228 The Naturalist in Nicaragua 
left of the valley, on the top of which were a few pine trees. 
These we were told were the last we should see on the road to 
Chontales. On the other side of the range the descent was 
very steep, and the road was carried down the precipitous 
and rocky slope in a series of zigzags, so that we saw the 
mules a few score yards in advance directly under our feet. 
From the hill we had seen a house in the valley, and as 
night was setting in we sought for it, but the whole district 
was so covered with low scrubby trees with many paths 
running in various directions that it was long before we 
found it. When at last we discovered it, the prospect before 
us of a night’s lodging was so discouraging that had it not 
then been getting quite dark, and being told that we should 
have to travel several miles before coming to another house, 
we should have sought for other shelter. The small hut was 
as usual filled with men, women, and children. Two of the 
women were lying ill, and one seemed to be dying. There 
was no room for us in the hut if we had been willing to enter 
it. We slung our hammocks under a small open-sided shed 
near by and passed a miserable night. A strong cold wind 
was blowing, and the swinging of the hammocks caused by 
it kept a number of dogs continually barking and snapping 
at our hammocks and boots. We rose cold and cramped at 
daylight, and without waiting to make ready any coffee, 
saddled our beasts and rode away. 
A little maize was grown about this place, and the people 
told us that sugar thrived, but the plantations of it were 
small and ill-kept, and everything had a look of poverty and 
decadence. They said that twenty years ago there was no 
bush growing around their house. The country was then 
open grassed savannahs, and there was less fever. Now the 
bush grows up to their very doors, and they will not take the 
trouble to cut it down even to save themselves from the 
attacks of fever. Here as everywhere throughout the 
central provinces, deep ingrained indolence paralyses all 
industry or enterprise, and with the means of plenty and 
comfort on every side, the people live in squalid poverty. 
For four leagues we rode over high ranges with very fine 
valleys separating them, containing many thatched houses 
and fields of maize, sugar, and beans. Where not now culti- 
vated the sides of the ranges were covered with weedy-look- 
