Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Eric Eldred, CharlesFranksand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE PURPLE LAND
Being the Narrative of One Richard Lamb's Adventures in The BandaOriental, in South America, as Told By Himself
By W. H. Hudson
ILLUSTRATED BY
Keith Henderson
RICHARD]
Second Edition, 1904
NEW YORK
PREFACE
This work was first issued in 1885, by Messrs. Sampson Low, in two slimvolumes, with the longer, and to most persons, enigmatical title of _ThePurple Land That England Lost_. A purple land may be found in almostany region of the globe, and 'tis of our gains, not our losses, we keepcount. A few notices of the book appeared in the papers, one or two ofthe more serious literary journals reviewing it (not favourably) underthe heading of "Travels and Geography"; but the reading public carednot to buy, and it very shortly fell into oblivion. There it might haveremained for a further period of nineteen years, or for ever, since thesleep of a book is apt to be of the unawakening kind, had not certainmen of letters, who found it on a forgotten heap and liked it in spiteof its faults, or because of them, concerned themselves to revive it.
We are often told that an author never wholly loses his affection for afirst book, and the feeling has been likened (more than once) to that ofa parent towards a first-born. I have not said it, but in consenting tothis reprint I considered that a writer's early or unregarded work isapt to be raked up when he is not standing by to make remarks. He maybe absent on a journey from which he is not expected to return. Itaccordingly seemed better that I should myself supervise a new edition,since this would enable me to remove a few of the numerous spots andpimples which decorate the ingenious countenance of the work beforehanding it on to posterity.
Besides many small verbal corrections and changes, the deletion ofsome paragraphs and the insertion of a few new ones, I have omittedone entire chapter containing the Story of a Piebald Horse, recentlyreprinted in another book entitled _El Ombu_. I have also dropped thetedious introduction to the former edition, only preserving, as anappendix, the historical part, for the sake of such of my readers as maylike to have a few facts about the land that England lost.
W. H. H.
_September, 1904._
[FOR THE SECOND EDITION]
MARGARITA]
DOLORES]
PAQUITA]
TORIBIA]
MONICA]
ANITA]
SANTA COLOMA]
CANDELARIA]
DEMETRIA]
HILARIO]
CHAPTER I
Three chapters in the story of my life--three periods, distinct and welldefined, yet consecutive--beginning when I had not completed twenty-fiveyears and finishing before thirty, will probably prove the most eventfulof all. To the very end they will come back oftenest to memory and seemmore vivid than all the other years of existence--the four-and-twenty Ihad already lived, and the, say, forty or forty-five--I hope it maybe fifty or even sixty--which are to follow. For what soul in thiswonderful, various world would wish to depart before ninety! The dark aswell as the light, its sweet and its bitter, make me love it.
Of the first of these three a word only need be written. This was theperiod of courtship and matrimony; and though the experience seemedto me then something altogether new and strange in the world, it mustnevertheless have resembled that of other men, since all men marry. Andthe last period, which was the longest of the three, occupying fullythree years, could not be told. It was all black disaster. Three yearsof enforced separation and the extremest suffering which the cruel lawof the land allowed an enraged father to inflict on his child and theman who had ventured to wed her against his will. Even the wise may bedriven mad by oppression, and I that was never wise, but lived in andwas led by the passions and illusions and the unbounded self-confidenceof youth, what must it have been for me when we were cruelly tornasunder; when I was cast into prison to lie for long months in thecompany of felons, ever thinking of her who was also desolate andbreaking her heart! But it is ended--the abhorrent restraint, theanxiety, the breedings over a thousand possible and impossible schemesof revenge. If it is any consolation to know that in breaking her hearthe, at the same time, broke his own, and made haste to join her in thatsilent place, I have it. Ah no! it is no comfort to me, since I cannotbut reflect that before he shattered my life I had shattered his bytaking her from him, who was his idol. We are quits then, and I can evensay, "Peace to his ashes!" But I could not say it then in my frenzy andgrief, nor could it be said in that fatal country which I had inhabitedfrom boyhood and had learned to love like my own, and had hoped never toleave. It was grown hateful to me, and, flying from it, I found myselfonce more in that Purple Land where we had formerly taken refugetogether, and which now seemed to my distracted mind a place of pleasantand peaceful memories.
During the months of quietude after the storm, mostly spent in lonelyrambles by the shore, these memories were more and more with me.Sometimes sitting on the summit of that great solitary hill, which givesthe town its name, I would gaze by the hour on the wide prospect towardsthe interior, as if I could see, and never weary of seeing, all that laybeyond--plains and rivers and woods and hills, and cabins where I hadrested, and many a kindly human face. Even the faces of those whohad ill-treated or regarded me with evil eyes now appeared to havea friendly look. Most of all did I think of that dear river, theunforgettable Yi, the shaded white house at the end of the little town,and the sad and beautiful image of one whom I, alas! had made unhappy.
So much was I occupied towards the end of that vacant period with theserecollections that I remembered how, before quitting these shores, thethought had come to me that during some quiet interval in my life Iwould go over it all again, and write the history of my rambles forothers to read in the future. But I did not attempt it then, nor untillong years afterwards. For I had no sooner begun to play with the ideathan something came to rouse me from the state I was in, during whichI had been like one that has outlived his activities, and is no longercapable of a new emotion, but feeds wholly on the past. And thissomething new, affecting me so that I was all at once myself again,eager to be up and doing, was nothing more than a casual word from adistance, the cry of a lonely heart, which came by chance to my ear;and, hearing it, I was like one who, opening his eyes from a troubleddoze, unexpectedly sees the morning star in its unearthly lustre abovethe wide, dark plain where night overtook him--the star of day andeverlasting hope, and of passion and strife and toil and rest andhappiness.
I need not linger on the events which took us to the Banda--ournocturnal flight from Paquita's summer home on the pampas; the hidingand clandestine marriage in the capital and subsequent escape northwardsinto the province of Santa Fe; the seven to eight months of somewhattroubled happiness we had there; and, finally, the secret return toBuenos Ayres in search of a ship to take us out of the country. Troubledhappiness! Ah, yes, and my greatest trouble was when I looked on her, mypartner for life, when she seemed loveliest, so small, so exquisitein her dark blue eyes that were like violets, and silky black hair andtender pink and olive complexion--so frail in appearance! And I hadtaken her--stolen her--from her natural protectors, from the homewhere she had been worshipped--I of an alien race and another religion,without means, and, because I had stolen her, an offender against thelaw. But of this no more. I begin my itinerary where, safe on our littleship, with the towers of Buenos Ayres fast fading away in the west, webegan to feel free from apprehension and to give ourselves up to thecontemplation of the delights before us. Winds and waves presentlyinterfered with our raptures, Paquita proving a very indifferent sailor,so that for some hours we had a very trying time of it. Next day af
avourable north-west breeze sprang up to send us flying like a birdover those unlovely red billows, and in the evening we disembarked inMontevideo, the city of refuge. We proceeded to an hotel, where forseveral days we lived very happily, enchanted with each other's society;and when we strolled along the beach to watch the setting sun, kindlingwith mystic fire heaven, water, and the great hill that gives the cityits name, and remembered that we were looking towards the shores ofBuenos Ayres, it was pleasant to reflect that the widest river in theworld rolled between us and those who probably felt offended at what wehad done.
This charming state of things came to an end at length in a somewhatcurious manner. One night, before we had been a month in the hotel,I was lying wide awake in bed. It was late; I had already heard themournful, long-drawn voice of the watchman under my window calling out,"Half-past one and cloudy."
Gil Blas relates in his biography that one night while lying awake hefell into practising a little introspection, an unusual thing for him todo, and the conclusion he came to was that he was not a very good youngman. I was having a somewhat similar experience that night when in themidst of my unflattering thoughts about myself, a profound sigh fromPaquita made me aware that she too was lying wide awake and also, inall probability, chewing the cud of reflection. When I questioned herconcerning that sigh, she endeavoured in vain to conceal from me thatshe was beginning to feel unhappy. What a rude shock the discovery gaveme! And we so lately married! It is only just to Paquita, however, tosay that had I not married her she would have been still more unhappy.Only the poor child could not help thinking of father and mother; sheyearned for reconciliation, and her present sorrow rose from her beliefthat they would never, never, never forgive her. I endeavoured, with allthe eloquence I was capable of, to dispel these gloomy ideas, but shewas firm in her conviction that precisely because they had loved her somuch they would never pardon this first great offence. My poor darlingmight have been reading _Christabel_, I thought, when she said thatit is toward those who have been most deeply loved the wounded heartcherishes the greatest bitterness. Then, by way of illustration, shetold me of a quarrel between her mother and a till then dearly lovedsister. It had happened many years ago, when she, Paquita, was a merechild; yet the sisters had never forgiven each other.
"And where," I asked, "is this aunt of yours, of whom I have never heardyou speak until this minute?"
"Oh," answered Paquita, with the greatest simplicity imaginable, "sheleft this country long, long ago, and you never heard of her because wewere not even allowed to mention her name in the house. She went to livein Montevideo, and I believe she is there still, for several years ago Iheard some person say that she had bought herself a house in that city."
"Soul of my life," said I, "you have never left Buenos Ayres in heart,even to keep your poor husband company! Yet I know, Paquita, thatcorporeally you are here in Montevideo, conversing with me at this verymoment."
"True," said Paquita; "I had somehow forgotten that we were inMontevideo. My thoughts were wandering--perhaps it is sleepiness."
"I swear to you, Paquita," I replied, "that you shall see this aunt ofyours to-morrow before set of sun; and I am positive, sweetest, that shewill be delighted to receive so near and lovely a relation. How gladshe will be of an opportunity of relating that ancient quarrel withher sister and ventilating her mouldy grievances! I know these olddames--they are all alike."
Paquita did not like the idea at first, but when I assured her that wewere getting to the end of our money, and that her aunt might be ableto put me in the way of obtaining employment, she consented, like thedutiful little wife she was.
Next day I discovered her relation without very much trouble, Montevideonot being a large city. We found Dona Isidora--for that was the lady'sname--living in a somewhat mean-looking house at the eastern extremityof the town, farthest away from the water. There was an air of povertyabout the place, for the good dame, though well provided with means tolive comfortably, made a pet of her gold. Nevertheless, she received usvery kindly when we introduced ourselves and related our mournful andromantic story; a room was prepared for our immediate reception, andshe even made me some vague promises of assistance. On a more intimateacquaintance with our hostess we found that I had not been very far outin guessing her character. For several days she could talk of nothingexcept her immemorial quarrel with her sister and her sister's husband,and we were bound to listen attentively and to sympathise with her, forthat was the only return we could make for her hospitality. Paquita hadmore than her share of it, but was made no wiser as to the cause ofthis feud of long standing; for, though Dona Isidora had evidently beennursing her wrath all those years to keep it warm, she could not, forthe life of her, remember how the quarrel originated.
After breakfast each morning I would kiss her and hand her over tothe tender mercies of her Isidora, then go forth on my fruitlessperambulations about the town. At first I only acted the intelligentforeigner, going about staring at the public buildings, and collectingcurios--strangely marked pebbles, and a few military brass buttons, longshed by the garments they once made brave; rusty, misshapen bullets,mementoes of the immortal nine or ten years' siege which had won forMontevideo the mournful appellation of modern Troy. When I had fullyexamined from the outside the scene of my future triumphs--for I hadnow resolved to settle down and make my fortune in Montevideo--Ibeganseriously to look out for employment. I visited in turn every largemercantile establishment in the place, and, in fact, every house whereI thought there might be a chance of lighting on something to do. It wasnecessary to make a beginning, and I would not have turned up my nose atanything, however small, I was so heartily sick of being poor, idle, anddependent. Nothing could I find. In one house I was told that the cityhad not yet recovered from the effects of the late revolution, andthat business was, in consequence, in a complete state of paralysis; inanother that the city was on the eve of a revolution, and that businesswas, in consequence, in a complete state of paralysis. And everywhereit was the same story--the political state of the country made itimpossible for me to win an honest dollar.
Feeling very much dispirited, and with the soles nearly worn off myboots, I sat down on a bench beside the sea, or river--for some callit one thing, some the other, and the muddied hue and freshness of thewater, and the uncertain words of geographers, leave one in doubt as towhether Montevideo is situated on the shores of the Atlantic, or onlynear the Atlantic and on the shores of a river one hundred and fiftymiles wide at its mouth. I did not trouble my head about it; I had otherthings that concerned me more nearly to think of. I had a quarrel withthis Oriental nation, and that was more to me than the greenness orthe saltness of the vast estuary that washes the dirty feet of itsqueen--for this modern Troy, this city of battle, murder, and suddendeath, also calls itself Queen of the Plata. That it was a very justquarrel on my part I felt well assured. Now, to be even with every humanbeing who despitefully uses me has ever been a principle of action withme. Nor let it be said that it is an unchristian principle; for when Ihave been smitten on the right or left cheek (the pain is just the samein either case), before I am prepared to deliver the return blow so longa time has often elapsed that all wrathful or revengeful thoughts areover. I strike in such a case more for the public good than for my ownsatisfaction, and am therefore right in calling my motive a principle ofaction, not an impulse. It is a very valuable one too, infinitely moreeffective than the fantastical code of the duellist, which favours theperson who inflicts the injury, affording him facilities for murderingor maiming the person injured. It is a weapon invented for us by Naturebefore Colonel Colt ever lived, and it has this advantage, that oneis permitted to wear it in the most law-abiding communities as well asamongst miners and backwoodsmen. If inoffensive people were ever to castit aside, then wicked men would have everything their own way and makelife intolerable. Fortunately the evil-doers always have the fear ofthis intangible six-shooter before them; a wholesome feeling, whichrestrains them more than reasonableness or th
e law courts, and to whichwe owe it that the meek are permitted to inherit the earth. But now thisquarrel was with a whole nation, though certainly not with a very greatone, since the population of the Banda Oriental numbers only about aquarter of a million. Yet in this sparsely settled country, with itsbountiful soil and genial climate, there was apparently no place forme, a muscular and fairly intelligent young man, who only asked tobe allowed to work to live! But how was I to make them smart for thisinjustice? I could not take the scorpion they gave me when I asked themfor an egg, and make it sting every individual composing the nation. Iwas powerless, utterly powerless, to punish them, and therefore the onlything that remained for me to do was to curse them.
Looking around me, my eyes rested on the famous hill across the bay, andI all at once resolved to go up to its summit, and, looking down onthe Banda Oriental, pronounce my imprecation in the most solemn andimpressive manner.
The expedition to the _cerro_, as it is called, proved agreeable enough.Notwithstanding the excessive heats we were just then having, many wildflowers were blooming on its slopes, which made it a perfect garden.When I reached the old ruined fort which crowns the summit, I got upona wall and rested for half an hour, fanned by a fresh breeze from theriver and greatly enjoying the prospect before me. I had not left out ofsight the serious object of my visit to that commanding spot, and onlywished that the malediction I was about to utter could be rolled downin the shape of a stupendous rock, loosed from its hold, which wouldgo bounding down the mountain, and, leaping clear over the bay, crashthrough the iniquitous city beyond, filling it with ruin and amazement.
"Whichever way I turn," I said, "I see before me one of the fairesthabitations God has made for man: great plains smiling with everlastingspring; ancient woods; swift, beautiful rivers; ranges of blue hillsstretching away to the dim horizon. And beyond those fair slopes, howmany leagues of pleasant wilderness are sleeping in the sunshine, wherethe wild flowers waste their sweetness and no plough turns the fruitfulsoil, where deer and ostrich roam fearless of the hunter, while over allbends a blue sky without a cloud to stain its exquisite beauty? Andthe people dwelling in yon city--the key to a continent--they are thepossessors of it all. It is theirs, since the world, out of which theold spirit is fast dying, has suffered them to keep it. What have theydone with this their heritage? What are they doing even now? They aresitting dejected in their houses, or standing in their doorways withfolded arms and anxious, expectant faces. For a change is coming: theyare on the eve of a tempest. Not an atmospheric change; no blightingsimoom will sweep over their fields, nor will any volcanic eruptiondarken their crystal heavens. The earthquakes that shake the Andeancities to their foundations they have never known and can never know.The expected change and tempest is a political one. The plot is ripe,the daggers sharpened, the contingent of assassins hired, the throneof human skulls, styled in their ghastly facetiousness a PresidentialChair, is about to be assaulted. It is long, weeks or even months,perhaps, since the last wave, crested with bloody froth, rolled itsdesolating flood over the country; it is high time, therefore, for allmen to prepare themselves for the shock of the succeeding wave. And weconsider it right to root up thorns and thistles, to drain malariousmarshes, to extirpate rats and vipers; but it would be immoral, Isuppose, to stamp out these people because their vicious natures aredisguised in human shape; this people that in crimes have surpassed allothers, ancient or modern, until because of them the name of a wholecontinent has grown to be a byword of scorn and reproach throughout theearth, and to stink in the nostrils of all men!
"I swear that I, too, will become a conspirator if I remain long on thissoil. Oh, for a thousand young men of Devon and Somerset here with me,every one of them with a brain on fire with thoughts like mine! What aglorious deed would be done for humanity! What a mighty cheer we wouldraise for the glory of the old England that is passing away! Blood wouldflow in yon streets as it never flowed before, or, I should say, as itonly flowed in them once, and that was when they were swept clean byBritish bayonets. And afterwards there would be peace, and the grasswould be greener and the flowers brighter for that crimson shower.
"Is it not then bitter as wormwood and gall to think that over thesedomes and towers beneath my feet, no longer than half a century ago,fluttered the holy cross of St. George! For never was there a holiercrusade undertaken, never a nobler conquest planned, than that which hadfor its object the wresting this fair country from unworthy hands, tomake it for all time part of the mighty English kingdom. What would ithave been now--this bright, winterless land, and this city commandingthe entrance to the greatest river in the world? And to think that itwas won for England, not treacherously, or bought with gold, but inthe old Saxon fashion with hard blows, and climbing over heaps of slaindefenders; and after it was thus won, to think that it was lost--willit be believed?--not fighting, but yielded up without a stroke by cravenwretches unworthy of the name of Britons! Here, sitting alone on thismountain, my face burns like fire when I think of it--this gloriousopportunity lost for ever! 'We offer you your laws, your religion,and property under the protection of the British Government,' loftilyproclaimed the invaders--Generals Beresford, Achmuty, Whitelocke, andtheir companions; and presently, after suffering one reverse, they (orone of them) lost heart and exchanged the country they had drenched inblood, and had conquered, for a couple of thousand British soldiers madeprisoners in Buenos Ayres across the water; then, getting into theirships once more, they sailed away from the Plata for ever! Thistransaction, which must have made the bones of our Viking ancestorsrattle with indignation in their graves, was forgotten later on whenwe seized the rich Falklands. A splendid conquest and a gloriouscompensation for our loss! When yon queen city was in our grasp, and theregeneration, possibly even the ultimate possession, of this green worldbefore us, our hearts failed us and the prize dropped from our tremblinghands. We left the sunny mainland to capture the desolate haunt of sealsand penguins; and now let all those who in this quarter of the globeaspire to live under that 'British Protection' of which Achmuty preachedso loudly at the gates of yon capital, transport themselves to thoselonely antarctic islands to listen to the thunder of the waves on thegrey shores and shiver in the bleak winds that blow from the frozensouth!"
After delivering this comminatory address I felt greatly relieved, andwent home in a cheerful frame of mind to supper, which consisted thatevening of mutton scrag, boiled with pumpkin, sweet potatoes, and milkymaize--not at all a bad dish for a hungry man.