But What A Pleasure It Was To Lie Awake At Night
And Listen To Their Voices Calling The Hours!
The calls began at the
stroke of eleven, and then from beneath the window would come the
wonderful long
Drawling call of _Las on - ce han da - do y se - re - no,_
which means eleven of the clock and all serene, but if clouded the
concluding word would be _nu - bla - do,_ and so on, according to the
weather. From all the streets, from all over the town, the long-drawn
calls would float to my listening ears, with infinite variety in the
voices - the high and shrill, the falsetto, the harsh, raucous note
like the caw of the carrion crow, the solemn, booming bass, and then
some fine, rich, pure voice that soared heavenwards above all the
others and was like the pealing notes of an organ.
I loved the poor night-watchmen and their cries, and it grieved my
little soft heart to hear that it was considered fine sport by the
rich young gentlemen to sally forth at night and do battle with them,
and to deprive them of their staffs and lanterns, which they took home
and kept as trophies.
Another human phenomenon which annoyed and shocked my tender mind,
like that of the contests on the beach between young gentlemen and
washerwomen, was the multitude of beggars which infested the town.
These were not like our dignified beggar on horseback, with his red
poncho, spurs and tall straw hat, who rode to your gate, and having
received his tribute, blessed you and rode away to the next estancia.
These city beggars on the pavement were the most brutal, even
fiendish, looking men I had ever seen.
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