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The Purple Land

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After that I proceeded without further interruption on my walk, and,
had I not felt so ravenously hungry and so sore where the bull had
trod on me or prodded me with his horns, the walk would have been very
enjoyable, for I was now approaching the Yí. The ground grew moist and
green, and flowers abounded, many of them new to me, and so lovely and
fragrant that in my admiration for them I almost forgot my pain. The
sun went down, but no house appeared in sight. Over the western heavens
flamed the brilliant hues of the afterglow, and from the long grass
came the sad, monotonous trill of some night insect. Troops of hooded
gulls flew by me on their way from their feeding grounds to the water,
uttering their long, hoarse, laughter-like cries. How buoyant and happy
they seemed, flying with their stomachs full to their rest; while I,
dismounted and supperless, dragged painfully on like a gull that had
been left behind with a broken wing. Presently, through the purple and
saffron-hued vapours in the western sky, the evening star appeared,
large and luminous, the herald of swift-coming darkness; and
then--weary, bruised, hungry, baffled, and despondent--I sat down to
meditate on my forlorn position.




CHAPTER XIII


I sat there till it was very dark, and the longer I sat the colder and
stiffer I grew, yet I felt no disposition to walk farther. At length
a large owl, flapping down close to my head, gave utterance to a long
hiss, followed by a sharp, clicking sound, ending with a sudden loud,
laugh-like cry. The nearness of it startled me, and, looking up, I saw
a twinkling yellow light gleam for a moment across the wide, black
plain, then disappear. A few fireflies were flitting about the grass,
but I felt sure the gleam just witnessed proceeded from a fire; and
after vainly trying to catch sight of it again from my seat on the
ground, I rose and walked on, keeping before me a particular star
shining directly over the spot where that transient glimmer had
appeared. Presently, to my great joy, I spied it again in the same
place, and felt convinced that it was the gleam of firelight shining
from the open door or window of some _rancho_ or _estancia_ house. With
renewed hope and energy I hastened on, the light increasing in brightness
as I progressed; and, after half an hour's brisk walking, I found myself
approaching a human dwelling of some kind. I could make out a dark mass
of trees and bushes, a long, low house, and, nearer to me, a corral, or
cattle-pen, of tall, upright posts. Now, however, when a refuge seemed so
close, the fear of the terrible, savage dogs kept on most of these
cattle-breeding establishments made me hesitate. Unless I wished to run
the risk of being shot, it was necessary to shout loudly to make my
approach known, yet by shouting I would inevitably bring a pack of huge,
frantic dogs upon me; and the horns of the angry bull I had encountered
were less terrible to contemplate than the fangs of these powerful,
truculent brutes. I sat down on the ground to consider the position, and
presently heard the clatter of approaching hoofs. Immediately afterwards
three men rode past me, but did not see me, for I was crouching down
behind some scrubby bushes. When the horsemen approached the house the
dogs rushed forth to assail them, and their loud, fierce barking, and the
wild shouts of some person from the house calling them off, were enough
to make a dismounted man nervous. However, now was my only chance, and,
starting up, I hurried on towards the noise. As I passed the corral the
brutes became aware of my approach, and instantly turned their attention
on me. I wildly shouted. _"Ave Maria,"_ then, revolver in hand, stood
awaiting the onset; but when they were near enough for me to see that
the pack was composed of eight or ten huge yellow mastiff-like brutes,
my courage failed, and I fled to the corral, where, with an agility
surpassing that of a wild cat, so great was my terror, I climbed up
a post and placed myself beyond their reach. With the dogs furiously
barking under me, I renewed my shouts of _"Ave Maria"_--the proper
thing to do when you approach a strange house in these pious latitudes.
After some time the men approached--four of them--and asked me who
I was and what I did there. I gave an account of myself, then asked
whether it would be safe for me to descend. The master of the house
took the hint, and drove his faithful protectors off, after which I
came down from my uncomfortable perch.

He was a tall, well-made, but rather fierce-looking gaucho, with keen
black eyes, and a heavy black beard. He seemed suspicious of me--a
very unusual thing in a native's house, and asked me a great many
searching questions; and finally, still with some reluctance in his
manner, he invited me into the kitchen. There I found a big fire blazing
merrily on the raised clay hearth in the centre of the large room, and
seated near it an old grey-haired woman, a middle-aged, tall,
dark-skinned dame in a purple dress--my host's wife; a pale, pretty
young woman, about sixteen years old, and a little girl. When I sat
down my host began once more questioning me; but he apologised for
doing so, saying that my arrival on foot seemed a very extraordinary
circumstance. I told them how I had lost my horse, saddle, and
_poncho_ in the wood, and then related my encounter with the bull.
They listened to it all with very grave faces, but I am sure it was
as good as a comedy to them. Don Sinforiano Alday--the owner of the
place, and my questioner--made me take off my coat to exhibit the
bruises the bull's hoofs had inflicted on my arms and shoulders. He
was anxious, even after that, to know something more about me, and so
to satisfy him I gave him a brief account of some of my adventures in
the country, down to my arrest with Marcos Marcó, and how that plausible
gentleman had made his escape from the magistrate's house. That made
them all laugh, and the three men I had seen arrive, and who appeared
to be casual visitors, became very friendly, frequently passing me the
rum-bottle with which they were provided.

After sipping _maté_ and rum for half an hour we settled down to
discuss a plentiful supper of roast and boiled beef and mutton, with
great basins of well-seasoned broth to wash it down. I consumed an
amazing quantity of meat, as much, in fact, as any gaucho there; and
to eat as much as one of these men at a sitting is a feat for an
Englishman to boast about. Supper done, I lit a cigar and leant back
against the wall, enjoying many delightful sensations all
together--warmth, rest, and hunger satisfied, and the subtle fragrance
of that friend and comforter, divine tobacco. On the farther side of
the room my host was meanwhile talking to the other men in low tones.
Occasional glances in my direction seemed to show that they still
harboured some suspicion of me, or that they had some grave matters
to converse about unsuitable for a stranger to hear.

At length Alday rose and addressed me. "Señor, if you are ready to
rest I will now conduct you to another room, where you can have some
rugs and _ponchos_ to make a bed with."

"If my presence here is not inconvenient," I returned, "I would rather
remain and smoke by the fire."

"You see, señor," he said, "I have arranged to meet some neighbours
and friends, who are coming here to discuss matters of importance with
me. I am even now expecting their arrival, and the presence of a
stranger would scarcely allow us to talk freely over our affairs."

"Since you wish it, I will go to any part of the house you may think
proper to put me in," I returned.

I rose, not very cheerfully, I must say, from my comfortable seat
before the fire, to follow him out, when the tramp of galloping horses
came to our ears.

"Follow me this way--quick," exclaimed my impatient conductor; but
just as I reached the door about a dozen mounted men dashed up close
to us and burst forth in a perfect storm of yells. Instantly all those
who were in the kitchen sprang to their feet uttering loud exclamations
and looking greatly excited. Then came from the mounted men another
wild outburst as they all yelled together, _"Viva el General Santa
Coloma--viv--a."_

The other three men then rushed from the kitchen, and in excited tones
began to ask if anything fresh had happened. Meanwhile I was left
standing at the door by myself. The women appeared almost as excited
as the men, except the girl, who had glanced at me with shy compassion
in her large, dark eyes when I had been roused from my seat by the
fire. Taking advantage of the general excitement, I now repaid that
kindly look with one of admiration. She was a quiet, bashful girl, her
pale face crowned with a profusion of black hair; and while she stood
there waiting, apparently unconcerned by the hubbub outside, she looked
strangely pretty, her homemade cotton gown, of limp and scanty material,
clinging closely to her limbs so as to display her slender, graceful
form to the best advantage. Presently, seeing me looking at her, she
came near, and, touching my arm in passing, told me in a whisper to
go back to my seat by the fire. I gladly obeyed her, for my curiosity
was now thoroughly aroused, and I wished to know the meaning of this
outcry which had thrown these phlegmatic gauchos into such a frenzied
state of excitement. It looked rather like a political row--but of
General Santa Coloma I had never heard, and it seemed curious that a
name so seldom mentioned should be the rallying cry of revolutionists.

In a few minutes the men all streamed back into the kitchen. Then the
master of the house, Alday, his face on fire with emotion, thrust
himself into the midst of the crowd.

"Boys, are you mad!" he cried. "Do you not see a stranger here? What
is the meaning of all this outcry if nothing new has happened?"

A roar of laughter from the new-comers greeted this outburst, after
which they raised another yell of "_Viva Santa Colomal_"

Alday became furious. "Speak, madmen!" he shouted; "tell me, in God's
name, what has happened--or do you wish to ruin everything with your
imprudence?"

"Listen, Alday," replied one of the men, "and know how little we need
fear the presence of a stranger. Santa Coloma, the hope of Uruguay,
the saviour of his country, who will shortly deliver us out of the
power of Colorado assassins and pirates--Santa Coloma has come! He is
here in our midst; he has seized on El Molino del Yí, and has raised
the standard of revolt against the infamous government of Montevideo!
_Viva Santa Colomal_"

Alday flung his hat off, and, falling on his knees, remained for some
moments in silent prayer, his hands clasped before him. The others all
snatched off their hats and stood silent, grouped about him. Then he
stood up, and all together joined in a _viva_, which far surpassed
in its deafening power their previous performances.

My host now appeared to be almost beside himself with excitement.

"What," he cried, "my General come! Do you tell me that Santa Coloma
has come? Oh, friends, the great God has remembered our suffering
country at last! He has grown weary of looking on man's injustice, the
persecutions, the bloodshed, the cruelties that have almost driven us
mad. I cannot realise it! Let me go to my General, that these eyes
that have watched for his coming may see him and rejoice. I cannot
wait for daylight--this very night must I ride to El Molino, that I
may see him and touch him with my hands, and know that it is not a
dream."

His words were welcomed with a shout of applause, and the other men
all immediately announced their intention to accompany him to El Molino,
a small town on the Yí some leagues distant.

Some of the men now went out to catch fresh horses, while Alday busied
himself in bringing out a store of old broadswords and carbines from
their concealment in some other part of the house. The men, talking
excitedly together, occupied themselves in scouring and sharpening the
rusty weapons, while the women cooked a fresh supply of meat for the
last comers; and in the meantime I was permitted to remain unnoticed
by the fire, smoking peacefully.




CHAPTER XIV


The girl I have mentioned, whose name was Monica, and the child, called
Anita, were the only persons there besides myself who were not carried
away by the warlike enthusiasm of the moment. Monica, silent, pale,
almost apathetic, was occupied serving _maté_ to the numerous
guests; while the child, when the shouting and excitement was at its
height, appeared greatly terrified, and clung to Alday's wife, trembling
and crying piteously. No notice was taken of the poor little thing,
and at length she crept away into a corner to conceal herself behind
a faggot of wood. Her hiding-place was close to my seat, and after a
little coaxing I induced her to leave it and come to me. She was a
most forlorn little thing, with a white, thin face and large, dark,
pathetic eyes. Her mean little cotton frock only reached to her knees,
and her little legs and feet were bare. Her age was seven or eight;
she was an orphan, and Alday's wife, having no children of her own,
was bringing her up, or, rather, permitting her to grow up under her
roof. I drew her to me, and tried to soothe her tremors and get her
to talk. Little by little she gained confidence, and began to reply
to my questions; then I learnt that she was a little shepherdess,
although so young, and spent most of the time every day in following
the flock about on her pony. Her pony and the girl Monica, who was
some relation--cousin, the child called her--were the two beings she
seemed to have the greatest affection for.

"And when you slip off, how do you get on again?" I asked.

"Little pony is tame, and I never fall off," she said. "Sometimes I
get off, then I climb on again."

"And what do you do all day long--talk and play?"

"I talk to my doll; I take it on the pony when I go with the sheep."

"Is your doll very pretty, Anita?"

No answer.

"Will you let me see your doll, Anita? I know I shall like your doll,
because I like you."

She gave me an anxious look. Evidently doll was a very precious being
and had not met with proper appreciation. After a little nervous
fidgeting she left me and crept out of the room; then presently she
came back, apparently trying to screen something from the vulgar gaze
in her scanty little dress. It was her wonderful doll--the dear
companion of her rambles and rides. With fear and trembling she allowed
me to take it into my hands. It was, or consisted of, the forefoot of
a sheep, cut off at the knee; on the top of the knee part a little
wooden ball wrapped in a white rag represented the head, and it was
dressed in a piece of red flannel--a satyr-like doll, with one hairy
leg and a cloven foot. I praised its pleasing countenance, its pretty
gown and dainty little boots; and all I said sounded very precious to
Anita, filling her with emotions of the liveliest pleasure.

"And do you never play with the dogs and cats and little lambs?" I
asked.

"Not with the dogs and cats. When I see a very little lamb asleep I
get down and go softly, softly and catch it. It tries to get away;
then I put my finger in its mouth, and it sucks, and sucks; then it
runs away."

"And what do you like best to eat?"

"Sugar. When uncle buys sugar, aunt gives me a lump. I make doll eat
some, and bite off one small piece and put it in pony's mouth."

"Which would you rather have, Anita--a great many lumps of sugar, or
a beautiful string of beads, or a little girl to play with?"

This question was rather too much for her neglected little brain, which
had fed itself with such simple fare; so I was obliged to put it in
various ways, and at last, when she understood that only one of the
three things could be chosen, she decided in favour of a little girl
to play with.

Then I asked her if she liked to hear stories; this also puzzled her,
and after some cross-questioning I discovered that she had never heard
a story, and did not know what it meant.

"Listen, Anita, and I will tell you a story," I said. "Have you seen
the white mist over the Yí in the morning--a light, white mist that
flies away when the sun gets hot?"

Yes, she often saw the white mist in the morning, she told me.

"Then I will tell you a story about the white mist and a little girl
named Alma."

"Little Alma lived close to the River Yí, but far, far from here,
beyond the trees and beyond the blue hills, for the Yí is a very long
river. She lived with her grandmother and with six uncles, all big
tall men with long beards; and they always talked about wars, and
cattle, and horse-racing, and a great many other important things that
Alma could not understand. There was no one to talk to Alma and for
Alma to talk to or to play with. And when she went out of the house
where all the big people were talking, she heard the cocks crowing,
the dogs barking, the birds singing, the sheep bleating, and the trees
rustling their leaves over her head, and she could not understand one
word of all they said. At last, having no one to play with or talk to,
she sat down and began to cry. Now, it happened that near the spot
where she sat there was an old black woman wearing a red shawl, who
was gathering sticks for the fire, and she asked Alma why she cried.

"'Because I have no one to talk to and play with,' said Alma. Then the
old black woman drew a long brass pin out of her shawl and pricked
Alma's tongue with it, for she made Alma hold it out to be pricked.

"'Now,' said the old woman, 'you can go and play and talk with the
dogs, cats, birds, and trees, for you will understand all they say,
and they will understand all you say.'

"Alma was very glad, and ran home as fast as she could to talk to the
cat.

"'Come, cat, let us talk and play together,' she said.

"'Oh no,' said the cat. 'I am very busy watching a little bird, so you
must go away and play with little Niebla down by the river.'

"Then the cat ran away among the weeds and left her. The dogs also
refused to play when she went to them; for they had to watch the house
and bark at strangers. Then they also told her to go and play with
little Niebla down by the river. Then Alma ran out and caught a little
duckling, a soft little thing that looked like a ball of yellow cotton,
and said:

"'Now, little duck, let us talk and play.'

"But the duckling only struggled to get away and screamed, 'Oh, mamma,
mamma, come and take me away from Alma!'

"Then the old duck came rushing up, and said:

"'Alma, let my child alone: and if you want to play, go and play with
Niebla down by the river. A nice thing to catch my duckie in your
hands--what next, I wonder!'

"So she let the duckling go, and at last she said, 'Yes, I will go and
play with Niebla down by the river.'

"She waited till she saw the white mist, and then ran all the way to
the Yí, and stood still on the green bank close by the water with the
white mist all round her. By and by she saw a beautiful little child
come flying towards her in the white mist. The child came and stood
on the green bank and looked at Alma. Very, very pretty she was; and
she wore a white dress--whiter than milk, whiter than foam, and all
embroidered with purple flowers; she had also white silk stockings,
and scarlet shoes, bright as scarlet verbenas. Her hair was long and
fluffy, and shone like gold, and round her neck she had a string of
big gold beads. Then Alma said, 'Oh, beautiful little girl, what is
your name?' to which the little girl answered:

"'Niebla.'

"'Will you talk to me and play with me?' said Alma.

"'Oh, no,' said Niebla, 'how can I play with a little girl dressed as
you are and with bare feet?'

"For you know poor Alma only wore a little old frock that came down
to her knees, and she had no shoes and stockings on. Then little Niebla
rose up and floated away, away from the bank and down the river, and
at last, when she was quite out of sight in the white mist, Alma began
to cry. When it got very hot she went and sat down, still crying, under
the trees; there were two very big willow-trees growing near the river.
By and by the leaves rustled in the wind and the trees began talking
to each other, and Alma understood everything they said.

"'Is it going to rain, do you think?' said one tree.

"'Yes, I think it will--some day,' said the other.

"'There are no clouds,' said the first tree.

"'No, there are no clouds to-day, but there were some the day before
yesterday,' said the other.

"'Have you got any nests in your branches?' said the first tree.

"'Yes, one,' said the other. 'It was made by a little yellow bird, and
there are five speckled eggs in it.'

"Then the first tree said, 'There is little Alma sitting in our shade;
do you know why she is crying, neighbour?'

"The other tree answered, 'Yes, it is because she has no one to play
with. Little Niebla by the river refused to play with her because she
is not beautifully dressed.'

"Then the first tree said, 'Ah, she ought to go and ask the fox for
some pretty clothes to wear. The fox always keeps a great store of
pretty things in her hole.'

"Alma had listened to every word of this conversation. She remembered
that a fox lived on the hillside not far off; for she had often seen
it sitting in the sunshine with its little ones playing round it and
pulling their mother's tail in fun. So Alma got up and ran till she
found the hole, and, putting her head down it, she cried out, 'Fox!
Fox!' But the fox seemed cross, and only answered, without coming out,
'Go away, Alma, and talk to little Niebla. I am busy getting dinner
for my children and have no time to talk to you now.'

"Then Alma cried, 'Oh, Fox, Niebla will not play with me because I
have no pretty things to wear. Oh, Fox, will you give me a nice dress
and shoes and stockings and a string of beads?'

"After a little while the fox came out of its hole with a big bundle
done up in a red cotton handkerchief and said, 'Here are the things,
Alma, and I hope they will fit you. But you know, Alma, you really
ought not to come at this time of day, for I am very busy just now
cooking the dinner--an armadillo roasted and a couple of partridges
stewed with rice, and a little omelette of turkeys' eggs. I mean
plovers' eggs, of course; I never touch turkeys' eggs.'

"Alma said she was very sorry to give so much trouble.

"'Oh, never mind,' said the fox. 'How is your grandmother?'

"'She is very well, thank you,' said Alma, 'but she has a bad headache.'

"'I am very sorry to hear it,' said the fox. 'Tell her to stick two
fresh dock-leaves on her temples, and to drink a little weak tea made
of knot-grass, and on no account to go out in the hot sun. I should
like to go and see her, only I do not like the dogs being always about
the house. Give her my best respects. And now run home, Alma, and try
on the things, and when you are passing this way you can bring me back
the handkerchief, as I always tie my face up in it when I have the
toothache.'

"Alma thanked the fox very much and ran home as fast as she could, and
when the bundle was opened she found in it a beautiful white dress,
embroidered with purple flowers, a pair of scarlet shoes, silk
stockings, and a string of great golden beads. They all fitted her
very well; and next day when the white mist was on the Yí she dressed
herself in her beautiful clothes and went down to the river. By and
by little Niebla came flying along, and when she saw Alma she came and
kissed her and took her by the hand. All the morning they played and
talked together, gathering flowers and running races over the green
sward: and at last Niebla bade her good-bye and flew away, for all the
white mist was floating off down the river. But every day after that
Alma found her little companion by the Yí, and was very happy, for now
she had someone to talk to and to play with."

After I had finished the story Anita continued gazing into my face
with an absorbed expression in her large, wistful eyes. She seemed
half scared, half delighted at what she had heard; but presently,
before the little thing had said a word, Monica, who had been directing
shy and wondering glances towards us for some time, came, and, taking
her by the hand, led her away to bed. I was getting sleepy then, and,
as the clatter of talk and warlike preparation showed no signs of
abating, I was glad to be shown into another room, where some
sheep-skins, rugs, and a couple of _ponchos_ were given to me for
a bed.

During the night all the men took their departure, for in the morning,
when I went into the kitchen, I only found the old woman and Alday's
wife sipping bitter _maté_. The child, they informed me, had
disappeared from the house an hour before, and Monica had gone out to
look for her. Alday's wife was highly indignant at the little one's
escapade, for it was high time for Anita to go out with the flock.
After taking _maté_ I went out, and, looking towards the Yí, veiled in a
silvery mist, I spied Monica leading the culprit home by
the hand, and went to meet them. Poor little Anita! her face stained
with tears, her little legs and feet covered with clay and scratched
by sharp reeds in fifty places, her dress soaking wet with the heavy
mist, looked a most pitiful object.

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