It was full midnight when the “obsequio” was brought to a close, and our dispositions made for the night. And such a night! I had now my first introduction to the kind of bed in common use in the country, and which I verily believe was instituted as a punishment for the sins of the people. It consists of an ox-hide drawn, while green, tightly over a stout framework of wood, and afterwards elaborately polished, so as to look like the head of a drum. When dry, a slab of marble is a soft and downy thing in comparison with it. It was on such a bed as this, with a smooth and gaudily colored “petate,” or mat, and a single sheet spread over the hide, that I was invited to repose. I examined this new instrument of torture narrowly, and finally turned in, with heavy misgivings, particularly as I found that Pedro’s mansion was fall of fleas, which had already set my nerves on a gallop. I was weary enough, but it was impossible to sleep—the fleas came in hungry squadrons, and the hide bed grew momentarily more rigid and obdurate. I felt my own pulse; it was up to the fever rate, and I began to wish Don Pedro and Don Frederico to regions unmentionable for getting me into such a scrape. A bed on the ground, with my saddle for a pillow and the sky for a roof, would have been luxury itself, compared with this. I got up, unbarred the door, and went out on the corridor. The cool evening air was most welcome, and I vowed audibly not to go inside again. So I roused Ben, who strung me a hammock between the columns of the corridor, in which I succeeded in getting an hour or two of slumber. When morning came, I told Don Pedro that it was the anniversary of American Independence, and that it was meet and becoming to breakfast with the rest of the Americans at the posada. And leaving Ben to bring round the animals and baggage, I got away as fast as possible from Don Pedro’s hospitable but awfully flea-infested dwelling. I found the posada a very nice place indeed, and had the satisfaction of learning that each one of the Californians had had a comfortable _cot_ or camp bed, with only a reasonable amount of fleas. We all breakfasted together, and drank patriotic toasts, and sang Yankee Doodle, and were altogether appropriately patriotic, to the great delectation of the quidnuncs of Managua, who gathered in crowds around the open doors and windows. They were properly instructed as to the nature of “the day we celebrated,” that it was the great feast of St. Jonathan; whereupon they hurrahed for the saint, and even proposed to ring the church bells in his honor. But fearful of another “obsequio,” we discouraged this idea, and made all haste to get off as quietly as possible.