of course I did not sleep, tired as I was--I was more than half afraid to close my eyes, and when I finally did summon up sufficient courage to do so, there ensued a series of disturbances that successfully banished any further somnolent inclination for the night.

First our man, Eduardo, arrived, and all the animals about felt it their bounden duty to extend to him a welcome, whence began a simultaneous barking of dogs, mewing of cats, grunting of pigs, crowing of roosters, quacking of ducks, braying of mules, neighing of horses, and wagging of tongues, as I had never heard since in my childish days we had "lived on my father's farm in the green fields of barley."

When that commotion had subsided, our host sank into slumber so noisy that I lay there in momentary expectation of seeing the roof depart upon a celestial journey, and I am sure it was only saved from displacement by the rebellion of his throat causing a terrific fit of coughing. This over, he recounted a vivid, if stupid dream he had just had, and then once more came restful silence.