AN UNFORTUNATE ADVENTURER. 293 



they who built it think that in a few years their royal 

 line would perish and their race be extinct, their city a 

 ruin, and Mr. Catherwood, Pawling, and I and Juan 

 its sole tenants. Other strangers had been there, won- 

 dering like ourselves. Their names were written on the 

 walls, with comments and figures ; and even here were 

 marks of those low, grovelling spirits which delight in 

 profaning holy places. Among the names, but not of the 

 latter class, were those of acquaintances : Captain Cad- 

 dy and Mr. Walker ; and one was that of a countryman, 

 Noah O. Piatt, New- York. He had gone out to 

 Tobasco as supercargo of a vessel, ascended one of the 

 rivers for logwood, and while his vessel was loading 

 visited the ruins. His account of them had given me a 

 strong desire to visit them long before the opportunity 

 of doing so presented itself. 



High up on one side of the corridor was the name 

 of William Beanham, and under it was a stanza written 

 in lead-pencil. By means of a tree with notches cut in it, 

 I climbed up and read the lines. The rhyme was faulty 

 and the spelling bad, but they breathed a deep sense of 

 the moral sublimity pervading these unknown ruins. 

 The author seemed, too, an acquaintance. I had heard 

 his story in the village. He was a young Irishman, sent 

 by a merchant of Tobasco into the interior for purposes of 

 small traffic ; had passed some time at Palenque and in 

 the neighbourhood ; and, with his thoughts and feelings 

 turned strongly toward the Indians, after dwelling upon 

 the subject for some time, resolved to penetrate into the 

 country of the Caribs. His friends endeavoured to dis- 

 suade him, and the prefect told him, " You have red 

 hair, a florid complexion, and white skin, and they will 

 either make a god of you and keep you among them, 

 or else kill and eat you ;" but he set off alone and on 



