spend one of the four days of detention with him at Bocca del Rio, to assist in the search for the murderer. That port is only twelve miles from Vera Cruz. Calros intended to go through the city on the way to his village. For my part, I resolved to stay in town to make arrangements for my departure, after which I meant to rejoin Calros in the evening.
A short time after this we entered Vera Cruz. Upon the arid, sandy plain which surrounds the town, some muleteers had pitched their tents, waiting impatiently for the time when they could fly this pestiferous coast, which carries off some of their number at almost every trip. Farther off, a few negro porters, accustomed to this burning climate, were wrestling and struggling on the sand, paying no regard to the fine clothes they wore. I could not help smiling involuntarily when I compared in my own mind their condition with those of our porters at home. After renewing my promise, to Calros of meeting him soon, I repaired to the counting house of my correspondent. I shall pass over in silence the worthless incidents which occurred during this day, till the time when I had to quit the town and set out for Bocca del Rio.
The wind now began to blow strongly from the north. When I reached the shore, after passing the outskirts of the town, great black clouds, preceded by drifting scud, veiled the face of the sky, and an icy blast, charged with cold from Hudson's Bay, struck me at intervals upon the face. The waves broke on the beach with a mighty roar, and the water came up as far as my horse's feet in large sheets of white foam. The farther I advanced, the wind seemed to increase in fury, and the night was growing darker and darker. Forced sometimes to turn my back to avoid the clouds
