A BLACK PRIEST. 



15 



of the back piazza I saw a young negro man, in a black 

 gown and cap, sitting by the side of a good-looking, 

 well-dressed white woman, and, if I mistake not, dis- 

 coursing to her of other things than those connected with 

 his priestly duties. His black reverence was by no 

 means happy to see me. I asked him if I could make 

 an inn of his house, which, though it sounds somewhat 

 free, is the set phrase for a traveller to use ; and, without 

 rising from his seat, he said his house was small and in- 

 commodious, and that the alcalde had a good one. He 

 was the first black priest I had seen, and the only one 

 in the country who failed in hospitality. I must confess 

 that I felt a strong impulse to lay the butt of a pistol over 

 his head ; and spurring my horse so that he sprang al- 

 most upon him, I wheeled short and galloped out of the 

 yard. With the alcalde and cura both against me, I had 

 no chance in the village. It was nearly dark, and I re- 

 turned to Masaya. My vexation was lost in a sense of 

 overpowering fatigue. It would be impossible to repeat 

 the severe labour of the day without an interval of rest, 

 and there was so much difficulty in making arrange- 

 ments, that I determined to mount my macho and 

 push on. 



The next morning I resumed my journey. My mules 

 had not been watered. To send them to the lake and 

 back would give them a journey of two leagues ; and 

 to save them I bought water, which was measured out 

 in a gourd holding about a quart. At about a league's 

 distance we came in sight of the Lake of Managua, and 

 before us the whole country was a bed of lava from the 

 base of the volcano to the lake. I met a travelling par- 

 ty, the principal of which I recognised as a stranger. , 

 We had passed, when I turned round and accosted him 

 in English ; arid after looking at me for a minute, to 



