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
for she scarcely had any legs, only enormous knees and feet; and her
garments were old ragged horse-rugs tied round her body with thongs
of hide. She stared at me out of a pair of small black rat eyes, then,
setting down her bundle, asked me what I wanted. I told her I was a
tired traveller, and wanted food and shelter. 'Shelter you can have:
food there is none,' she said; then, taking up her sticks, she passed
to the inner room and secured it with a bolt on the inside. She had not
inspired me with love, and there was little danger of my attempting to
intrude on her there. It was a black, stormy night, and very soon the
rain began to fall in torrents. Several times the sow, with her young
pigs loudly squealing, came in for shelter, and I was forced to get up
and beat them out with my whip. At length, through the mud partition
separating the two rooms, I heard the crackling of a fire which the
vile woman was lighting; and, before long, through the chinks came
the savoury smell of roast meat. That surprised me greatly, for I had
searched the room and failed to find anything to eat in it. I concluded
that she had brought in the meat under her garments, but where she had
got it was a mystery. At length I began to doze. There were many sounds
in my ear as of thunder and wind, the pigs grunting at the door, and
the crackling of the fire in the hag's room. But by and by other
sounds seemed to mingle with these--voices of several persons talking,
laughing, and singing. At length I became wide awake, and found that
these voices proceeded from the next room. Some person was playing a
guitar and singing, then others were loudly talking and laughing. I
tried to peep through the cracks in the door and partition, but could
not see through them. High up in the middle of the wall there was one
large crack through which I was sure the interior could be seen, so
much red firelight streamed through it. I placed my saddle against the
partition, and all my rugs folded small, one above the other, until I
had heaped them as high as my knees. Standing on my toes on this pile,
and carefully clinging to the wall with my finger-nails, I managed to
bring my eyes to a level with the crack, and peeped through it. The room
inside was brightly lighted by a big wood fire burning at one end, while
on the floor a large crimson cloak was spread, on which the people I
had heard were sitting with some fruit and bottles of wine before
them. There was the foul hag, looking almost as tall sitting as she had
appeared when standing; she was playing on a guitar and singing a ballad
in Portuguese. Before her on the cloak lay a tall, well-formed negro
woman, wearing only a narrow white cloth round her loins, and broad
silver armlets on her round black arms. She was eating a banana, and
against her knees, which were drawn up, sat a beautiful girl about
fifteen years old, with a dark pale face. She was dressed in white, her
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