The Purple Land: Being the Narrative of One Richard Lamb's Adventures in The Banda Orientál, in South America, as Told By HimselfHudson, W. H. (William Henry)
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The Purple Land: Being the Narrative of One Richard Lamb's Adventures in The Banda Orientál, in South America, as Told By Himself
Hudson, W. H. (William Henry)
Adventure stories; British -- Uruguay -- Fiction; Uruguay -- Fiction
Fortunately, after I left the town, a west wind continued blowing all
day, bringing with it many light, flying clouds to mitigate the sun, so
that I was able to cover a good number of leagues before the evening. I
took the road northwards through Camelones department, and was well on
into the Florida department when I put up for the night at the solitary
mud _rancho_ of an old herdsman, who lived with his wife and children in
a very primitive fashion. When I rode up to the house, several huge dogs
rushed out to attack me: one seized my horse by the tail, dragging
the poor beast about this way and that, so that he staggered and could
scarcely keep his legs; another caught the bridle-reins in his mouth;
while a third fixed his fangs in the heel of my boot. After eyeing me
for some moments, the grizzled old herdsman, who wore a knife a yard
long at his waist, advanced to the rescue. He shouted at the dogs,
and finding that they would not obey, sprang forward and with a few
dexterous blows, dealt with his heavy whip-handle, sent them away
howling with rage and pain. Then he welcomed me with great courtesy, and
very soon, when my horse had been unsaddled and turned loose to feed,
we were sitting together enjoying the cool evening air and imbibing the
bitter and refreshing _maté_ his wife served to us. While we conversed
I noticed numberless fireflies flitting about; I had never seen them so
numerous before, and they made a very lovely show. Presently one of the
children, a bright little fellow of seven or eight, came running to us
with one of the sparkling insects in his hand, and cried:
“Look, _tatita_, I have caught a _linterna_. See how bright it is!”
“The Saints forgive you, my child,” said the father. “Go, little son,
and put it back on the grass, for if you should hurt it, the spirits
would be angry with you, for they go about by night, and love the
_linterna_ that keeps them company.”
What a pretty superstition, I thought; and what a mild, merciful heart
this old Oriental herdsman must possess to show so much tenderness
towards one of God's tiny creatures. I congratulated myself on my good
fortune in having fallen in with such a person in this lonely place.
The dogs, after their rude behaviour to me and the sharp punishment they
had suffered in consequence, had returned, and were now gathered around
us, lying on the ground. Here I noticed, not for the first time, that
the dogs belonging to these lonely places are not nearly so fond of
being noticed and caressed as are those of more populous and civilised
districts. On attempting to stroke one of these surly brutes on the
head, he displayed his teeth and growled savagely at me. Yet this
animal, though so truculent in temper, and asking for no kindness from
his master, is just as faithful to man as his better-mannered brother in
the more settled country. I spoke on that subject to my gentle herdsman.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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