Heart of the World

Chapter VII "The Hacienda"

Returning to the place where we had eaten, we found the alcalde talking with the sailors as to their plans. On seeing us the boatswain advanced, and said that, if it was our pleasure, he and his companions proposed to rest for a few days at the neighbouring rancho and then to row the boat along the coast to Campeche, which they hoped in favourable weather to reach in sixty hours, adding that he trusted we would accompany them.

I answered that we wished for no more of the sea at present, and that we intended to pursue our journey to the town of Potrerillo, where we could refit before undertaking an expedition to the ruined cities of Yucatan. The boatswain said it was well, though he was sorry that they could not escort us so far, as it was their duty to report the loss of the ship to its owner, who lived at Campeche.

When we heard this the señor unbuckled the belt of money, which he wore about his waist, and, pouring out half a handful of gold pieces, he begged the boatswain to accept of them for division between himself and his companions. All this while Don José was sitting close to us, watching everything that passed, and I saw his eyes brighten at the sight of the belt of gold.

"You are fortunate to have saved so much," he said, speaking for the first time. "All that I had has gone down with the ship, yes, three thousand dollars or more."

"You should have followed our example," answered the señor; "we divided our cash between the three of us and secured it upon our persons, though perhaps you were wise after all, since such a weight of gold might have been awkward if, like you, we had been called upon to swim. By the way, señor, what are your plans?"

"If you will allow me," answered the Mexican, "I will walk with you towards Potrerillo, for my home lies on that road. Would you be offended, señor, if, on behalf of my father, I ventured to offer his hospitality to you and your companions?"

"To speak plainly, Don José," said the señor, "our past experience has not been such as to cause us to desire to have anything more to do with you. May I remind you, putting aside other matters, that last night you attempted to stab me?"

"Señor," answered the man with every sign of contrition, "if I did this it was because terror and madness possessed me, and most humbly do I beg your pardon for the deed, and for any angry and foolish words that I may have spoken before it. Señor, you saved my life, and my heart is filled with gratitude towards you, who have thus repaid evil with good. I know that you have heard an ill report of my father, and, to speak truth, at times when the liquor is in him, he is a bad and violent old man, yet he has this virtue, that he loves me, his son, and all those who are kind to me. Therefore, in his name and my own, I pray that you will forget the past and accept of our hospitality for some few days, or at least until you have recovered from your fatigue and we can furnish you with arms and horses to help you forward on your journey."

"Certainly we desire to buy mules and guns," answered the señor, "and if you think that your father will be able to supply these, we will avail ourselves of your kindness and pass a night or two at his hacienda."

"Señor, the place is yours and all that it contains," Don José answered with much courtesy; but as he spoke I saw his eye gleam with an evil fire.

"Doubtless," I interrupted, "for I understand that Don Pedro Moreno is famed for his hospitality. Still, in accepting it, I venture to ask for a promise of safe–conduct, more especially as, save for our pistols and knives, we are unarmed."

"Do you wish to insult me, señor?" Don José asked angrily.

"Not in the least, señor, but I find it a little strange that you, who two nights ago refused to sit at meat with 'a dog of an Indian,' should now be anxious to receive that same dog into your home."

"Have I not said that I am sorry for what is past?" he answered, "and can a man do more? Gentlemen, if any evil is attempted towards you in my father's house, I will answer for it with my life."

"That is quite sufficient," broke in the señor, "especially as in such an event we should most certainly hold you to your bond. And now tell me how far is the hacienda from this spot?"

"If we start at once we should reach it at sundown," he answered, "that is on foot, though it is but three hours' ride from the house to the mouth of the river."

"Then let us go," he said, and ten minutes later we were on the road.

Before we went, however, we bade a warm farewell to the sailors, and also to the alcalde of the village, all of whom were somewhat disturbed on learning that we proposed to sleep at Santa Cruz.

"The place has an evil name," said the alcalde, "and it is a home of thieves and smugglers—only last week a cargo that never paid duty went up the river. They say that Don Pedro was fathered by the devil in person; may the Saints protect you from him, lord!"

"We have business that takes us to his house, friend," I answered; "but doubtless it will be easy for you to keep yourself informed of what chances in that neighbourhood, and if we should not appear again within a few days, perhaps it may please you to advise the authorities at Campeche that we are missing."

"The authorities are afraid of Don Pedro," answered the alcalde, shaking his head, "also he bribes them so heavily that they grow blind when they look his way. Still I will do the best I can, be sure of that, and as an Inglese is with you, it is possible that I may be able to get help if necessary."

Our walk that day was long and hot, though we had nothing to carry except the clothes on our backs, all our possessions, having been lost in the ship. At noon we halted, and, the heat being great, ate some food that we had brought with us, and slept two hours in the shade, which sleep was most grateful, for we were weary. Then we rose and tramped on, till at length we came within sight of this hacienda, where, though I little guessed it at the time, I was fated to spend so many years of my life.

Walking through a large milpa, or corn field—that in front of the building which is now planted with coffee–bushes—we reached the gateway and entered the courtyard, where we were met by many fierce dogs which rushed upon us from all sides. Don José beat back the dogs, that knew him, and, leaving us under the charge of some half–breeds, he entered the house.

After a while he returned again and led us through the passages into the dining–hall, which, as you know, is the largest room in the hacienda, and in former days served as the refectory of the monks. Several lamps were hung upon its walls, for already it grew dark, and by their light we saw five or six people gathered round a long table waiting for supper, which was being laid by Indian girls. Of these men it is sufficient to say that they were of mixed nationality and villainous appearance. Turning from them we looked towards the far end of the chamber, where a hammock was slung from the beams in the roof, in which lay a man whom a handsome girl, also an Indian, was employed in rocking to and fro.

"Come and be introduced to my father, who expects you," said Don José, leading the way towards the hammock. "Father, here is that brave Englishman who saved my life last night, and with him the Indian gentleman, who—did not wish to save my life. As I told you, I have offered them hospitality on your behalf, feeling sure that they would be welcome here."

At the sound of his son's voice Don Pedro awoke, or pretended to awake, from his doze, and bade the girl cease swinging the hammock. Then he sat up and looked at us. He was a short stout man of about sixty years of age—so short indeed that, although the hammock was slung low, his legs did not touch the floor. Notwithstanding this lack of stature, Don Pedro's appearance was striking, while his long, carefully brushed white hair gave him a venerable aspect.

Other beauties he had none, however, for his cheeks were flabby and wrinkled, his mouth was cruel and sensuous; and his dull eyes, which were small, half opened, and protected from the glare of the lamps by spectacles of tinted glass, can best be described as horrible, like those of a snake. Looking at him we could well believe that his reputation was not exaggerated, for he bore the stamp of evil on his face. Still he bowed with much courtesy and addressed the señor in Spanish.

"So you are the Englishman who saved my son here from the sinking ship," he said in a slow, powerful voice, peering at us with his fish–like eyes from beneath the coloured glasses. "He tells me that you rowed back to the side of the foundering vessel merely in order to fetch him. Well, it was a brave deed and one that I should not have dared myself, for I have always found it hard enough to keep my own breath in me without attempting to preserve that of other people. But as I have seen several times, you Englishmen are peculiar in these matters, foolhardy indeed. Señor, I am grateful to you, and this house and all within it is at your disposal and that of your companions," and he glanced with genuine affection at the coarse beetle–browed man beside him, who was gnawing one end of his moustache and staring at us out of the corners of his eyes.

"Tell me," he added, "to what do I owe the honour of your presence?"

"To an accident, Don Pedro," the señor answered. "As it chances, the ruins of this ancient land interest me much, and I was travelling to Palenque with my Indian friend, Don Ignatio, when we were so unfortunate as to be wrecked near your hospitable house. In our dilemma we accepted the invitation of your son to visit you, in the hope that you may be able to sell us some guns and mules."

"Ruins, Señor Strickland! Decidedly you Englishmen are strange. What pleasure can you find in hunting about among old walls, built by men long dead, unless indeed you seek for treasure there. For my part I hate the name of ruins, for I have always suffered from a presentiment that I should meet my end among them, and that is bad to think of. Bah!"—and he spat upon the floor—"there, it comes upon me again, suddenly as a fit of the ague."

"Well," he went on, "you are lucky to have saved your lives and your money, and to–morrow we will see about the things that you desire to buy. Meanwhile, you are travel–stained and doubtless will wish to cleanse yourself before you eat. José, conduct the señor and his Indian friend, since he is so fond of his company, to their room, the abbot's chamber. Supper will be served shortly, till then, adios. Girl, go with them," he added, addressing the woman who had been engaged in swinging the hammock, "water may be wanted and other things."

The woman bowed and went away, and at the door we found her standing, lamp in hand, to light us down the passage.

Now, Señor Jones, you, for whom I write my history, have so often slept in the abbot's chamber in this house that it is needless for me to stop to describe it. Except for the furniture, the room is just as it was in those days. Then it was empty save for a few chairs, a rough washing–stand, and two truckle bedsteads of American make, which were placed at a little distance from each other on either side of the picture of the abbot.

"I fear that you will think this a poor place, after the luxury of Mexico, gentlemen," said Don José, "but it is our guest–chamber, the best that we have."

"Thank you," answered the señor, "it will do very well, though perhaps your visitors suffer sometimes from nightmare," and he glanced at the awful and life–sized picture on the south wall of an Indian being burnt at an auto–da–fé, while devils hanging above his head dragged the soul from his tortured and expiring body.

"Pretty, are they not?" said Don José; "I would have them whitewashed over, but my father likes them. You see all the victims are Indians, there isn't a white man among them, and the old man never could bear Indians. Well, when you are ready, will you come to supper? You will not lose the way, for you can follow the smell of the food," and he left the room.

"One moment," I said addressing the girl, who was about to accompany him, "perhaps you will see that our servant," and I pointed to Molas, "has some meat brought to him here, since your masters will not wish him to sit at table."

"Si," answered the girl, whose name was Luisa, searching my face with her eyes.

By this time Don José was through the door, which the draught pushed to behind him. I watched it close, then a thought struck me, for I remembered that among our Order there are women, associates of the outer circle, and I whispered some words into Luisa's ear and made a sign with my hand. She started and gave the ancient answer, which is taught even to children, whereto I replied with another sign, that of the Presence of the Heart. "Where?" she asked glancing at each of us in turn.

"Here," I answered, and, drawing out the symbol, I held it before her eyes.

She saw and made obeisance, and at that moment we heard Don José calling her from the further side of the door.

"I come," she cried in answer, then added in a whisper: "Lord, you are in danger in this house. I cannot tell you now, but if possible I will return. The wine is safe, but drink no coffee, and do not sleep when you lie down. Search the floor and you will understand the reason. I come, señor! I come!" and she fled from the room.

So soon as the girl was gone, the Señor James went to the door and locked it, then he returned and said:

"What does all this mean, Ignatio?"

I did not answer, but, pushing aside one of the beds, I searched the floor beneath it. It was discoloured in several places. Next I pulled the blankets off the beds and examined the webbing that formed the mattresses, to discover that this also was stained, though slightly, for it had been washed. Then I said:

"Men have died in these beds, señor, and yonder stains were made by their blood. It would seem that the guests of Don Pedro sleep well; first they are drugged, then they are murdered; and it is for this purpose that we have been lured to the house. Well, we expected nothing else."

"That is a pleasing prospect," he answered, "we are this man's guests, surely therefore he will not―" and he drew his hand across his throat.

"Certainly he will, señor, and it is to this end that we have been brought here by Don José. If others have been murdered, it is not likely that we shall escape, since Don Pedro will be sure that an Inglese would not travel without a large sum of money. Moreover, we have a quarrel with the son, and I know too much about the father."

"Again I say that the prospect is a pleasant one," answered the señor. "On the whole it would have been better to be drowned than to live on to be butchered by those villains in this awful place. What an end!"

"Do not despair," I answered. "We were warned in time and therefore, I think, shall escape by the help of that girl and the other Indians in the place, since in an hour every one of them will have learned who we are, and be prepared to venture their lives to save us. Also we came for a purpose, knowing our risk. Now let us make ready and go among these men with a bold face; for of this you may be sure, that nothing will be attempted till late at night when they think us sleeping. Have you understood, Molas?"

"Yes," answered the Indian.

"Then watch here, or in the outer room, till we return, and should the girl come, learn all you can from her as to the whereabouts of the old doctor and his daughter, and other matters, for when she knows you to be of the Order she will speak. Have you been recognised by anyone?"

"I think not, señor. When we entered it was too dark for them to see."

"Good. Then keep out of their way if possible, do the best you can with the girl, and take note of all that passes. Farewell."

When we reached the dining–hall, nine of the company were already seated at the table impatient for their food, but Don Pedro was still sitting in his hammock engaged in earnest conversation with his son José. Of those at the table but one was a white man, a lanky, withered–looking person with a broken nose, whose general appearance filled us with disgust. The rest were half–breeds, the refuse of revolutions, villains who had escaped the hand of justice and who lived by robbery and murder.

Looking at these outcasts it became clear to us that, if once we fell into their power, we could expect little mercy at their hands, for they would think no more of butchering us in cold blood than does a sportsman of shooting a deer.

When Don Pedro perceived us, he slid from his hammock to the ground, and, taking the señor by the hand, he said:

"Let me introduce you to my overseer, the Señor Smith, from Texas. He is an American, and will be glad to meet one who can speak English, for, notwithstanding much practice, his Spanish is none of the best."

The señor bowed, and the American desperado spoke to him in English, wearing a grin on his face like that of a wicked dog as he did so, though I do not know what he said. Then Don Pedro conducted his guest to a place of honour at the head of the table, that beside his own seat, while I was led to another table at a little distance, where my meat was served to me alone, since, as an Indian of pure blood, I was not thought fit for the company of these cross–bred curs. Don José having taken his place at the further end of the board with the Americano, the meal began, and an excellent one it was.

Now, in the conversation that ensued I took no part, except when members of the gang called to me to drink wine with them, for they desired to make me drunk; but while I pretended to be occupied with my meat, I thought much and watched more. The talk that passed I set down as I overheard it and as it was reported to me by the señor.

"Try some more of this Burgundy," said Don Pedro when the dishes had been removed, filling his tumbler for the seventh or eighth time, "it is the right stuff, straight from France, though it never paid duty," and he winked his leaden eye.

"Your health, señor, and may you live to do many such brave deeds as that of yesterday, when you saved my son from the sea. By the way, do you know that on board the Santa Maria they said that you had the evil eye and brought her to wreck;—yes, and your long–faced companion, the Indian, also?"

"Indeed, I never heard of it before," answered the señor with a laugh; "but if so, our evil eyes shall not trouble you for long, as we propose to continue our journey to–morrow."

"Nonsense, friend, nonsense, you don't suppose that I believe in that sort of rubbish, do you? We say many things that we do not believe just for a joke; thus," and he raised his voice so that I could hear him at my table, "your companion there—is he not named Ignatio?—told a story to my disadvantage on board the ship, which I am sure that he did not believe," and suddenly he stared at me and added insolently: "Is it not so, Indian?"

"If you seek my opinion, Don Pedro," I answered, leaning forward and speaking very clearly, "I say that it is unprofitable to repeat words that are said, or to remember deeds that are done with. If I spoke certain words, or if in the past you did certain deeds, here beneath your hospitable roof is not the place to recall them."

"Quite so, Indian, quite so, you talk like an oracle, as Montezuma used to talk to Cortes till the Conqueror found a way to teach him plain speaking—a great man, Cortes, he understood how to deal with Indians." Then he spat upon the floor and, having looked down the table, spoke to the señor in a somewhat anxious voice.

"Tell me," he said, "for your sight is better than mine, how many are there present here to–night?"

"Counting my friend, thirteen," he answered.

"I thought so," said our host, with an oath, "and it is too late to mend matters now. Well, may the Saints, and they should be thick about a monastery, avert the omen. I see you think me a fool."

"Not at all," he replied; "I am rather superstitious myself and dislike sitting down thirteen to table."

"So do I, so do I, Señor Strickland. Listen; last time we dined thirteen in this room, there were two travellers here, Americanos, friends of Don Smith, who were trying to open up a trade in these parts. They drank more than was good for them, and the end of it was that in the night they quarrelled and killed each other, yonder in the abbot's chamber, where you are sleeping—poor men, poor men! There was trouble about the matter at the time, but Don Smith explained to his countrymen and it came to nothing."

"Indeed," answered the señor; "it was strange that two drunken men should kill each other."

"So I say, señor. In truth for a while I thought that Indians must have got into their rooms and murdered them, but it was proved beyond a doubt that this was not so. Ah! they are a wicked people, the Indians; I have seen much of them and I should know. Now the Government wishes to treat them too well. Our fathers knew better how to deal with them, but luckily the arm of the Government scarcely reaches here, and no whining padres or officials come prying about my house, though once we had some soldiers," and he cursed at the recollection and drank another glass of Burgundy.

"I tell you that they are a wicked people," he went on, "the demonios their fathers worshipped still possess them, also they are secret and dangerous; there are Indians now who know where vast treasures are buried, but they will tell nothing.

"Yes"—and suddenly growing excited under the influence of the strong drink, he leaned over and whispered into his guest's ear—"I have one such in the house at this moment, an old Lacandone, that is, an unbaptised Indian, not that I think him any the worse for that, and with him his daughter, a woman more beautiful than the night—perhaps if I go on liking you, Englishman, I will show her to you to–morrow, only then I should have to keep you, for you would never go away. Beautiful! yes, she is beautiful, though a devil at heart. I have not dared to let these little ones see her," and he winked and nodded towards the villains at the table, "but José is to pay her and her papa a visit to–night, and he won't mind her tempers, though they frighten me.

"Well, would you believe it? this girl and her old father have the secret of enough treasure to make every man of us here rich as the Queen of England. How do I know that? I know it because I heard it from their own lips, but fill your glass and take a cigar and I will tell you the story."