The Purple Land: Being the Narrative of One Richard Lamb’s Adventures in The Banda Orientál, in South America, as Told By Himself by W. H. Hudson

Author:W. H. Hudson
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: British -- Uruguay -- Fiction, Uruguay -- Fiction, Adventure stories
Publisher: Standard Ebooks
Published: 2025-03-05T03:32:46+00:00

At length, find­ing that my sleep­i­ness was all pre­tence, she re­fused to sing any more, and presently we drif­ted once more in­to the old sub­ject.

“Ah, yes,” she replied to that ar­gu­ment about my na­tion­al­ity, which was my only shield, “I have al­ways been taught to be­lieve for­eign­ers a cold, prac­tic­al, cal­cu­lat­ing kind of people—so dif­fer­ent from us. You nev­er seemed to me like a for­eign­er; ah, Richard, why will you make me re­mem­ber that you are not one of us! Tell me, dear friend, if a beau­ti­ful wo­man cried out to you to de­liv­er her from some great mis­for­tune or danger, would you stop to ask her na­tion­al­ity be­fore go­ing to her res­cue?”

“No, Dolores; you know that if you, for in­stance, were in dis­tress or danger I would fly to your side and risk my life to save you.”

“I be­lieve you, Richard. But tell me, is it less noble to help a suf­fer­ing people cruelly op­pressed by wicked men who have suc­ceeded by crimes and treach­ery and for­eign aid in climb­ing in­to power? Will you tell me that no Eng­lish­man has drawn a sword in a cause like that? Oh, friend, is not my moth­er-coun­try more beau­ti­ful and worthy to be helped than any wo­man? Has not God giv­en her spir­itu­al eyes that shed tears and look for com­fort; lips sweeter than any wo­man’s lips, that cry bit­terly every day for de­liv­er­ance? Can you look on the blue skies above you and walk on the green grass where the white and purple flowers smile up at you and be deaf and blind to her beauty and to her great need? Oh, no, no, it is im­possible!”

“Ah, if you were a man, Dolores, what a flame you would kindle in the hearts of your coun­try­men!”

“Yes, if I were a man!” she ex­claimed, start­ing to her feet; “then I should serve my coun­try not with words only; then I would strike and bleed for her—how will­ingly! Be­ing only a weak wo­man, I would give my heart’s blood to win one arm to aid in the sac­red cause.”

She stood be­fore me with flash­ing eyes, her face glow­ing with en­thu­si­asm; then I also rose to my feet and took her hands in mine, for I was in­tox­ic­ated with her love­li­ness and al­most ready to throw all re­straints to the winds.

“Dolores,” I said, “are not your words ex­tra­vag­ant? Shall I test their sin­cer­ity? Tell me, would you give even as much as one kiss with your sweet lips to win a strong arm for your coun­try?”

She turned crim­son and cast her eyes down; then, quickly re­cov­er­ing her­self, answered:

“What do your words mean? Speak plainly, Richard.”

“I can­not speak plain­er, Dolores. For­give me if I have of­fen­ded once more. Your beauty and grace and elo­quence have made me for­get my­self.”

Her hands were moist and trem­bling in mine, still she did not with­draw them. “No, I am not of­fen­ded,” she re­turned in a strangely low tone. “Put me to the test, Richard. Do you wish me to un­der­stand

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