--But I have wandered
from my narrative.
Toward the evening of the same day that the faithful _alcalde_ brought
his report, I walked down to the _plaza_, to see what stir the news had
created among the skeleton foot-soldiers. There was no stir at all,
outwardly. They sat in their doors and talked listlessly, without
laughter or excitement, as they were always wont before. A hearty laugh
or a loud voice in conversation always sounded unnaturally in the
streets of Rivas; and, indeed, few amongst the foot found spirit for
such things,--unless new recruits, or under the stimulus of
_aguardiente_. As often as I have left the quarters of the more healthy
and animated rangers in the outskirts, and walked down into the
populous part of the camp, I have been reminded of one of those
enchanted cities of the "Arabian Nights," where the silent inhabitants,
though grouped about, seemingly engaged in their ordinary occupations,
are in reality soulless, and no better than dead men or frozen fish.
I took my seat in the porch of the guard-house,--that stout building
which I have mentioned as the only one surviving the ruin on the west
side of the _plaza_,--and watched the foot go through their evening
drill.
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