THE MOURNERS AT TODOS SANTOS.
There was a breath of spring in the soft morning air of Todos Santos--a breath so subtle and odorous that it penetrated the veil of fog beyond the bay, and for a moment lingered on the deck of a passing steamer like an arresting memory.But only for an instant;the Ometepe, bound from San Francisco to San Juan del Norte, with its four seekers of the Excelsior, rolled and plunged on its way unconsciously.
Within the bay and over the restful pueblo still dwelt the golden haze of its perpetual summer; the two towers of the old Mission church seemed to dissolve softly into the mellow upper twilight, and the undulating valleys rolled their green waves up to the wooded heights of San Antonio, that still smiled down upon the arid, pallid desert.But although Nature had not changed in the months that had passed since the advent of the Excelsior, there appeared some strange mutations in the town and its inhabitants.
On the beach below the Presidio was the unfinished skeleton of a small sea-going vessel on rude stocks; on the plaza rose the framed walls and roofless rafters of a wooden building; near the Embarcadero was the tall adobe chimney of some inchoate manufactory whose walls had half risen from their foundations; but all of these objects had evidently succumbed to the drowsy influence of the climate, and already had taken the appearances of later and less picturesque ruins of the past.There were singular innovations in the costumes: one or two umbrellas, used as sunshades, were seen upon the square; a few small chip hats had taken the place of the stiff sombreros, with an occasional tall white beaver; while linen coat and nankeen trousers had, at times, usurped the short velvet jacket and loose calzas of the national costume.
At San Antonio the change was still more perceptible.Beside the yawning pit of the abandoned silver mine a straggling building arose, filled with rude machinery, bearing the legend, painted in glowing letters, "Excelsior Silver Mining Co., J.Crosby, Superintendent;" and in the midst of certain excavations assailing the integrity of the cliff itself was another small building, scarcely larger than a sentry-box, with the inscription, "Office:
Eleanor Quicksilver Smelting Works."
Basking in that yellow morning sunlight, with his back against his office, Mr.Brace was seated on the ground, rolling a cigarette.Afew feet from him Crosby, extended on his back on the ground, was lazily puffing rings of smoke into the still air.Both of these young gentlemen were dressed in exaggerated Mexican costumes; the silver buttons fringing the edge of Crosby's calza, open from the knee down to show a glimpse of the snowy under-trouser, were richer and heavier than those usually worn; while Brace, in addition to the crimson silk sash round his waist, wore a crimson handkerchief around his head, under his sombrero.
"Pepe's falling off in his tobacco," said Brace."I think I'll have to try some other Fonda.""How's Banks getting on with his crop?" asked Crosby."You know he was going to revolutionize the business, and cut out Cuba on that hillside.""Oh, the usual luck! He couldn't get proper cultivators, and the Injins wouldn't work regular.I must try and get hold of some of the Comandante's stock; but I'm out of favor with the old man since Winslow and I wrecked that fishing-boat on the rocks off yonder.
He always believed we were trying to run off, like Captain Bunker.
That's why he stopped our shipbuilding, I really believe.""All the same, we might have had it built and ready now but for our laziness.We might have worked on it nights without their knowing it, and slipped off some morning in the fog.""And we wouldn't have got one of the women to go with us! If we are getting shiftless here--and I don't say we're not--these women have just planted themselves and have taken root.But that ain't all: there's the influence of that infernal sneak Hurlstone! He's set the Comandante against us, you know; he, and the priest, the Comandante, and Nelly Keene make up the real Council of Todos Santos.Between them they've shoved out the poor little Alcalde, who's ready to give up everything to dance attendance on Mrs.
Brimmer.They run the whole concern, and they give out that it's owing to them that we're given parole of the town, and the privilege of spending our money and working these mines.Who'd have thought that sneak Hurlstone would have played his cards so well? It makes me regularly sick to hear him called 'Don Diego.'""Yet you're mightily tickled when that black-eyed sister of the Alcalde calls you 'Don Carlos,'" said Crosby, yawning.
"Dona Isabel," said Brace, with some empressement, "is a lady of position, and these are only her national courtesies.""She just worships Miss Keene, and I reckon she knows by this time all about your old attentions to her friend," said Crosby, with lazy mischief.
"My attentions to Miss Keene were simply those of an ordinary acquaintance, and were never as strongly marked as yours to Mrs.
Brimmer."
"Who has deserted ME as Miss Keene did YOU," rejoined Crosby.
Brace's quick color had risen again, and he would have made some sharp retort, but the jingling of spurs caught his ear.They both turned quickly, and saw Banks approaching.He was dressed as a vaquero, but with his companions' like exaggeration of detail; yet, while his spurs were enormous, and his sombrero unusually expansive, he still clung to his high shirt-collars and accurately tied check cravat.
"Well?" he said, approaching them.
"Well?" said Crosby.
"Well?" repeated Brace.
After this national salutation, the three Americans regarded each other silently.
"Knocked off cultivating to-day?" queried Crosby, lighting a fresh cigarette.