Page:Our Neighbor-Mexico.djvu/176

166

you want to know where I am writing this? In bed, on my side, by the light of a candle, very dimly burning. Sitting on a bench, by its side, are a brass bowl and a brown pitcher. One chair is the only other piece of furniture besides the bed. It is the Hotel San Pedro, the chief hotel of the place.

I had gotten so far when eyes and fingers gave out, and the candle followed. Nothing like tired nature to overcome disagreeable surroundings. The boy on the top of the mast can sleep as soundly as on a hay-mow, one of the best places ever got up for sleeping purposes. It only needs a sufficient degree of hunger to make any food palatable, and a sufficient degree of drowsiness to make any couch restful. The best bed I ever had was the planks that incline from the platform of the Jersey City depot to the floor of the dock. Getting off there about two in the morning, with a regiment of soldiers, we stretch ourselves on the floor for sleep. I was fortunate enough to get the slope that is a substitute for a step or two. The inclination was perfect, and I have often thought that was my bed of beds. I could get out a patent for a bed after that fashion which would do away with pillows, and, if one is sufficiently sleepy, with mattresses and other softnesses as well.

I was going to describe my quarters at Guatitlan, when sleep came down for my deliverance and yours. So I will bring it in at the right place now, and begin at the beginning.

We had done Pachuca—mines, rides, feastings, and worship.