A siesta was strongly commended to us after dinner, and hammocks were strung for the whole party. It was indispensable, our host told us, in this climate, and he wondered how it could be omitted in El Norte. Life, in his opinion, without a siesta after dinner, must soon become a wearisome affair,—and he quoted some verses from a native poet which were conclusive on the subject; so we yielded, and lay down; the people left, the doors were closed, and all was silent—even the pigeons were still. Two hours passed in a dreamy, pleasurable way, with just enough of consciousness to enjoy the mingled sensation of novelty and ease, when Ben came to apprise us that the boat was ready, and the crew on board. Our host pressed us to stay until the next morning, but the wind and weather were fair; and, although the temptation was strong, we adhered to our first intentions, and were deaf to argument. Before leaving, I inquired about the revolution of which we had heard so much at San Juan, but got no very satisfactory information. There had been an “escaramúza,” a scrimmage, at Granada, and a lawless, reckless fellow, under proscription for murder, named Somoza, had collected together a party of adherents, and sacked the city of Rivas or Nicaragua. The commandante was certain that peace and order were by this time restored; but if they were not, our arrival would certainly produce quiet. The commandante hardly thought that the same robber chief, of whom he spoke so lightly, would pay him a visit within a fortnight, and carry him off a prisoner! But so it proved to be; and although our commandante effected his escape, at imminent peril, through a wilderness, unarmed and alone, yet he was suspected of cowardice, imprisoned, and court-martialed. He came out safely, however, a shade less rotund perhaps, “a wiser if not a better man;” and before I left the country I had the satisfaction of seeing him reinstated at the fort, fat, happy, and hospitable as ever. The dark-eyed señorita was there too.