There were
no windows or ventilators in this hall and only one door at the end.
This was made out of a slab of hewn wood and was just high and wide
enough to admit a good sized dog. The hall was brilliantly lighted by
a dozen mutton tallow dips, which were distributed about the room in
candelabra of tin, hanging on the mud-plastered and whitewashed
walls. The orchestra consisted of one piece only, an ancient war
drum, or tombe, and was located at the farther end of the room. It
was beaten by an Indian, who was, if possible, more ancient than the
drum. As we approached we heard the muffled sound of the drum within.
"Caramba, amigo!" said my friend; "they are at it already, and
judging from the sound, they are very gay to-night. Madre santissima!
I remember that this is a great night for these Indians, as it is the
anniversary of the Noche Triste, which they celebrate in
commemoration of the Aztec's victory over the Spaniards when the
Indians almost wiped their enemies off the face of the earth. Senor,
to tell the truth, rather would I turn my horse's head homeward.
Pray, let us return!" "And why, amigo," I asked. "Because this has
always been a day of ill luck for our family," said Don Reyes. "It
began with the misfortune of the famed Knight Don Pedro Alvarado, the
bravest of men and the right hand of Don Fernando Cortez.
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