Isthmiana/The Pilgrims

by Theodore Winthrop

The Pilgrims

As usual, our horses were late next morning, and the priest was off an hour before us. But our host of Natà, José Maria del Carmen Lopez, volunteered to guide us on our way; and when he was once on his prancing horse, out of sight of his wife, he determined very speedily to go himself to the great funcion at Penonomé. We had galloped all hour without overtaking the Padre, when, distant as far as the eye could reach on the plain, we saw what seemed a moving mushroom; it was perfectly black and most impish in its appearance. This black pent-house was supported by a slender light-colored stalk endowed with powers of rapid locomotion, for it succeeded in keeping pace with a figure which we should have thought a man on horseback had it not been provided with a pair of wings flapping freely on the air. It was a couple of miles before we overtook these strange figures, and only deciphered them then by keen inspection; the figure on horseback was the old sacristan, who, out of sight of his master, had decorated his own person with the priestly vestments. The animated mushroom was his son, a boy of ten years, trotting along with no clothes on whatever except the immense shovel bat of our friend the Padre, laid aside for a more convenient travelling affair. Padre Grimaldo, as he was appropriately named, had ridden on to a farm-house for some refreshment, and there we found him in his glory (i. e. glorious). Here he had joined other scattered parties proceeding to the revels, and, provided with bowls of chicha, they were taking a luncheon of queso con dulce, the cheese being a kind soft and nice, like fromage de Brie, and the dulce like soft molasses candy. We, Los Señores Ingleses, were the lions of the occasion, and added even to the greatness of Padre Grimaldo. A guitarist and violinist, with their instruments slung at their backs, had joined the party and gave earnest of future jollity. And a, jolly cavalcade it was of some twenty, scampering at full speed over the smooth plain, making wide detours to every hacienda for a fresh orange or another bowl of chicha. We kept up a complete row, especially when some pelting shower forced a general stampede for the nearest shelter, or when, fording some of the numerous streams that crossed our path, friend Poco-tempe, on his little gray nag, would be nearly submerged. Great shouting there was for candela, and many witching exhibitions of horsemanship on the part of José del Carmen. Some Señoritas joined us, and only heightened the life of the scene. There was a full abandon of gayety, inconceivable to the grave Yankee. We approached nearer the main chain of mountains, and, ascending a low plateau, rode in a body trampling up the main street of Penonomé, and dismounted at the church in the Plaza.

Things are managed with such perfect calmness of manner by the people of the country, that an American supposes nothing is doing; but in a surprisingly short time we were inducted into one of the best houses in the town, which, by good luck, happened to be vacant, a cook hired, our hammocks slung, and everything made comfortable for a sojourn. We dined with the Padre, and then walked with him about the place, enviously standing by while he was tenderly embraced by all the pretty girls in the village. However, “any friend of the Padre” was sure to meet with a good reception, and we had no reason to complain. The Padre sat among his reinas a picture of ecclesiastical content, bestowing kisses sporadically with a patriarchal simplicity truly charming. A tapping of stones upon the bells proclaimed the time for evening service, and he was compelled to perform other duties, perhaps less agreeable. We accompanied a detachment of the young ladies to church. It was a plain stone structure, like all those of the country, with a wooden roof, rudely ornamented with painted panel-work, and supported by tall, slender, wooden columns, the altar ornamented with tawdry gilding and tinsel, and the choir at the other end in a gallery not unlike the sentry-boxes at Blackwell’s Island. It was crowded with kneeling worshippers; and as the Padre, in a slightly crapulous voice, intoned the service, the responses rose with a solemn murmur. The feeble light of a few lamps fell most picturesquely, upon the white-veiled and white-robed figures of the women kneeling, and crouching on the floor back of them was a circle of men, also all in white. The effect was most striking. Sometimes the music of the choir, generally harsh and squeaking, gave place to the wild and strange melody of the droning chants of the country.