Meantime we had kept on our course, and it had become quite dark; still there was no sign of the village,—­not even the flicker of lights or the barking of dogs.

“What did the fellow say about the distance?” inquired H., angrily.

“That there was no more distance.”

“Ask him again; he couldn’t have understood you.”

"Amigo, where is your village?  You said just now that it was close by.”

"Hay no masita, Senor!"

“What’s that?”

“He says that the distance was nothing before, and is still less now!”

“Bah! he’s a fool!” Half an hour later, which to H.’s indignant imagination seemed an age, we reached the top of a high ridge, and saw the first glimmer of the lights of the village, on the farther edge of a broad plain, a mile and a half distant.

"Estamos aqui!" (Here we are!) exclaimed our guide, triumphantly.

Our mules pricked forward their ears at the welcome sight, and we trotted briskly over the plain, and, as usual, straight to the cabildo,—­a newly constructed edifice of canes plastered with mud, but, for a tropical country, suffering under the slight defect of having no windows or aperture for ventilation besides the door.  The drum brought us the most attentive of alguazils, and we fared by no means badly in San Juan; that is to say, we had plenty of milk and eggs.

When supper was over, H. lighted a pine splinter, and put on record his “Observations on the Standard of Measurement in Honduras,” which I am allowed to copy for the information of travellers.

“Distances here are computed by what may be called Long Measure.  League is a vague term, and, like x in an algebraic equation, stands for an unknown quantity.  It may mean ten miles, more or less,—­any distance, in fact, over five miles.  The unit of measure, as fixed by law, is estamos aqui, (here we are,) which is a mile and a half; hay no masita (a little less than nothing) is five miles; hay no mas (there is no more) is ten miles; and muy cerca (very near) is a hard day’s journey.  As regards spirituous liquors, a trago of brandy, or ‘a drink,’ is whatever may be in the bottle, be the same large or small, and the quantity more or less.”

San Juan is insignificant in point of size, but its population seems to be well to do in the world, in the relative sense in which that term is to be interpreted in Central America.  Here we found that the river forks,—­the principal branch, however, which retains the name of Goascoran, still preserving its general course north and south.  The smaller branch, called Rio de San Juan, descends from high mountains to the westward, having its rise, we were told, near the secluded Indian pueblos of Similaton and Opotoro.  We found the elevation of San Juan to be nine hundred feet above the sea,—­an altitude sufficiently great, combined with the proximity