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In Indian Mexico (1908)

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Title: In Indian Mexico (1908)

Author: Frederick Starr


        
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Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN INDIAN MEXICO (1908) ***




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[Illustration: THE MUSIC AT CANCUC]

IN INDIAN MEXICO

A NARRATIVE OF TRAVEL AND LABOR

BY

FREDERICK STARR

CHICAGO FORBES & COMPANY

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Starr, Frederick, 1858-1933. In Indian Mexico.


Reprint of the ed. published by Forbes, Chicago. 1. Indians of Mexico.
2. Mexico--Description and travel. 3. Starr, Frederick, 1858-1933. I.
Title. F1220.S78 1978 972'.004'97 74-9025 ISBN 0-404-11903-4

First AMS edition published in 1978.

Reprinted from the edition of 1908, Chicago. [Trim size of the original
has been slightly altered in this edition. Original trim size: 15.5 x
23.7 cm. Text area of the original has been maintained in this edition.]

IN INDIAN MEXICO IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO A.A. ROBINSON TO WHOM
ALL MY WORK IN MEXICO IS DUE AND WHOSE INTEREST HAS BEEN CONTINUOUS AND
UNFAILING




PREFACE


The reading public may well ask, Why another travel book on Mexico?
Few countries have been so frequently written up by the traveler.
Many books, good, bad, and indifferent, but chiefly bad, have been
perpetrated. Most of these books, however, cover the same ground,
and ground which has been traversed by many people. Indian Mexico is
practically unknown. The only travel-book regarding it, in English, is
Lumholtz's "Unknown Mexico." The indians among whom Lumholtz worked
lived in northwestern Mexico; those among whom I have studied are in
southern Mexico. The only district where his work and mine overlap is
the Tarascan area. In fact, then, I write upon an almost unknown and
untouched subject. Lumholtz studied life and customs; my study has been
the physical type of south Mexican indians. Within the area covered by
Lumholtz, the physical characteristics of the tribes have been
studied by Hrdlicka. His studies and my own are practically the only
investigations within the field.

There are two Mexicos. Northern Mexico to the latitude of the capital
city is a _mestizo_ country; the indians of pure blood within that area
occupy limited and circumscribed regions. Southern Mexico is indian
country; there are large regions, where the _mestizos_, not the indians,
are the exception. From the time of my first contact with Mexican
indians, I was impressed with the notable differences between tribes,
and desired to make a serious study of their types. In 1895, the
accidental meeting with a priest from Guatemala led to my making a
journey to Central America. It was on that journey that I saw how the
work in question might be done. While the government of Mexico is
modeled upon the same pattern as our own, it is far more paternal in its
nature. The Republic is a confederation of sovereign states, each of
which has its elected governor. The states are subdivided into districts
somewhat corresponding to our counties, over each of which is a _jefe
politico_ appointed by the governor; he has no responsibility to those
below him, but is directly responsible to the man who names him, and
who can at will remove him; he is not expected to trouble the state
government unnecessarily, and as long as he turns over the taxes which
are due the state he is given a free hand. Within the districts are
the cities and towns, each with its local, independent, elected town
government.

The work I planned to do among these indian towns was threefold: 1. The
measurement of one hundred men and twenty-five women in each population,
fourteen measurements being taken upon each subject; 2. The making
of pictures,--portraits, dress, occupations, customs, buildings, and
landscapes; 3. The making of plaster busts of five individuals in each
tribe. To do such work, of course, involved difficulty, as the Indians
of Mexico are ignorant, timid, and suspicious. Much time would be
necessary, in each village, if one depended upon establishing friendly
and personal relations with the people. But with government assistance,
all might be done promptly and easily. Such assistance was readily
secured. Before starting upon any given journey, I secured letters from
the Department of Fomento, one of the Executive Departments of the
Federal Government. These letters were directed to the governors of the
states; they were courteously worded introductions. From the governors,
I received letters of a more vigorous character to the _jefes_ of the
districts to be visited. From the _jefes_, I received stringent orders
upon the local governments; these orders entered into no detail, but
stated that I had come, recommended by the superior authorities, for
scientific investigations; that the local authorities should furnish the
necessaries of life at just prices, and that they should supply such
help as was necessary for my investigations. In addition to the orders
from the _jefes_ to the town authorities, I carried a general letter
from the governor of the state to officials of every grade within its
limits. This was done in case I should at any time reach towns in
districts where I had been unable to see the _jefe politico_. It was
desirable, when possible, that the _jefe_ should be seen before serious
work was undertaken. As Governor Gonzales of Oaxaca once remarked,
when furnishing me a general letter: "You should always see the _jefe
politico_ of the district first. These Indians know nothing of me, and
often will not recognize my name; but the _jefe_ of their district they
know, and his orders they will obey." In using these official orders, I
adopted whatever methods were best calculated to gain my ends; success
depended largely on my taking matters into my own hands. Each official
practically unloaded me upon the next below him, with the expectation
that I should gain my ends, if possible, but at the same time he felt,
and I knew, that his responsibility had ended. In case of serious
difficulty, I could not actually count upon the backing of any one above
the official with whom I then was dealing.

Upon the Guatemala expedition, which took place in January-March, 1896,
my only companion was Mr. Ernst Lux, whose knowledge of the language,
the country, and the people was of the utmost value. As the result of
that journey, my vacations through a period of four years were devoted
to this field of research. The first field expedition covered the
period from November, 1897, to the end of March, 1898; the plan of work
included the visiting of a dozen or more tribes, with interpreter,
photographer, and plaster-worker; the success of the plan depended upon
others. Dr. W.D. Powell was to serve as interpreter, Mr. Bedros
Tatarian as photographer; at the last moment the plans regarding the
plaster-worker failed; arrived in the field, Dr. Powell was unable to
carry out his contract; the photographic work disintegrated, and failure
stared us in the face. Reorganization took place. Rev. D.A. Wilson was
secured as interpreter, two Mexican plaster-workers, Anselmo Pacheco of
Puebla and Ramon Godinez of Guadalajara, were discovered, and work was
actually carried through upon four tribes. The second field expedition
covered the period of January-March, 1899; eight tribes were visited,
and a most successful season's work was done; Charles B. Lang was
photographer, Anselmo Pacheco plaster-worker, and Manuel Gonzales
general helper. The third field season, January-March, 1900, was in
every way successful, six populations being visited; my force consisted
of Louis Grabic photographer, Ramon Godinez plaster-worker, and Manuel
Gonzales general assistant. The work was brought to a conclusion in
January-March, 1901, during which period six tribes were visited; the
party was the same as the preceding year.

"In Indian Mexico" claims to be only a narrative of travel and of work.
It is intended for the general public. The scientific results of our
expeditions have been published under the following titles:

1. The Indians of Southern Mexico: an Ethnographic Album. Chicago, 1899.
Cloth; oblong 4to; pp. 32. 141 full-page plates.

2. Notes upon the Ethnography of Southern Mexico. 1900. 8vo, pp. 98. 72
cuts, maps, etc. Proc. Dav. Acad. Nat. Sci., Vol. VIII.

3. Notes on the Ethnography of Southern Mexico, Part II. 1902. 8vo, pp.
109. 52 cuts, map, etc. Proc. Dav. Acad. Nat. Sci., Vol. IX.

4. The Physical Characters of the Indians of Southern Mexico. 4to,
59 pp. Sketch map, color diagram, and 30 double cuts. Decennial
Publications, University of Chicago, 1902.

5. The Mapa de Cuauhtlantzinco or Codice Campos. 1898. 8vo, pp. 38. 46
engravings. University of Chicago Press.

6. Recent Mexican Study of the Native Languages of Mexico. 1900. 8vo,
pp. 19. 7 portraits.

7. Picture of Otomi woman beating bark paper. Printed on sheet of the
original paper; mounted.

8. The Mapa of Huilotepec. Reproduction; single sheet, mounted.

9. The Mapa of Huauhtla. Reproduction; single sheet, mounted.

10. Survivals of Paganism in Mexico. The Open Court. 1899.

11. Mexican Paper. American Antiquarian. 1900.

12. The Sacral Spot in Maya Indians. Science. 1903.

Naturally, in a work of such extent we have been under obligation
to many parties. It is impossible to acknowledge, in detail, such
obligations. We must, however, express our indebtedness, for assistance
rendered, to the Mexican Central Railroad, the Mexican Railway, the
Mexican National Railroad, the Tehuantepec Railroad, the Mexican
Southern Railroad, and the Interoceanic Railroad; also to the Ward
Line of steamers. Among individuals, it is no unfair discrimination to
express especial thanks to Mr. A.A. Robinson and Mr. A.L. Van Antwerp.
President Diaz has ever shown a friendly interest in my plans of work
and the results obtained. Señor Manuel Fernandez Leal, Minister of the
Department of Fomento, more than any other official, lent us every aid
and assistance in his power; his successor, Señor Leandro Fernandez,
continued the kindness shown by Minister Leal. And to all the governors
of the states and to the _jefes_ of the districts we are under many
obligations, and express to each and all our appreciation of their
kind assistance. Those personal friends who have been helpful in this
specific work in Indian Mexico are mentioned in the appropriate places
in the text. To those companions and assistants who accompanied us upon
the journeys a large part of the results of this work are due.

CHICAGO, January, 1908.


  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER                                Page

  I. PRIESTLY ARCHAEOLOGY                   1

  II. WE START FOR GUATEMALA               13

  III. THE LAND OF THE MIXES               22

  IV. THROUGH CHIAPAS                      39

  V. AT HUIXQUILUCAN                       56

  VI. LAKE PATZCUARO                       68

  VII. TO URUAPAN BEFORE THE RAILROAD      76

  VIII. TLAXCALA                           85

  IX. ZAMORA AND THE ONCE PUEBLOS          95

  X. THE BOY WITH THE SMILE               108

  XI. IN THE MIXTECA ALTA                 112

  XII. THE MIXES REVISITED                142

  XIII. ABOUT TEHUANTEPEC                 161

  XIV. ON THE MAIN HIGH-ROAD              173

  XV. CUICATLAN                           181

  XVI. IN TLAXCALAN TOWNS                 188

  XVII. IN THE CHINANTLA                  198

  XVIII. TO COIXTLAHUACA                  216

  XIX. HUAUHTLA AND THE MAZATECS          228

  XX. TEPEHUAS AND TOTONACS               239

  XXI. IN THE HUAXTECA                    274

  XXII. IN MAYA LAND                      293

  XXIII. OX-CART EXPERIENCES              328

  XXIV. AT TUXTLA GUTIERREZ               351

  XXV. TZOTZILS AND TZENDALS              360

  XXVI. CHOLS                             381

  XXVII. CONCLUSION                       395

  GLOSSARY                                399

  APPENDIX                                405



IN INDIAN MEXICO




CHAPTER I

PRIESTLY ARCHAEOLOGY

(1895)


While we stood in the Puebla station, waiting for the train to be made
ready, we noticed a priest, who was buying his ticket at the office. On
boarding the train, we saw nothing of him, as he had entered another
car. Soon after we started, Herman made his usual trip of inspection
through the train, and on his return told me that a learned priest was
in the second-class coach, and that I ought to know him. As I paid no
great attention to his suggestion, he soon deserted me for his priestly
friend, but presently returned and renewed his advice. He told me this
priest was no common man; that he was an ardent archaeologist; that he
not only collected relics, but made full notes and diagrams of all his
investigations; that he cared for live Indians also, and had made a
great collection of dress, weapons, and tools, among Guatemalan tribes.
When I even yet showed no intention of hurrying in to visit his new
acquaintance, the boy said: "You must come in to see him, for I promised
him you would, and you ought not to prove me to be a liar."

This appeal proved effectual and I soon called upon the priestly
archaeologist in the other car. He was an interesting man. By birth
a German, he spoke excellent English; born of Protestant parents and
reared in their faith, in early manhood be became a Catholic; renounced
by his parents and left without support, he was befriended by Jesuits
and determined to become a priest. Entering the ministry at twenty-nine
years of age, he was sent as mission priest to foreign lands. He had
lived in California, Utah, and Nevada; he had labored in Ecuador,
Panama, and Guatemala. His interest in archaeology, kindled in the
Southwest, continued in his later fields of labor. Waxing confidential
he said: "I am a priest first, because I must live, but it does not
interfere much with my archaeology." For years past the padre has lived
in Guatemala, where he had charge of one of the largest parishes in that
Republic, with some eighteen thousand full-blood indians in his charge.
Like most Germans a linguist, the padre spoke German, French, Spanish,
English, and Quiche, the most important indian speech of Guatemala. In
his parish, he so arranged his work as to leave most of his time free
for investigation. Twice a week he had baptisms, on Thursday and Sunday;
these duties on Thursday took but a couple of hours, leaving the rest of
the day free; Sundays, of course, were lost, but not completely, for the
indians often then told him of new localities, where diggings might be
undertaken. Always when digging into ancient mounds and graves, he had
his horse near by ready for mounting, and his oil and other necessaries
at hand, in case he should be summoned to the bedside of the dying. As
the indians always knew where to look for him, no time was lost.

Not only was the padre an archaeologist: he also gathered plants, birds,
and insects. When he was leaving Germany, his nephew, the ten-year-old
child of his sister, wished to accompany him. The parents refused their
permission, but the uncle gave the boy some money, and they met each
other in Frankfort and started on their journey. They have been together
ever since. The padre depends completely on the younger man, whom he has
fashioned to his mind. The plants, birdskins, and insects have supplied
a steady income. The plants cost labor; insects were easier to get. All
the indian boys in the parish were supplied with poison-bottles and set
to work; a stock of prints of saints, beads, medals, and crucifixes was
doled out to the little collectors, according to the value of their
trophies. To allay the suspicions of his parishioners, the padre
announced that he used the insects in making medicines. One Sunday a
pious old indian woman brought to church a great beetle, which she had
caught in her corn field four days before; during that time it had been
tied by a string to her bed's leg; she received a medal. One day a man
brought a bag containing some five hundred living insects; on opening
it, they all escaped into the house, causing a lively time for their
recapture.

The nephew, Ernst, had made a collection of eleven hundred skins of
Guatemalan birds. The padre and he have supplied specimens to many of
the great museums of the world, but the choicest things have never been
permitted to leave their hands.

The padre is a great success at getting into trouble. He fled from
Ecuador on account of political difficulties; his stay in Guatemala is
the longest he has ever made in one place. During his eight years there
he was successful; but he finally antagonized the government, was
arrested, and thrown into jail. He succeeded in escaping, fled to
Salvador, and from there made his way to the United States, where, for a
little time, he worked, unhappily, at San Antonio, Texas. A short
time since, the Archbishop of Oaxaca was in Texas, met the padre, and
promised him an appointment in his diocese. The padre was now on his way
to Oaxaca to see the prelate and receive his charge.

He was full of hope for a happy future. When he learned that we were
bound for the ruins of Mitla, he was fired with a desire to accompany
us. At Oaxaca we separated, going to different hotels. My party was
counting upon the company of Mr. Lucius Smith, as interpreter and
companion, to the ruins, but we were behind our appointment and he had
gone upon another expedition. This delighted the padre, who saw a new
light upon the path of duty. The archbishop had received him cordially,
and had given him a parish, although less than a day had passed since
his arrival. When the padre knew of our disappointment, he hastened to
his prelate, told him that an eminent American archaeologist, with a
party of four, wished to visit Mitla, but had no interpreter; might he
not accompany these worthy gentlemen, in some way serving mother church
by doing so? So strong was his appeal, that he was deputed to say mass
at Mitla Sunday, starting for his new parish of Chila on the Monday
following.

In the heavy, lumbering coach we left next morning, Saturday, for Mitla.
The road, usually deep with dust, was in fair condition on account of
recent rains. We arrived in the early afternoon and at once betook
ourselves to the ruins. At the curacy, we presented the archbishop's
letter to the indian cura, who turned it over once or twice, then asked
the padre to read it, as his eyes were bad. While the reading proceeded,
the old man listened with wonder, and then exclaimed, "What a learned
man you are to read like that!" As we left, the padre expressed his
feelings at the comeliness of the old priest's indian housekeeper, at
the number of her children, at the suspicious wideness of his bed, and
at his ignorance, in wearing a ring, for all the world just like a
bishop's. But he soon forgot his pious irritation amid those marvelous
ruins of past grandeur. In our early ramble he lost no opportunity to
tell the indians that he would repeat mass on the morrow at seven, and
that they should make a special effort to be present.

[Illustration: WITH THE PADRE IN MITLA RUINS]

[Illustration: THE PADRE, ERNST AND THE DOGS]

But as we wandered from one to another of the ancient buildings, the
thought of the morrow's duty lost its sweetness. He several times
remarked that it was a great pity to lose any of our precious morning
hours in saying mass, when there were ruins of such interest to be seen.
These complaints gained in force and frequency as evening approached,
until finally, as we sat at supper, he announced his decision to say
mass before daybreak; he would call me at five o'clock, we would go
directly to the church, we would be through service before six, would
take our morning's coffee immediately after, and then would have quite a
piece of the morning left for the ruins, before the coach should leave
for Oaxaca.

The plan was carried out in detail. At five we were called from our beds
by the anxious padre. Herman and I were the only members of the party
who were sufficiently devout to care to hear mass so early. With the
padre, we stumbled in the darkness up to the church, where we roused the
old woman who kept the key and the boy who rang the bell. The vestments
were produced, the padre hastily robed, and the bell rung; the padre was
evidently irritated at the absence of a congregation, as he showed by
the rapid and careless way in which he repeated the first part of the
service. When, however, at the _Credo_, he turned and saw that several
poor indians had quietly crept in, a change came over him; his tone
became fuller, his manner more dignified, and the service itself more
impressive and decorous. Still, we were through long before six, and
throwing off his vestments, which he left the boy to put away, the padre
seized me by the arm, and we hastened down the hill to our morning's
coffee. On the way we met a number of indians on their way to mass,
whom the padre sternly rebuked for their laziness and want of devotion.
Immediately after coffee, we were among the ruins.

The padre had kindly arranged for my presentation to his Grace,
Archbishop Gillow. Reaching Oaxaca late on Sunday afternoon, we called
at the Palace. His Grace is a man of good presence, with a face of some
strength and a courteous and gracious manner. He appeared to be about
fifty-five years of age. After the padre had knelt and kissed the ring,
the archbishop invited us to be seated, expressed an interest in our
trip to Mitla, hoping that it had proved successful. He then spoke at
some length in regard to his diocese. He emphasized its diversity in
climate and productions, the wide range of its plant life, the great
number of indian tribes which occupied it, the Babel of tongues within
it, its vast mineral wealth. A Mexican by birth, the archbishop is, in
part, of English blood and was educated, as a boy, in England. He speaks
English easily and well. He showed us many curious and interesting
things. Among these was a cylindrical, box-like figure of a rain-god,
which was found by a priest upon his arrival at the Mixe Indian village
of Mixistlan.[A] It was in the village church, at the high altar where
it shared worship with the virgin and the crucifix. The archbishop
himself, in his description of the incident, used the word _latria_.
We were also shown a little cross, which stood upon the archbishop's
writing-table, made in part from a fragment of that miraculous cross,
which was found by Sir Francis Drake, upon the west coast. That
"terrible fanatic" tried to destroy it, according to a well-known story.
The cross was found standing when the Spaniards first arrived and is
commonly attributed to St. Thomas. Sir Francis upon seeing this emblem
of a hated faith, first gave orders to hew it down with axes; but axes
were not sharp enough to harm it. Fires were then kindled to burn it,
but had no effect. Ropes were attached to it and many men were set to
drag it from the sand; but all their efforts could not move it. So it
was left standing, and from that time became an object of especial
veneration. Time, however, destroys all things. People were constantly
breaking off bits of the sacred emblem for relics until so little was
left of the trunk near the ground that it was deemed necessary to remove
the cross. The diggers were surprised to find that it had never set more
than a foot into the sand. This shows the greatness of the miracle.

[A] Survivals of Paganism in Mexico. The Open Court. 1899.

The padre had been assigned to the parish of Chila, a great indian town,
near Tehuacan. Early the next morning he left for his new home.



Not only did the padre, while in Oaxaca, urge us to call upon him in
his new parish; after he was settled, he renewed his invitation. So we
started for Chila. We had been in the _tierra caliente_, at Cordoba.
From there we went by rail to Esperanza, from which uninteresting town
we took a street-car line, forty-two miles long, to Tehuacan. This saved
us time, distance, and money, and gave us a brand-new experience. There
were three coaches on our train, first-, second-, and third-class. When
buying tickets we struck acquaintance with a Syrian peddler. Three of
these were travelling together; one of them spoke a little English,
being proficient in profanity. He likes the United States, _per se_, and
does not like Mexico; but he says the latter is the better for trade.
"In the United States, you sell maybe fifteen, twenty-five, fifty cents
a day; here ten, fifteen, twenty-five dollars." The trip lasted three
hours and involved three changes of mules at stations, where we found
all the excitement and bustle of a true railroad station.

The country was, at first, rolling, with a sparse growth of yuccas, many
of which were exceptionally large and fine. On the hills were occasional
_haciendas_. This broken district was succeeded by a genuine desert,
covered with fine dust, which rose, as we rode, in suffocating clouds.
Here the valley began to close in upon us and its slopes were sprinkled
with great cushion cactuses in strange and grotesque forms. After this
desert gorge, we came out into a more open and more fertile district
extending to Tehuacan. Even this, however, was dry and sunburned.

Our party numbered four. We had written and telegraphed to the padre
and expected that he, or Ernst, would meet us in Tehuacan. Neither was
there. No one seemed to know just how far it was to Chila. Replies to
our inquiries ranged from five to ten leagues.[B] Looking for some mode
of conveyance, we refused a coach, offered at fifteen pesos, as the
price seemed high. Hunting horses, we found four, which with a foot
_mozo_ to bring them back, would cost twenty pesos. Telling the owner
that we were not buying horses, but merely renting, we returned to the
proprietor of the coach and stated that we would take it, though his
price was high, and that he should send it without delay to the railroad
station, where our companions were waiting. Upon this the owner of the
coach pretended that he had not understood that there were four of us
(though we had plainly so informed him); his price was for two. If we
were four, he must have forty pesos. A fair price here might be eight
pesos for the coach, or four for horses. So we told the coach owner
that we would walk to Chila, rather than submit to such extortion.
This amused him greatly and he made some facetious observations, which
determined me to actually perform the trip on foot. Returning to the
railroad station, where two of the party were waiting, I announced my
intention of walking to Chila; as the way was long and the sand heavy
and the padre's silence and non-appearance boded no great hospitality in
welcome, I directed the rest to remain comfortably at Tehuacan until my
return on the next day. Herman, however, refused the proposition; my
scheme was dangerous; for me to go alone, at night, over a strange road,
to Chila was foolhardy; he should accompany me to protect me. Consenting
that he should accompany, we began to seek a _mozo_, as guide to
Chila. With difficulty, and some loss of time, one was found who would
undertake the business for two pesos. In vain a Jew peddler standing by
and the station agent remonstrated with the man; two pesos was a full
week's wages; it was ridiculous to demand such a price for guiding two
foot travellers to Chila. He admitted that two pesos might be a week's
wages; but he did not have to go to Chila and if we wanted him to do so
we must pay his price. We capitulated, the station agent loaned us a
revolver, we left our friends behind us and started on our journey. It
was now dark. In a mysterious voice, our guide said we must go first to
his house; there he secured his _serape_ and a heavy club. As we left
his house he feared we must be hungry and indicated a bread-shop; we
purchased and all three ate as we walked; a moment later he suggested
that we would need _cigarros_ of course, and a stock of these were
added, at our expense. Then, at last, we came down to business.

[B] The Mexican league is 2.7 miles.

Plainly our guide did not enjoy his task. Shortly after we started, the
moon rose and, from its shining full on the light sand, it was almost
as bright as day. We were in single file, our guide, Herman, and I. At
sight of every bush or indistinct object, our guide clutched his club
and crossed himself, as he mumbled a prayer. When we met anyone, we
kept strictly to our side of the road, they to theirs, and, in passing,
barely exchanged a word of greeting. The timidity and terror of our
guide increased as we advanced, until I concluded to be prepared for any
emergency and carried the revolver in my hand, instead of in my pocket.
Mile after mile we trudged along through the heavy sand, into which we
sunk so far that our low shoes repeatedly became filled and we had to
stop to take them off and empty them. We passed through San Pablo, left
the Hacienda of San Andres to one hand, and, finally, at 10:10 found
ourselves in the great indian town of San Gabriel de Chila. It was much
larger than we had anticipated and almost purely indian. We walked
through a considerable portion of the town before we reached the plaza,
the church, and the _curato_. Our journey had probably been one of
fifteen miles. All was dark at the _curato_; an indian was sleeping in
the corridor, but he was a traveller and gave us no information on being
awakened. At our third or fourth pounding upon the door, Ernst appeared
at the window; on learning who we were he hastened to let us in. He
reported trouble in the camp; the padre had gone hastily to Oaxaca to
see the archbishop; our telegram had not been received; our letter came
that morning. We found that things were packed ready for removal. A good
supper was soon ready, but while it was being prepared we took a cool
bath, by moonlight, in the trough bath-tub out in the _patio_.

In the morning we heard the full story. Formerly there was here a
priest, who devoted his whole life to this parish, growing old in its
service; in his old age he was pensioned, with sixty pesos monthly from
the parish receipts. The priest who succeeded him, coming something
over three years ago, was a much younger man. During his three years of
service, he was continually grumbling; the work was hard, his health was
bad at Chila, the heat was intolerable; he wished another parish. The
archbishop finally took him at his word; without warning he transferred
him to another parish, and sent our friend, the archaeologist here, in
his place. This did not suit the man relieved; Chila itself was much to
his liking; what he really wanted was to be relieved from the support
of his superannuated predecessor. No sooner was he transferred than he
began to look with longing on his former charge and to make a vigorous
effort to regain it. Accusations were hurried to Oaxaca; the new priest
was pursuing agriculture as a means of profit; he had not paid the dues
to the aged priest; he had himself admitted to parishioners that his
object in coming to Chila was more to study antiquities and natural
history than to preach the gospel. It is claimed that, immediately on
receiving this communication, the archbishop sent a peremptory letter to
the padre demanding an explanation; this letter, Ernst said, never was
delivered, hence no explanation was sent. The prelate acted promptly;
orders were sent to our friend to give up the parish to the former
priest, who appeared on the scene to receive his charge. Then, and then
only, it is said the delayed letter came to light. The padre had left,
at once, for Oaxaca and his archbishop. From there he sent messages
by telegraph: "Pack up, and come to Tehuacan;" "Wait until you hear
further." A third came the morning we were there: "Pack up; meet me at
Tehuacan, ready to go to a new parish."

It was really sad to look about the new home, to which he had come with
such buoyant hopes and of which he had been so soon dispossessed. When
he arrived, the place was neglected and filthy; two whole days were
necessary to clean it. It had contained practically no furniture; he
had made it look like a place in which to live. He had improved and
beautified its surroundings. He had planted a little corn and set out
some young banana trees; he had gathered many species of cactus from the
neighboring hills and had built up a fine bed of the strange plants
in his _patio_. Passionately fond of pets, he had two magnificent
greyhounds and a pug--all brought from Guatemala--a black collie, doves,
hens and turkeys on the place. And now, he was again without a home and
his time, money, and labor were lost.

Ernst accompanied us to Tehuacan. We rented three horses and a man on
foot went with us to bring them back to the village. And for the whole
we paid the regular price of eighty-seven centavos--twenty-five each for
the animals, and twelve centavos for the man--something less than the
twenty pesos demanded the day before at Tehuacan.




CHAPTER II

WE START FOR GUATEMALA

(1896)


The evening we were at Mitla, Señor Quiero came hurrying to our room and
urged us to step out to the corridor before the house to see some
Mixes. It was our first glimpse of representatives of this little known
mountain people. Some thirty of them, men and women, loaded with fruit,
coffee, and charcoal, were on their way to the great fair and market,
at Tlacolula. They had now stopped for the night and had piled their
burdens against the wall. Wrapping themselves in their tattered and
dirty blankets, they laid themselves down on the stone floor, so close
together that they reminded me of sardines in a box. With a blazing
splinter of fat pine for torch, we made our inspection. Their broad dark
faces, wide flat noses, thick lips and projecting jaws, their coarse
clothing, their filthiness, their harsh and guttural speech, profoundly
impressed me and I resolved to penetrate into their country and see them
in their homes, at the first opportunity.

Our friend the padre never tired of telling how much more interesting
Guatemala was than Mexico; he could not understand why any man of sense
should waste his time in Mexico, a land so large that a dozen students
could not begin to solve its problems, while Guatemala, full of
interesting ruins and crowded with attractive Indians, was of such size
that one man's lifetime could count for something. His tales of indian
towns, life, dress, customs, kindled enthusiasm; but it was only after
thinking over the Mixes, that I decided to make a journey to Guatemala.
The padre, himself, could not accompany me, being a political refugee,
but he had told me Ernst should go with me. After three months'
consideration my plan was made. We would start from Oaxaca overland via
the Mixes country; we would everywhere keep in the mountains; in Chiapas
we would completely avoid the usual highway, hot and dusty, near the
coast; in Guatemala itself, we would go by Nenton, Huehuetenango and
Nibaj. This did not suit the padre: he had had in mind a journey all
rail and steamer; and friends, long resident in Mexico, shook their
heads and spoke of fatigues and dangers. But I was adamant; the Mixes
drew me; we would go overland, on horse, or not at all.

When the Padre left Chila, he took a letter of recommendation from the
Archbishop of Oaxaca to the Bishop of Vera Cruz at Jalapa. By him,
the padre was located at Medellin, a few miles from Vera Cruz itself.
Thither I journeyed to join Ernst and make the final preparations for
the journey. Ernst met me at the station at 6:30 in the evening and we
stayed the night in the hot, mosquito-tortured, plague-stricken city.
Leaving at eight o'clock in the morning we were at Medellin in an hour.
Our journey was through low, swampy ground on which the chief growth was
of palm. The padre, whom we had not seen since we parted at Oaxaca, met
us at the station and took us at once to his house. The town is small,
the population a miserable mixture of black, white, and indian elements.
Few of the couples living there have been legally married. The parish is
one of the worst in the whole diocese. The bishop warned the padre that
it was an undesirable field, but it was the only one then unoccupied.
But the padre was working wonders and the church was then undergoing
repairs and decorations. The actual _curato_ was long ago seized by
the government and is now used as a schoolhouse. The priest lived in a
rented house close by the river bank. The house is a double one and the
priest occupied but half of it; those in the other half were hostile to
him and he was anxious to rent the whole place. His neighbors, however,
did not care to leave and threatened vengeance; they were behind a mass
of accusations filed against him with the bishop. His friends rallied to
his support, sent in a strong endorsement, and he remained. The padre
had been industrious while here. Behind his house is the little river,
with a bath-house built over it; crossing in a dugout canoe we found his
garden flourishing, filled with fresh vegetables. The family of pets had
grown; Baldur, Freia, Votan, Doxil--the dogs--were here as at Chila, but
he also had fantail and capuchin pigeons, hens and chicks, ducks
and geese, canary birds, and native birds in cages. Here also were
archaeological relics, plants, beetles and birds for gathering. And here
too, for the first time, I had the opportunity of examining his great
collection of Ecuadorean humming-birds and a magnificent lot of
Guatemalan quetzal skins, among them probably the finest ever collected.

[Illustration: THE PADRE'S HOUSE; MEDELLIN]

[Illustration: THE CHURCH; MEDELLIN]

We left Medellin on January 8th; went by rail to Puebla, then to Oaxaca.
Here we found our friend Doctor Hyde, of Silao, who was nursing Lucius
Smith, in what proved to be a final illness. He aided us in finding
animals and completing preparations for our journey. We secured a large
bay horse for myself, a roan for Ernst, a little mule for baggage. For
my own part, I dislike mules; Ernst and the doctor, however, were loud
in their praise of such a beast; both asserted that a good mule should
sell for double its cost on our arrival at Guatemala City. When,
finally, after inspecting a variety of animals we found one lively,
young one, the doctor was delighted. Taking me to one side, he informed
me that such an opportunity was unlikely to occur again. I yielded and
the little mule was ours. We named the three animals Mixe, Zapotec, and
Chontal, from three tribes through whose country we expected to pass.

The doctor's helpfulness was not confined to advice regarding mules. He
insisted upon our buying various supplies, such as boxes of sardines,
sago, coffee, etc., the utility of which appeared neither at the time
nor later. Also at his suggestion a quart of whiskey was purchased and
carefully divided into two flasks, one for each saddlebag. Most useful
of all the doctor's suggestions, and one for which we had reason many
times to thank him, was the securing from the governor of a letter to
all local authorities in the state, directing them to supply us with the
necessities of life, at just prices.

We had hoped to start from Oaxaca in the early morning, but it was well
on in the afternoon before all arrangements were completed. The doctor
and his Mexican friend rode with us to Tule to see us well started. It
was out over the old road to Mitla. The afternoon was hot, dust was
deep, and a heavy wind blew it up into our faces in clouds. The sun was
already setting when we rode into Santa Maria Tule, and we went at once
to see the famous cypress tree, which no one in the party, save myself,
had seen. It seems now to be a single tree, but was perhaps, originally,
three; at present it displays a single, vast trunk, buttressed with
heavy irregular projecting columns. So irregular is this enormous mass
that no two persons taking its girth exactly agree. We measured it four
feet above the ground and made the circumference one hundred and sixty
feet. The mass of delicate green foliage above was compact, vigorous,
and beautiful. Many years ago Humboldt cut a rectangular piece of bark
from the old trunk and on the smooth surface thus exposed carved an
inscription with his name.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Bark has since grown over the sides and corners of this tablet, but much
of the inscription may still be read. Since Humboldt's visit many lesser
men have gashed the old tree to leave their mark.

As it was now darkening we hurried to the _meson_ of the village. The
old lady in charge received us with suspicion; she could not feed us and
refused to receive us into the house for the night; she would permit
us to sleep outside, in the corridor--which we might have done without
asking permission. At this moment, the doctor's friend remembered that
he knew a man here and went out to reconnoitre; he soon returned and led
us to his friend's house, where we were well received. A supper of eggs,
_tortillas_, and chocolate was soon served. Before we had finished the
moon had risen and by its light the doctor and his friend started
on their return to town. We slept on beds, made of boards laid upon
sawhorses, in a grain store-room, where rats were running around all
night long.

The next day, we were again at Mitla. It was a festival day, that of the
Conversion of St. Paul the Apostle. In the evening there were rockets,
the band played, and a company of drummers and _chirimiya_ blowers went
through the town. Señor Quiero had fires of blazing pine knots at the
door. When the procession passed we noted its elements. In front was the
band of ten boys; men with curious standards mounted on poles followed.
The first of these standards was a figure, in strips of white and pink
tissue paper, of a long-legged, long-necked, long-billed bird, perhaps a
heron; next stars of colored paper, with lights inside; then were large
globes, also illuminated, three of white paper and three in the national
colors--red, white, and green. Grandest of all, however, was a globular
banner of cloth on which was painted a startling picture of the saint's
conversion. All of these were carried high in the air and kept rotating.
Behind the standard bearers came a drummer and the player on the shrill
pipe or _pito--chirimiya_. The procession stopped at Señor Quiero's
_tienda_, and the old man opened both his heart and his bottles; spirits
flowed freely to all who could crowd into the little shop and bottles
and packs of _cigarros_ were sent out to the standard-bearers. As a
result we were given a vigorous explosion of rockets, and several pieces
by the band, the drummer, and the _pitero_.

Beyond Mitla the valley narrows and the road rises onto a gently sloping
terrace; when it strikes the mountains it soon becomes a bridle-path
zigzagging up the cliffside. As we mounted by it, the valley behind
expanded magnificently under our view. We passed through a belt of
little oak trees, the foliage of which was purple-red, like the autumnal
coloring of our own forests. Higher up we reached the pine timber. As
soon as we reached the summit, the lovely valley view was lost and we
plunged downward, even more abruptly than we had mounted, along the side
of a rapidly deepening gorge. At the very mouth of this, on a pretty
terrace, we came abruptly on the little town of San Lorenzo with
palm-thatched huts of brush or cane and well grown hedges of _organo_
cactus. Here we ate _tortillas_ and fried-eggs with chili. Immediately
on setting out from here we rode over hills, the rock of which was
deeply stained with rust and streaked with veins of quartz, up to a
crest of limestone covered with a crust of stalagmite.

[Illustration: THE START FROM OAXACA]

[Illustration: THE CELEBRATION AT MITLA]

The road up to this summit was not good, but that down the other side
was _bad_. The irregular, great blocks of limestone, covered with the
smooth, dry, slippery coating, caused constant stumbling to our poor
animals. From this valley we rose onto a yet grander range. Here we had
our first Mixe experience. At the very summit, where the road became
for a little time level, before plunging down into the profound valley
beyond, we met two Indians, plainly Mixes. Both were bareheaded, and
both wore the usual dirty garments--a cotton shirt over a pair of cotton
trousers, the legs of which were rolled up to the knees or higher. The
younger of the men bore a double load, as he had relieved his companion.
The old man's face was scratched and torn, his hands were smeared with
blood and blood stained his shirt. We cried an "_adios_" and the old man
kissed my hand, while the younger, pointing to his friend said "_Sangre,
Señor, sangre_" (Blood, sir, blood.) Vigorously they told the story of
the old man's misfortune, but in incomprehensible Spanish. While they
spoke three others like them, each bent under his burden came up onto
the ridge. These kissed my hand and then, excitedly pointing to the old
man, all talking at once, tried to tell his story. Having expressed our
sympathy, we left the five looking after us, the old man, with his torn
and bleeding face, being well in the foreground.

Down in the valley, across a little stream, we struck into a pleasant
meadow road leading to the Hacienda of San Bartolo. Suddenly, before us,
in the road, we saw a man lying. We thought he was dead. He was a young
man, an indian in the usual dress, apparently a Zapotec. His face was
bloody and his shirt was soaked in front with blood, which had trickled
down upon the ground forming a pool in which he lay. We could see no
deep wound, but, as he lay upon his side, there may have been such. Near
him in the road there lay a knife, the blade covered with blood. The man
lay perfectly still, but we fancied we could see a slight movement of
the chest. In Mexico, it is best not to investigate too closely, because
the last to touch a murdered man may be held responsible for his death.
So we hurried on toward the _hacienda_ but, before reaching it, met two
girls about nineteen years of age and a little lad all Zapotecs. We told
them what we had seen and bade them notify the authorities. One of
the girls cried, "_Si, Señor, es mi hermano_" ("Yes, sir, it is my
brother"), and they ran down the road. As for us, we hurried onward,
without stopping at the _hacienda_, in order not to be delayed or held
as witnesses.

There is no love between the Zapotecs and Mixes. We never learned
the actual story, but imagined it somewhat as follows. The old Mixe,
carrying his burden, had probably encountered the young Zapotec and
had words with him. Probably there had been blows, and the old man was
having the worst of it when his companions came along and turned the
tide of battle.

The road, after passing the _hacienda_, ascended almost constantly for
many miles. We passed clumps of yuccas. As we mounted we faced a strong
and cutting wind, and were glad when any turn in the road gave us a
moment's relief. The final ascent was sharp and difficult, up a hill of
red or purple slate, which splintered into bits that were both slippery
and sharp to the feet of our poor animals. Just as the sun was
setting and dusk fell, we reached the miserable pueblo of Santa Maria
Albarradas. It was situated on a terrace or shelf, and its little houses
were made of red or purple adobe bricks, and thatched with grass. Little
garden patches and groups of cultivated trees surrounded the houses. The
church was little larger than the dwellings, and was constructed of the
same clay, thatched with the same grass. Near it was the town-house. We
summoned the _presidente_, and while we waited for him, the men, women,
and children of the town thronged around us and watched our every
movement, commenting the while on our actions and words. When the
_presidente_ came, we made known our wants and soon had supper for
ourselves, food for our animals, a shelter for the night, and a _mozo_
as guide for the morrow. The town-house was put at our disposition; it
was sadly in need of repairs, and consisted of two rooms, one larger
than the other. In the larger room there was a long and heavy table, a
bench or two, and some wooden chairs. We slept upon the ground, and
long before we rolled ourselves up in our blankets the wind was blowing
squarely from the north. The sky was half covered with a heavy black
cloud; as the night advanced, it became colder and colder, the wind
cutting like a knife, and while we shivered in our blankets, it seemed
as if we had been born to freeze there in the tropics.




CHAPTER III

THE LAND OF THE MIXES

(1896)


Santa Maria was the last Zapotec town; we were on the border of the
country of the Mixes. Starting at seven next morning, we followed a
dizzy trail up the mountain side to the summit. Beyond that the road
went down and up many a slope. A norther was on; cold wind swept over
the crest, penetrating and piercing; cloud masses hung upon the higher
summits; and now and again sheets of fine, thin mist were swept down
upon us by the wind; this mist was too thin to darken the air, but on
the surface of the driving sheets rainbows floated. The ridge, which for
a time we followed, was covered with a thicket of purple-leaved oaks,
which were completely overgrown with bromelias and other air-plants.
From here, we passed into a mountain country that beggars description.
I know and love the Carolina mountains--their graceful forms, their
sparkling streams and springs, the lovely sky stretched above them; but
the millionaires are welcome to their "land of the sky"; we have our
land of the Mixes, and to it they will never come. The mountains here
are like those of Carolina, but far grander and bolder; here the sky is
more amply extended. There, the slopes are clad with rhododendrons and
azaleas, with the flowering shrub, with strawberries gleaming amid
grass; here we have rhododendrons also, in clusters that scent the air
with the odor of cloves, and display sheets of pink and purple bloom;
here we have magnificent tree-ferns, with trunks that rise twenty feet
into the air and unroll from their summits fronds ten feet in length;
fifty kinds of delicate terrestrial ferns display themselves in a single
morning ride; here are palms with graceful foliage; here are orchids
stretching forth sprays--three or four feet long--toward the hand for
plucking; here are pine-trees covering slopes with fragrant fallen
needles. A striking feature is the different flora on the different
slopes of a single ridge. Here, too, are bubbling springs, purling
brooks, dashing cascades, the equals of any in the world. And hither the
tourist, with his destroying touch, will never come.

We had thought to find our wild Mixes living in miserable huts among the
rocks, dressed in scanty native garb, leading half wild lives. We found
good clearings on the hillside; fair fields of maize and peas, gourds
and calabashes; cattle grazed in the meadows; fowls and turkeys were
kept; the homes were log-houses, substantially built, in good condition,
in neat enclosures; men and women, the latter in European dress, were
busied with the duties of their little farms. Clearing after clearing
in the forest told the same story of industry, thrift, and moderate
comfort.

After more than five hours of hard travel we reached the Mixe town of
Ayutla, and rode at once to the _curato_. The priest was not at home. It
was market-day, and people were in town from all the country round. The
men, surprised at sight of strangers, crowded about us; some gazed at us
with angry glances, others eyed us with dark suspicion, some examined us
with curious and even friendly interest. Many of them spoke little or no
Spanish. Thronging about us they felt our clothing, touched our skins,
saddles, baggage, and exhibited childish curiosity. The women at the
_curato_ spoke Spanish, of course; we told them we should stay there
for a day or two, and sent out for the _presidente_. On his coming, we
explained to him our business and asked leave to occupy the _curato_ in
the absence of the priest.

Ayutla is situated on a high terrace, before which opens a lovely valley
and behind which rises a fine mountain slope. The village church, while
large, is roofless; the town-house lies below the village, and by it
are two jails for men and women. The houses of the village are small,
rectangular structures of a red-brown-ochre adobe brick; the roofs slope
from in front backward, and are covered with red tiles they project in
front so as to cover a little space before the house.

By evening most of the indians in the town were drunk. At sunset a
miserable procession started from the church, passed through the
village, and then returned to the church; composed mostly of women, it
was preceded by a band of music and the men who carried the _santito_.
Later, we heard most disconsolate strains, and, on examination, found
four musicians playing in front of the old church; three of them had
curious, extremely long, old-fashioned horns of brass, while the fourth
had a drum or _tambour_. The _tambour_ was continuously played, while
the other instruments were alternated in the most curious fashion. The
music was strange and weird, unlike any that we had ever heard before.
However, we became thoroughly familiar with it before we had traversed
the whole Mixe country, as we heard it twice daily, at sunrise and after
sunset. It was the music of the Candelaria, played during the nine days
preceding February 2d. As we sat listening to the music the _presidente_
of the town appeared. His Spanish, at no time adequate, was now at its
worst, as he was sadly intoxicated. We tried to carry on a conversation
with him, but soon seeing that naught but disaster could be expected, if
we continued, we discreetly withdrew to our room.

[Illustration: A STREET IN SAN LORENZO]

[Illustration: AYUTLA]

There we found the _fiscal_, and I have rarely seen so drunk an
official. When drunk, he is violent and abusive, and it was plain that
the women at the _curato_ were afraid of him. More than one hundred and
fifty years ago Padre Quintana, who was the mission priest at Juquila,
translated the _Doctrina_ into Mixe and wrote a _Gramatica_ of the
language, both of which were then printed. We wished to secure copies of
these old and rare books, and asked the _fiscal_ if there were any here.
He promptly replied that he had one at his house, and invited us to go
there with him to see it. We at once started, and on our way had to pass
the drunken _presidente_ and the musicians. As we drew near them the
_presidente_, with drunken dignity, rose and said: "Where are you going,
Señores?" The _fiscal_ was for going directly onward without giving
answer; we hesitated and began a reply. Our delay was fatal; staggering
up to us, his Honor said: "I shall not permit you to go; this man is
drunk; he will be dangerous. I am responsible for your safety." The
_fiscal_, standing at a little distance, cried: "Señores! shall we go?"
We started toward him; the _presidente_ interfered: "No, Señores,
you shall not go to-night; the man is drunk; return to your house."
"_Vámonos_," (Let us go) hiccoughed the _fiscal. "Mañana_," (to-morrow)
hiccoughed the _presidente_. The _fiscal_ stormed; the _presidente_
threatened him with jail, ordered him home, and with a body-guard
for our protection led us to our room. Scarcely able to totter, the
_presidente_ assured us that drunken men were dangerous and ought not
to be trusted; at the same time he produced his bottle and offered us
a drop to warm us. It required tact and time to get rid of him and
his corps of protectors. Early the next morning both of these worthy
officials, _presidente_ and _fiscal_, still drunk, called upon us with
the book--a _Doctrina_ of 1729. With the _presidente_ were two stalwart
fellows, intended, as he whispered to us audibly, to handle the
_fiscal_ in case he became dangerous. The audience ended, and the party
dismissed, the _presidente_ stood in the road until the _fiscal_ had
started for home, when he left for the town-house. The _fiscal's_
home-going, however, was mere pretense. No sooner was the _presidente_
gone than he came staggering into the _patio_ of the _curato_. The women
ran into our room, in terror: "The _fiscal_ comes; bar the door; do
not let him in." A moment later a feeble rap at the door, a call and
a mournful request for admission; the barricaded door gave no
encouragement. At intervals through the morning there came the flying
maids: "He comes! don't let him in." Again and again the barricade;
again and again, the vain appeal for entrance. We left Ayutla at noon.
We had scarcely well started when we heard some one calling behind us.
Turning, we saw the _fiscal_, running unsteadily toward us. We waited;
he came up out of breath. "_Ya se va_?" (Now you are leaving?) "_Si,
señor_," (Yes, sir.) With a look of despair he removed his hat, and
fumbling in its depths produced two cigarettes; presenting one to each
of us, he waved his hand as we rode away and cried: "_Adios! señores_."

For some distance our road led up a cañon. Reaching its head, we gained
the pass at two o'clock. A wonderful sight here presented itself. Above
us was a brilliant blue sky--cloudless; every detail of the rock crest
upon which we stood was clear. Forested to its summit, the ridge formed
the half of a magnificent amphitheatre, whose slopes had been vertically
furrowed at a hundred points by torrents; to the left a spur projected,
the crest of which sloped gently downward, forming an enclosing wall
upon that side. Before us, beyond the valley, was a boundary line of
mountain masses, sharply outlined against the sky. Lower ridges, nearer
to us, paralleled this distant rampart. The only apparent outlet from
this valley was around the spur to our left. Looking down upon this
magnificent valley, we saw it occupied by a sea of clouds, the level
surface of which looked like a lake of water flecked here and there with
whitecaps. The higher hills within the valley rose like islands from the
water; to the left a mighty river seemed to flow around the spur, out
into a boundless sea of cloud beyond. The level surface of this lake,
river, and sea of clouds was hundreds of feet below us.

From this summit, our trail plunged downward into this sea of mists.
When we reached its upper surface, which was plainly defined, little
wisps of mist or cloud were streaming up along the furrowed channels of
the mountain walls. As we entered the lake of cloud the sunlight became
fainter, uprushes of cold mists struck us, gloom settled, denser and
denser grew the fog, drops of condensed vapor dripped from the trees
under which we passed. At the bottom of the valley, we could scarcely
see a dozen yards in any direction. We were passing along meadows, like
those of New England, with brakes, sunflowers, and huckleberries; here
and there were little fields of wheat or peas. The fog was too dense for
us to know whether we lost fine scenery. We saw nothing of the little
villages through which we passed. On and on we plunged along the trail,
until it began an ascent of a ridge, almost like a knife-edge, with
steep slopes on both sides. When we had reached the summit of this
ridge, we found the trail level, through a growth of oak trees which
were loaded with bromelias and orchids. Though still dim, the light had
brightened as we rose to higher levels. Graceful ferns and sprays of
terrestrial orchids overhung our trail at every cutting or slope. One
spray, which I plucked as I rode under it, was more than a yard in
length, and its curiously colored brown and yellow flowers were
strangely like insects in form. At one level summit of our ridge, we
came upon a little whitewashed building of adobe, dome-topped, with no
windows and but one little door. Pushing this open, I entered through
a doorway so narrow that I had to remove my hat, and so low that I was
forced to bend, and found myself in a little shrine with a cross and
pictures of two or three saints, before which were plain vases filled
with fresh flowers, the offerings of travelers. We added our spray of
orchids before we resumed our journey.

For three hours, during which no distant view had delighted our eyes, we
had traveled in the mists; we had almost forgotten that the sun could
shine. At the end of a long, narrow ridge, where it joined the greater
mountain mass, we found a rest-house. Here the trail turned abruptly
onto the larger ridge, mounted sharply through a dugway, and then to our
complete surprise emerged into the fair sunlight. The clear, blue sky
was over us, and directly below us, at our horses' feet, was the flat
top of the sea of clouds. A moment more and we rose to a point of view
from which the grandest view of a lifetime burst upon our vision.
Opposite, the evening sun was nearing the horizon, before and below us
lay the valley; we were upon the very edge of a great mountain slope. To
our right lay the cloud mass, which was all in movement, precipitating
itself down the slope into the profound valley. It was a river of
vapors, more than two miles, perhaps, in width, plunging, perhaps, two
thousand feet into the abyss. Niagara, which I have often seen, is a
pigmy cataract in comparison. The cloud mass tossed and heaved, whirled
and poured in one enormous sheet over the precipice, breaking into spray
as it struck against projecting rock masses. Every movement of whirling
and plunging water was there; the rapid above the fall, the plunge, the
whirlpool, the wild rush of whirlpool rapids, all were there, but all
silent, fearfully and impressively silent. We could have stood there
gazing for hours, but night was coming and a stretch of unknown road
still lay before us. At the other end of the valley, in the dusk of
early evening, we saw a second cataract pouring in. From both ends the
cloud rivers were rushing in to fill the valley, along the edge of which
we crept. And presently we plunged down again into the mists; night
fell; our trail was barely visible, and we had to trust to our horses to
find it; the air was cold and penetrating. Long after dark, we rode into
Juquila.

[Illustration: CLOUD CATARACT; NEAR JUQUILA]

[Illustration: DANCERS IN THE DANZA DE LA CONQUISTA; JUQUILA]

The _cura_ had gone to bed; the _meson_ had no room for us and no food
for our horses; our case seemed desperate. We heard, however, noisy
laughter and the loud voices of men drinking. So I begged Ernst to
seek the _presidente_ and tell him our needs while I looked after the
animals. The official was at the _tienda_, drinking with his friends.
Ernst made known our wishes, producing our letter from the governor. At
this, the _presidente_ became furious: "Who is this with orders from the
governor? Let me kill him," and with that he drew his _machete_ and
made at Ernst. Some of his less-intoxicated friends restrained him, and
Ernst, concluding that the moment was not propitious, returned to me.
After other fruitless efforts to get food for ourselves and animals we
resigned ourselves to our fate, and lay down upon the stone floor of
the corridor outside the _meson_, with a crowd of sleeping indians as
companions.

Very early in the morning, all the town officials, except the
_presidente_, came to apologize for the occurrence of the night. They
announced that the _presidente_, realizing what he had done, had taken
to the mountains, and asked what they could do for us. We ordered fodder
for our hungry beasts, food for ourselves, and a place of shelter. The
town-house was offered to us, and we were moved into those quarters with
due ceremony.

Although we stayed several days at Juquila, the _presidente_ did not
return, during our presence, to resume his duties of office. We were,
however, well treated. The _cura_ aided us with advice, information, and
helpers. While we were in the village the _danza de la Conquista_ took
place. It is a popular play, with much dancing and music, and little
action or dialogue, which celebrates the Conquest of Mexico by Cortez.
It was rendered in the shade of a great tree near the church. In the
first act, nine men and two girls took part; in the second act, there
were many others. The nine men and two girls represented Indians; they
wore crowns with plumes of snow-white down; in their hands they carried
a rattle, made from the fruit of a tree and a wand of white down, with
which they beat time. One man, representing Montezuma, had a crown of
brilliantly colored plumes. The other eight men were warriors; the two
girls were "_Malinches_." The first act consisted of a series of dances,
including a very pretty maypole dance. The play lasted about
three hours, and represented the life of the indians before the
Conquest--Montezuma in his court, with the amusements celebrated for his
entertainment. Hearing of the arrival of the Spaniards, he is filled
with sad forebodings, which the amusements fail to dispel. In the second
act, Hernando Cortez appears, with soldiers. While the costumes of the
indians were gay, and more or less attractive, those of these European
warriors were ludicrously mongrel and unbecoming. The new-comers
demanded that Montezuma acknowledge the authority of the King of Spain
and the cross of Christ. Conversations, demands, replies, tableaus,
sword-dances, etc., ensued. Finally, Montezuma and his warriors yielded,
and kissed the crucifix.

[Illustration: ROAD APPROACHING QUEZALTEPEC]

While this drama was being enacted under the shade-tree, another
amusement, in connection with the _fiesta of_ _San Marcos_, was in
progress in front of the church. The musicians with the long horns made
doleful music; a dozen gayly-costumed dancers took part. They wore dark
trousers slitted up the sides; bright kerchiefs, with the point hanging
down in front, were tied about the waists; crowns of plumes were on
the heads; red vests and kerchiefs, crossed at the neck, completed the
costume. One player, who seemed to be a leader, carried a tri-colored
flag; another represented a man on horseback, by creeping into a frame
of sticks, covered with cloth, in the shape of a horse. They danced in
the full sunlight for hours; their movements were varied and pretty,
quite different, too, from the figures in the _danza de la Conquista_.
Two outside characters played the clown. One of these was a little lad
dressed in a garment representing a tiger-skin, while over his face he
wore a heavy, old wooden mask, imitating an animal's head. The other
was older, dressed in a leather suit, with a wooden mask like a
vacant-looking human face. These two were very popular, and indulged
in many acts that bordered on the obscene. We got no satisfactory
explanation of this whole performance. The _cura_ said that it
represented the conflict between Christ and the Jews; this we greatly
doubted.

Mixe roads avoid no mountains, and usually go straight up one slope and
down the other. The Mixe villages are set upon the very crests, or upon
little terraces a few hundred feet below the crest, or the summit of
some spur that juts out from the great mountain mass, of a long and
narrow ridge. The road from Juquila, by Ocotopec to Quezaltepec was
beautiful and typical. The ascent, just before Quezaltepec, was
magnificent. We had a letter of introduction from the _cura_ at Juquila
to the schoolteacher at Quezaltepec, and therefore rode directly to the
school. The four boys who were in attendance were promptly dismissed and
the _maestro_ was at our disposition. He was a _mestizo_, and possessed
the art of lying in a fine degree, like so many of his kind. This man
set us an excellent supper, having asked us beforehand what we would
like. We replied that we would be glad to have fresh meat, if there was
any to be had. He replied, "There is always fresh meat here; someone
kills every day." It really appeared in the dinner, but, as we ate it,
our host remarked--"Gentlemen, it is indeed lucky that you arrived here
just now, because to-night we have fresh meat, and like enough a month
will pass before anyone in town kills again." Our teacher friend fully
appreciated his opportunity, and we paid a large price for our meal,
with its fresh meat, our beds on the school benches, and the fodder
supplied our horses. The next day being Saturday, the _maestro_ offered
to accompany us to Ixcuintepec, where his half-brother, the local
teacher, would welcome our coming and arrange for our entertainment.

Passing Camotlan, we entered a magnificent gorge, along one side of
which we climbed, passing in front of lovely cascades and having
magnificent outlooks. While we were on this trail, we encountered the
_maestro_ from Ixcuintepec, who was on his way to Quezaltepec to spend
his holiday. A whispered word with his half-brother, our companion,
quickly changed his plan, and he accompanied us. Upon this trail we
found our first swinging foot-bridges made of _lianas_, or vines,
hanging from trees. These are, of course, only suitable for
foot-travellers, but are a great convenience, where streams are likely
to be swollen. Two or three long and slender vines, laid side by side
and lashed together, form the footway, which is swung from one tree to
another; other _lianas_ are stretched across as side rails, smaller
vines being twined in between and around them to hold them in place;
long vines, pendant from the high branches of the supporting trees, are
fastened to the upper rails to steady and anchor these frail bridges,
which swing and yield with every weight.

[Illustration: TREE FERN IN TROPICAL FOREST; QUEZALTEPEC]

[Illustration: CASCADE, NEAR QUEZALTEPEC]

Ixcuintepec is upon one of the most abrupt ridges of this whole
district. We went first to the schoolhouse, where our animals were to
be guarded in a little open space before it; then we walked over to
the _curato_ which was being prepared for us. We had ordered _zacate_
(fodder) for our animals and had divided it suitably between them. We
ate our own meal, took a turn around the town, and were about to go to
our quarters for the night, when Ernst noticed that the fodder, for
which we had paid an outrageous price, had completely disappeared from
before the two horses, although the pile before the mule had diminished
but little. No doubt the two school teachers could have explained this
mysterious disappearance; we could not, however, tax them with theft,
but we made so much fuss over the matter that the officials brought a
new supply. While I went to our room to write up my notes, Ernst sat in
the gathering darkness watching the animals, as they ate, to prevent
further robbery. I was busily writing, listening now and then to the
fierce gusts of a gale that was blowing without, when the door burst
open and Ernst, greatly excited, called me to follow, and we hastened
to the place where our animals were tied. There we found that the great
tree under which Chontal, the little mule, had been feeding, had been
torn by the tempest and half of it had fallen upon the animal, bearing
it to the ground. The crash had come without a moment's warning.
Fortunately, the mule was unhurt, though it could not move until the
branches which had crushed it to the earth had been cut away with axes.
When we had released the beast and were retiring to our quarters, we
saw a sight never to be forgotten. Looking down from our crest into the
valley and across upon the other ridges and mountains beyond, we saw
that the camp-fires of charcoal-burners and wayfarers had been fanned
by the winds and spread into the forest until a dozen great lines of
blazing trees lit up the landscape in every direction.

Our leaving Ixcuintepec in the early morning was not agreeable. The
teachers were irritated over the affair of the _zacate_; the town
authorities were dissatisfied with our refusal to pay for two lots of
it. There was grumbling, and many dark looks followed us. We were rather
glad to get away from the town without a serious outbreak. We were now
on the road to the last of the Mixe towns we should visit, Coatlan. The
road seemed endless, the ascent interminable; the town itself impressed
us as exceptionally mean and squalid, and we stopped only long enough
to eat a miserable dinner of eggs with chili and _tortillas_. The women
here wore native dress. Several were clad as the Zapotec women from here
to Tehuantepec, but a few were dressed in striking _huipilis_ of native
weaving, with embroidered patterns, and had their black hair done up in
great rings around their heads, bright strips of cloth or ribbon being
intermingled in the braiding. Literally and figuratively shaking the
dust of the Mixe towns from our feet, we now descended into the Zapotec
country. We were oppressed by a cramped, smothered feeling as we
descended from the land of forested mountains and beautiful streams. At
evening we reached San Miguel, the first Zapotec settlement, a little
group of houses amid coffee plantings.

[Illustration: FIESTA OF SAN MARCOS; JUQUILA]

[Illustration: BRIDGE OF VINES, NEAR IXCUINTEPEC]

At the first indian house, we asked if we might have shelter for the
night. The owner cordially answered, "_Como no? señores_," (Why not?
sirs). He explained, however, that there was nought to eat. After eating
elsewhere, we made our way back to our lodging-place, a typical Zapotec
hut, a single room, with dirt-floor, walls of canes or poles, and thatch
of grass. The house contained a hammock and two beds of poles, comforts
we had not known for days. I threw myself into the hammock; Ernst lay
down upon one of the beds; the man and woman, squatting, were husking
corn for our horses; a little girl was feeding a fire of pine splints,
built upon the floor, which served for light. As they worked and
we rested the man asked that question which ever seems of supreme
importance to Mexican indians, "_Como se llama Ud. señor_?" (What is
your name, sir?). "Ernst," replied our spokesman, to whom the question
was addressed. "_Y el otro_?" (And the other?), pointing to me. I
replied for myself, "_Federico_." The man seemed not to catch the word
and badly repeated it after me. "_No, no_," said the much quicker
woman, "_Federico! Federico! si, señor, nosotros tenemos un Federico,
también_," (Yes, sir, and we have a Frederick, also). "Ah, and where is
he?" "He will come, sir; we have four boys, Luca and Pedrito, Castolo
and Federico; Federico is the baby; the little girl, here, is between
him and Castolo; they are working in the coffee-field, but they will
soon be here." At nine o'clock the little fellows appeared. They lined
up in the order of age, placed their hands behind them, and waited to be
addressed. Castolo, then about ten years of age, most pleased me, and
I asked him, among other things, whether he could read and write. His
father answered for him, that he could not read or write; that the
opportunities were not good; but that he believed Castolo _could_ learn,
that he had a good mind. At this point the mother spoke to her husband
in Zapotec. Some argument ensued, in which at last she triumphed.
Turning to me, the man said: "She says you may have Castolo; you may
take him to your country and there he can learn to read and write and
whatever else you wish." It was not altogether easy to refuse this gift;
finally I replied that we had a long journey ahead and that Castolo
would weary on the road; that he had better wait until some later time.

It was now time for the family to dispose of itself for the night. I was
already in the hammock and Ernst had one of the pole-beds; the man, his
wife, and little Federico occupied the other bed; the little girl and
the three older boys climbed, by a notched log, up to a loft constructed
of poles or canes on which they laid themselves down. After all were
located, the woman barred the door and we were soon asleep.

All rose early. Not only did we wish to make an early start, but the
boys, too, were to make a journey. Our friends had agreed to make us
some coffee and _tortillas_. We had made our preparations for starting
and were waiting for our breakfast, when a shriveled and wrinkled
old woman tottered up to beg the strangers to visit her sick son and
prescribe some _remedio_. On our consenting to go with her, she caught
up a stick of fat pine, lighted it in the fire, and with this blazing
torch to light the way, preceded us to her house. Her son had been a
strong and robust young man, but four months of lying upon his pole-bed
had sadly reduced him. He was thin and pale, coughed sadly, and suffered
with fever, chills, and dreadful headaches. He was taking medicines
brought from Tehuantepec, but these seemed to have no effect and we were
begged to suggest treatment. We advised continuance of the remedy she
had been using, but also prescribed hot water taken in the morning and
at night, hot water applications for the headaches, quinine for the
chills and fever, and a digestive for the stomach trouble, and furnished
these remedies from our own supplies. Having lighted us back to our
lodging-place the old lady asked our charge. When we refused to receive
payment from the poor creature, we noted an increased activity on the
part of our host and hostess; a bit of cheese was promptly found and
added to the waiting coffee and _tortillas_, and when we called for our
own reckoning, we received the hearty response--"_Nada, señor, nada_;"
(nothing, sir, nothing) "and when you come this way again, come straight
to us, our door is always open to you."

[Illustration: SANTIAGO GUEVEA]

We were now ready and found that the three boys, Luca, Pedrito, and
Castolo, were waiting to accompany us as far as our roads were the same.
They were to go on foot, five leagues, into the mountains to bring back
some mules from a camp; they expected to reach their destination that
day, to sleep on the mountain, and to bring in the animals the next day.
The little fellows, from thirteen to nine or ten years old, seemed to
find nothing extraordinary in their undertaking; each carried his little
carrying-net, with food, drinking-gourd, and an extra garment for the
chilly night, upon his back; Pedrito buckled to his belt the great
_machete_, which men here regularly carry for clearing the path, cutting
firewood, or protection against animals. They were very happy at
accompanying us for a distance. We soon rose from the low, malarial,
coffee _fincas_ onto a fine mountain, which was the last of its kind
that we saw for many days; it was like the mountains of the Mixes,
with its abundant vegetation of ferns, begonias, and trees loaded with
bromelias and orchids. Our bodyguard kept up with us bravely until we
had made one-half of the ascent, where they fell behind and we saw them
no more. Reaching the summit, we saw before us a distant line of blue,
interrupted here and there by some hill or mountain,--the great Pacific.
From here on, the beauty of the road disappeared. We descended and then
mounted along dry slopes to Santiago Guevea, then hot and dusty. Our
friends of San Miguel really live in Guevea and are at San Miguel only
when the coffee needs attention. From Guevea the road was hard and dry
and dusty to Santa Maria. The mountain mass over which we passed was
a peak, the summit of which was covered with masses of chalcedony of
brilliant colors, which broke into innumerable splinters, which were
lovely to see but hard upon the feet of horses; the surface of this part
also gave out a glare or reflection that was almost intolerable. We
descended over granite which presented typical spheroidal weathering.
We went onward, up and down many little hills, reaching Santa Maria at
noonday. The village sweltered; the air scorched and blistered; there
was no sign of life, save a few naked children playing in the shade or
rolling upon the hot sand. It was so hot and dusty that we hated to
resume our journey and tarried so long that we had to ride after
nightfall before we reached the _rancho_ of Los Cocos, where we lay in
the corridor and all night long heard the grinding of sugar-cane at the
mill close by.

We had just such another hard, hot, and dusty ride the next day,
on through Auyuga and Tlacotepec, where we stopped for noon, until
Tehuantepec, where we arrived at evening.




CHAPTER IV

THROUGH CHIAPAS

(1896)


Tehuantepec is meanly built; it is hot and dusty, and the almost
constant winds drive the dust in clouds through the streets. But its
picturesque market is a redeeming feature. Every morning it is crowded
and presents a brilliant and lively spectacle. All the trade is in the
hands of women, and the Tehuantepec women have the reputation of being
the handsomest in the world. They are large, finely-built, and in their
movements exhibit an indescribable freedom and grace. Their natural
attractions are set off by a characteristic and becoming costume. The
_huipilili_ is a little sleeveless waist, loose at the neck and arms,
and so short that it rarely reaches to the waist-line, to which, of
course, it is supposed to extend; it is of bright cotton--red, brown,
purple, with stripes or spots of white--and is stitched at the neck with
yellow silk. The _enagua_, or skirt, is a strip of heavy cotton cloth,
less than a yard wide, which is simply wrapped around the figure and
hangs from the waist, being held in place by a brightly colored belt or
girdle. The _enagua_ is usually a rich red, but it is sometimes a fine
violet purple. It reaches but little below the knees. It generally fails
to meet the _huipilili_ above, so that a broader or narrower band of
fine, dark brown separates the two garments. Nothing is worn on the
feet, which are exposed, as are also the finely shaped and beautifully
developed arms. But the most striking article in the Tehuantepec
woman's costume is her _huipíl_, which travellers usually describe as
a head-dress, although it is nothing of the kind. It is in reality a
waist-garment with sleeves. It is made of lace or cotton, or linen, and
is bordered at the neck, the sleeves, and the lower margin with broad
ruffs of pleated lace. Only at church or on some important or ceremonial
occasion is the _huipíl_ worn as it was meant to be. Usually at church
the wearer draws the garment over her upper body, but does not put her
arms into the sleeves, nor her head through the neck-opening, simply
fitting her face into this in such a way that it appears to be framed in
a broad, oval, well-starched border of pleated lace. Usually, however,
the garment is not even worn in this manner, but is turned upside down
and carelessly hung upon the head so that the broad lower fringe of lace
falls back upon the hair, while the upper part of the garment, with the
sleeves, the collar, and cuff-ruffs, hangs down upon the back. The whole
effect is that of a fine crest rising from the head, coursing down the
back, and moving with the breeze as the woman walks. These Zapotec women
are fond of decoration, but particularly prize gold coins. In the past,
when Tehuantepec was more important than now, it was no uncommon thing
to see a woman in this market with several hundred dollars in gold coins
hanging to her neck chain. In these later days of little trade and
harder times, these once prized decorations have been spent, and it
is rare to see any woman wearing more than twenty to fifty dollars as
display.

[Illustration: READY FOR CHURCH; TEHUANTEPEC]

[Illustration: THE WIDE ROAD; TEHUANTEPEC TO JUCHITAN]

Resuming our journey, we struck out upon the highway which parallels
the coast. Almost immediately, the road changed from a fair country
cart-road to a road remarkable at once for its straightness, breadth and
levelness. It was, however, dreadfully hot and dusty, and was
bordered on both sides with a tiresome and monotonous growth of low,
thorn-bearing trees, with occasional clumps of palms. We ate dinner at
Juchitan, in a little eating-house conducted by a _Japanese_! A little
beyond that important indian centre, we saw a puma pace forth from the
thicket; with indescribably graceful and slow tread it crossed the dusty
road and disappeared in the thicket. In the morning we had startled
flocks of parrots, which rose with harsh cries, hovered while we passed,
and then resettled on the same trees where they had been before. In the
evening we saw pairs of macaws flying high, and as they flew over our
heads they looked like black crosses sharp against the evening sky. At
evening we reached Guviño, a dreadful town, in the population of which
there seems to be a negro strain. We stopped with the _presidente_, in
whose veins flowed Spanish, indian, and negro blood. In his one-roomed
house besides ourselves there slept the owner, his wife, two daughters,
one with a six-weeks baby, a son, and two young men--friends of the
family.

Turning north the next day, onto the Niltepec road, we wandered from our
trail, losing five leagues of space and more than three hours of time.
The country through which we passed was terribly dry; there were
no running streams. We crossed the bed of one dried river after
another--streaks of sand and pebbles. The people in the villages near
these dried river-beds dug holes a foot or two deep into this sand and
gravel and thus got water. At the place where we camped for the night,
Suspiro Ranch, a new house was being palm-thatched. All the men and boys
of the neighborhood were helping; the labor was carefully divided; some
were bringing in great bundles of the palm leaves; others pitched these
up to the thatchers, who were skilfully fitting them under and over the
poles of the roof framework and then beating them firmly home. Many of
the helpers had come considerable distances and spent the night, so that
we shared our room with quite a dozen men and boys, while the women and
children slept in another house.

Passing through Zanatepec, we stopped for Sunday at Tanatepec. Here we
found ourselves again upon the low coast road. It was, however, our last
point of low altitude, as from there we struck inland over a higher,
cooler, and more interesting mountain road. At Zanatepec we first saw
the _marimba_ played. This musical instrument, unquestionably African
in name and origin, is hardly found north of Chiapas, but is extremely
common through Central America. It consists of a wooden frame supporting
keys made of wood and metal, each of which gives forth its own note when
struck with small hammers. Below the keys of lowest tone are hung tubes,
pipes, or gourds, as sounding boxes to increase the sound produced by
striking the key. Usually four players perform at one time, each using
two or more little hammers. The music is rapid and brilliant, somewhat
resembling that of the piano. The instrument usually has some fanciful
name, which is painted upon it. The one at Tanatepec was _La Azteca_
(The Aztec Lady), while our next one was _La reina de las flores_ (The
queen of the flowers). At Zanatepec, _La Azteca_ was an advertising
part of a traveling circus. The troupe consisted of three men and
three women, the latter of whom seemed to be mulattos. The men were
ridiculously garbed and painted to represent wild indians. The real,
live indians, who followed these clowns in delighted crowds, enjoyed
thrills of terror at their whoops, fierce glances, and wild antics,
and assured us that these actors were, if not the real thing, at least
wonderfully accurate impersonations of the natives of the _Estados
unidos_ (United States)--the land of the "Apaches."

From Tanatepec we were in Chiapas, the southernmost state of the
republic. We struck out over a fine mountain road, _passable for carts_
all the way to Tuxtla Gutierrez, the capital of the state. Our first
ascent was over a magnificent mountain mass of syenite, which at some
places seemed to be as fine as our own Quincy stone. The road, with many
short zigzags, made a remarkably abrupt ascent, and, having reached the
crest, wound like a vast serpent along the summit. As we descended into
the following valley, we encountered a beautiful deer, which stood in
the middle of the road, eyeing us with curiosity, until we were almost
upon it, when it dashed into the thicket and then stopped to again eye
us. Upon attaining the second summit we were amid pines. All day we had
had a wind in our faces, cold and so strong as to almost blow us from
the narrow ridge, yet the sky was cloudless. Looking back from our
summit, a magnificent view to the ocean was spread before us. Below us
were the mountains over which we had come, then a valley broken with
mountains of a lesser size; beyond, was the dry, coastal plain, and yet
beyond it, the sea. The dark green pines, the blue sky, the brown hills,
the gray plain, the stretch of blue-green waters, made a wonderful color
combination.

The next two days were most uninteresting. We were often reminded of
the recent threat of war between Mexico and Guatemala, the disputed
border-line between which we were now nearing. We met marching bands of
soldiers who were returning to Juchitan. Officers were on horses,
common soldiers on foot, pack-mules were laden with luggage, the women
(accompanying their husbands) were weighed down with coffee-pots,
bundles of clothes, and babies, all strapped on their backs together.
They were a motley crew. At Jiquipilas a company was encamped in the
plaza. Our mule, Chontal, took particular delight in running into such
bands of marching soldiers as we encountered, causing no end of trouble.
On one occasion, as a group approached us, he ran forward at a
lively pace into their midst and tangled himself up with a party of
prisoners,--apparently soldiers in disgrace,--who, tied together with
ropes, were under guard. As we rode up to capture him, I felt a hand at
that coat pocket which contained our money-bag and, turning suddenly,
found one of the guard trying to draw the bag of money from my pocket. I
struck at him with my whip and he slunk away.

The last day of travel before reaching Tuxtla Gutierrez, we passed one
of the few pretty places on this dreary road, Agua Bendita. At this
point the road makes a great curve, almost like a horseshoe; at the
middle of this curve there rises to the right of the road a wall of
limestone rock the plainly defined strata of which are thrown into a
gentle anticlinal fold. The upper layers of this arch were covered with
shrubs, clinging to its face, while the lower layers were tapestried
with a curtain of delicate ferns, which hung down over the open arch
below, under which the road passed. Water trickled through this
limestone mass and dripped and collected in little basins, which had
been excavated in the ledge close by the roadside. Some grateful passer
had set up little crosses by the water pools, and they were gay that day
with purple orchids plucked from a near-by tree. In this tree, amid the
brilliant clumps of yet unplucked blossoms of the orchids, were a number
of toucans with their enormous, brightly colored bills--the _picos de
canoa_ (canoe beaks) of the people.

Tuxtla Gutierrez is a town of some thousands population, with a central
plaza where the local band plays almost every evening, and a market
place of exceptional interest. Here, as nowhere else, we saw crowds of
the purest indians in native dress. Chiapas is the home of at least
thirteen tribes, each with its own language. Among the most interesting
indians we saw in the market were the Tzotzils, from Chamula, who wore
heavy, black woolen garments. The indians of the town and its immediate
vicinity are Zoques.

Few Mexican governors possess the breadth of view and the intelligent
enterprise of Governor Leon, whom we encountered here. A man of middle
age, of fair stature though slight in build, with dark complexion,
iron-gray hair, beard and whiskers carefully trimmed after the French
fashion, his appearance creates a favorable impression. He did
everything in his power for our comfort and assistance, and supplied us
with letters to the _jefes politicos_ of the districts through which we
were to pass. We congratulated him upon the cart-road over which we
had come from Zanatepec, an important public work for this part of the
world; he told us he began it three years ago with a force of but nine
men; that it would be extended to San Cristobal and San Bartolome; that
he was no engineer, but that he could tell quite well when a road was
passable for a cart. We found him greatly interested in a congress
which he had called of persons interested in labor questions. Among the
questions which he hoped to see considered was the abolition of the
system of _peonage,_ which still exists in full development in the
state.

Less than three leagues from Tuxtla Gutierrez is Chiapa, famous for the
brightly painted gourds and calabash vessels there manufactured and
sent out to all parts of the republic. Toys, rattles, cups, and great
bowl-basins are among the forms produced. We visited a house where five
women were making pretty rattles from little crook-necked gourds. The
workers sat upon the floor, with their materials and tools before them.
The first one rubbed the body of the dry gourds over with an oil paint.
These paints are bought in bulk and mixed upon a flat slab, with a
fine-grained, smooth, hard pebble as a grinder, with _aje_ and a white
earth dug near the road between Chiapa and Tuxtla Gutierrez. The _aje_
is a yellow, putty-like mass which gives a brilliant, lacquer-like
lustre; the white earth causes the color to adhere to the surface to
which it is applied. The second woman rubbed the neck of the gourd with
green paint; the third painted the line of junction of the two colors
with white, using a brush; the fourth brought out the lustre of the
before dull object by rubbing it upon a pad of cotton cloth upon
her knee, giving a final touch by careful rubbing with a tuft of
cotton-wool; with a brush, the final worker rapidly painted on the
lustrous surface delicate floral or geometric decoration. Though
representing so much delicate and ingenious labor, these pretty toys
were sold at the price of two for a _medio_ (three cents in United
States currency).

The _aje_ which gives the brilliant lustre to this work deserves more
than a passing notice. It is made chiefly at San Bartolome and is
secured from an insect, a sort of plant-louse, which lives upon the
blackthorn and related trees. The insect is found only in the wet
season, is small, though growing rapidly, and is of a fiery-red color,
though it coats itself over with a white secretion. It lives in swarms,
which form conspicuous masses. These are gathered in vessels, washed
to remove the white secretion, boiled, crushed, and strained through a
cloth; an oily matter, mixed with blood (?) and water passes out, which
is boiled to drive off the water and to concentrate the oily mass. This
is then washed in trays, to rid it of the blood, and made up into balls,
which are sold at ten or twelve _centavos_ (five or six cents) a pound.
It is a putty-like substance, with a handsome yellow color. We have
already stated that it is ground up with dry paints to be rubbed on
the object which is to be adorned, and that the brilliant lustre is
developed by gentle and rapid friction.

[Illustration: ZAPOTEC WOMAN; SAN BLAS]

[Illustration: CASE OF WHITE PINTO; TUXITA GUTIERREZ]

_Pinto_, a spotting or discoloring of the skin, is a common disease in
many parts of Mexico. Three varieties are recognized--white, red, and
blue or purple. The disease is particularly frequent in the states
of Guerrero and Chiapas, and we had heard that it was very common
in Chiapa. Perhaps twenty per cent of the population really has the
disease; at San Bartolome perhaps seventy-five per cent are affected; in
some towns an even larger proportion is reported. The white form appears
the commonest. One subject examined at Tuxtla Gutierrez was a woman some
sixty years of age. At birth she showed no symptom of the trouble, but
spots began to appear when she was seven or eight years old. She was
naturally dark, and the white spots were in notable contrast to her
normal color; the spots increased in number and in size until her face
and arms looked as if they had been white and become brown-spotted,
instead of _vice versa_. After she was forty years of age her spots
varied but little. The cause of this disease is still obscure, although
several treatises have been written upon it. Authorities do not even
agree as to the sequence of the forms of the disease, if there be such
sequence. Some assert that the white form is the early stage and that
the disease may never progress beyond it; others assert that the white
spots are merely the permanent scars, left after the disappearance
of the disease itself. Maps of distribution seem to show a distinct
relation of the disease to altitude and character of water-supply. The
common herd attribute it to an insect sting, to drinking of certain
water, or to bathing in certain pools. Usually, there is no pain or
danger connected with the trouble, except in the red form, but if the
person affected changes residence, itching and some discomfort may
temporarily ensue. The _presidente_ at Chiapa took us to the jail, where
the prisoners were filed before us and made to hold out hands and feet
for our inspection. Such cases of _pinto_ as were found were somewhat
carefully examined. All we encountered there were of the white variety.
Later, at private houses, we saw some dreadful cases of the purple form.
Very often, those whose faces were purple-blotched had white-spotted
hands and feet.

We had not planned to stop at Acala, but after a hard ride over a dreary
road and a ferrying across a wide and deep river in a great dugout canoe
thirty feet or more in length--our animals swimming alongside--we found
our beasts too tired for further progress. And it was a sad town. How
strange, that beautifully clear and sparkling mountain water often
produces actual misery among an ignorant population! Scarcely had we
dismounted at our lodging place, when a man of forty, an idiot and
goitrous, came to the door and with sadly imperfectly co-ordinated
movements, gestured a message which he could not speak. Almost as soon
as he had gone a deaf-mute boy passed. As we sat at our doorway, we saw
a half-witted child at play before the next house. Goitre, deaf-mutism,
and imbecility, all are fearfully common, and all are relatedly due to
the drinking water.

To us, sitting at the door near dusk, a song was borne upon the evening
breeze. Nearer and nearer it came, until we saw a group of twelve or
fifteen persons, women in front, men and children behind, who sang as
they walked. Some aided themselves with long staves; all carried burdens
of clothing, food, utensils; all were wearied and footsore with the long
journey, but full of joy and enthusiasm, as they were nearing their
destination--a famous shrine. Passing us, they journeyed onward to an
open space at the end of town, where, with many others who had reached
there sooner, they camped for the night. The next day we constantly
passed such parties of pilgrims; coming or going to this shrine which
lay a little off the road between Acala and San Bartolome. In one group,
we counted ninety pilgrims.

[Illustration: RIVER BETWEEN CHIAPA AND ACALA]

[Illustration: THE INDIAN GOVERNMENT AT SAN BARTOLOME]

We had been told that San Bartolome was full of goitre, and we really
found no lack of cases. It is said that forty years ago it was far more
common than now, and that the decrease has followed the selection of a
new water source and the careful piping of the water to the town. In the
population of two thousand, it was estimated that there might be two
hundred cases, fifty of which were notable. None, however, was so
extraordinary as that of which several told us, the late _secretario_ of
the town, who had a goitre of such size that, when he sat at the table
to write, he had to lift the swelling with both hands and place it on
the table before he began work. The former prevalence of the disease is
abundantly suggested by the frequency of deaf-mutes, a score or more
of whom live here--all children of goitrous parents. Bad as was San
Bartolome, it seemed to us surpassed by San Antonio, where we found
the disease in an aggravated form, while at Nenton, our first point in
Guatemala, every one appeared affected, although we saw no dreadful
cases.

San Bartolome is an almost purely indian town, where for the first time
our attention was called to the two sets of town officials--indian and
_ladino_. The indian town government consisted of four Indians of pure
blood, who wore the native costume. This, here, is characteristic, both
for men and women. The men wore wide-legged trousers of native woven
cotton, and an upper jacket-shirt, square at the bottom, made of the
same stuff, with designs--rosettes, flowers, geometrical figures, birds,
animals, or men--wrought in them in red, green, or yellow wools; about
the waist was a handsome brilliant native belt, while a bright kerchief
was twisted about the head. The men were well-built, but the _alcalde_
was a white _pinto_. Women wore _huipilis_, waist-garments, sometimes
thick and heavy, at others thin and open, in texture, but in both cases
decorated with lines of brightly colored designs. Their _enaguas_,
skirts, were of heavy indigo-blue stuff or of plain white cotton, of two
narrow pieces sewed together and quite plain except for a line of bright
stitching along the line of juncture. As among other indian tribes, this
cloth was simply wrapped around the figure and held in place by a belt.
The town is famous for its weaving and dyeing; the loom is the simple,
primitive device used all through Mexico long before the Conquest.
We were surprised to find that the designs in colored wools are not
embroidered upon the finished fabric, but are worked in with bits of
worsted during the weaving.

From San Bartolome to Comitan, the road passes over a curious lime
deposit, apparently formed by ancient hot waters; it is a porous tufa
which gave back a hollow sound under the hoofs of our horses. It
contains moss, leaves, and branches, crusted with lime, and often forms
basin terraces, which, while beautiful to see, were peculiarly harsh and
rough for our animals. But the hard, and far more ancient, limestone,
onto which we then passed, was quite as bad. At the very summit of
one hill of this we found a cave close by the road; entering it, we
penetrated to a distance of perhaps seventy-five feet, finding the roof
hung with stalactites and the walls sheeted with stalagmite. Just after
leaving this cave, we met a tramp on foot, ragged, weary, and dusty, and
with a little bundle slung upon a stick over his shoulder. He accosted
me in Spanish, asking whence we had come; on my reply, probably catching
my foreign accent, he winked and said in plain English,--"Yes? And where
are you going, pard?"

After a hard day's ride, over a shut-in road, destitute of fine views,
we reached the crest overlooking Comitan. The descent was almost
precipitous. The town, better built and more compact than most, was
situated near the foot of the hill; near it, on a terrace, was the
cemetery. On the level road, stretching to a long distance from the
town, we saw lines of hundreds of pack-mules, dwarfed by distance. South
from the town stretched a grassy plain, bordered here and there with
pine trees. Back of this plain rose round-topped hills, and beyond
them were again the blue mountains; far in the distance, behind these,
towered the mighty crests of the Guatemalan Sierra Madre.

The town was crowded, as the annual _feria_ (fair) was in progress, and
it was with difficulty that we found a room to sleep in, going for our
meals to one of the many temporary eating-places in the plaza. Comitan
is the last town of consequence in Mexico, and has wide fame on account
of its spirits, known at _comiteco_. This drink, of enormous strength,
distilled from coarse, brown sugar (_panela,_) is a favorite in
Guatemala, and its smuggling across the border, though risky, is a
lucrative business. There are scores of little distilleries in the town,
many of them belonging to and conducted by women.

Mexican paper money is useless between Tuxtla Gutierrez and Comitan. At
the latter city it may be exchanged for silver, but with difficulty.
From here on we found no copper in circulation, and before reaching
Comitan we had begun to receive Guatemalan silver in our change. Fully
thirty leagues from the border we ceased to receive Mexican silver from
anyone. This notable displacement of Mexican currency seems curious,
because Guatemalan money is at a heavy discount in comparison with it.
At San Bartolome we sent a soldier-police to buy _zacate_, giving him
Mexican money. He brought back two Guatemalan pieces in change, and on
our objecting to receive it, assured me, not only that the money was
good, but also that here the people were Guatemalans. "Here," said he,
"not Mexico: here we are all Carrera's people." This, of course, was
sheer treason. Carrera, the pure-blood indian who in the stirring days
of 1839 seized the power in Guatemala, a strange and wild being who had
a real love for his country, has left a profound impression. At times an
exile, he had lived at Comitan, where his name was familiar to all the
indians around. His coins are much prized by the indians for necklaces
and earrings, and even at Tehuantepec we had seen women wearing his
little gold pieces in their ears.

It should have been an easy matter to go from Comitan to Nenton (in
Guatemala) in a single day. As it was, we made it with great difficulty
in two, our mule Chontal apparently being completely worn out. We
crossed the _llano_, passed through patches of pines, and then came out
upon a terrible country of limestone hills. In our last day's journey we
had to coax, threaten, beat, drag, and push that mule until our voices
were gone and our arms were tired. Immediately on passing the line into
Guatemala, we found the telegraph wires cut and poles down, a result of
the late unpleasantness with Mexico. The mountain mass before us, which
had been in view for two days past, loomed up frightfully before us.
Would our little mule be able to pass it? We remembered what an American
tramp, whom we had met at Tuxtla Gutierrez and who had walked on foot
from Guatemala City, had said: "Between Nenton and Huehuetenango you
will pass over a mountain that will make your heart sick; may God help
you." Just at dusk we looked down upon Nenton in a little valley, with a
fine stream crossed by a pretty bridge, where mountains rose steeply on
every side. Having been registered by the custom officials, we slept
that night, our first in the new republic, in the municipal house.

Next morning we started bravely, the whole town having assembled to
see us off. We safely reached the foot of the mountain, where the mule
stopped and braced himself. We spoke kindly, coaxed, dragged, but all
to no effect. Finally he started, but three times within the next few
minutes, he and we went through the same procedure. Patience had ceased
to be a virtue; we held a serious consultation. Ernst asserted that by
placing the rope over the nostrils of the animal and then leading, he
must move. We tried the experiment. The beast gave a snort, a groan,
lurched, fell over, kicked convulsively, closed his eyes, and lay to all
appearance dead. The town below, which had been watching progress, came
running up. We removed the halter; the animal lay quiet. The pity of
the by-standers was maddening; their remarks exasperating. "Poor little
mule, he dies;" they pointed to his rubbed sides,--"Ah, poor creature!
What a heavy load! How thin he is." It is certain that the best mule in
the town was in far worse condition, and as for food, Chontal had eaten
more the night before than our two horses put together. Having exhausted
their vocabulary of sympathy, our friends left us, as the "poor little
animal" showed signs of coming to. We concluded to engage a man on foot
to carry the burden across the mountains and to lead Chontal. After
some delay a man was found, who readily agreed to carry the burden and
pack-saddle, but when he found he was to lead the mule besides, he
defied the town authorities and refused to go. Unfortunately, he was a
carpenter and, by law, could not be made to go against his will. Hours
passed, while another carrier was sought. Declaring that I would not
return to town, I waited on the road with the mule, while Ernst rode
back and forth. As soon as he had left, the beast began to mend; he
coughed, raised his head, and, opening one eye, gravely winked. Taking
his halter and encouraging him to rise, I led him a few yards up
the hill, when he again braced himself and I desisted. There he ate
_zacate_. Presently we took another turn, mounted a little higher up the
hill, where he stopped again. A little later we made another journey,
and again halted. Just then I heard an indian boy of fourteen years
calling from the cliff above me in great excitement, "_Señor, un
animal_" (An animal, sir). Clambering over rocks, I came up to the boy,
with his _machete_ in his hand, standing at the foot of a tree upon the
leafless branches of which was a fine iguana (lizard) two feet or more
in length. Visions of iguana steak, which I had long desired to try,
rose in fancy. The boy was disgusted when he found I had no pistol
with which to shoot his animal, but grunted, "If we but had a cord." I
directed him where to find a cord among our luggage and on his return
he made a slip-noose, cut a long and slender pole to which he tied his
snare, then handing me his _machete_ he raised his pole and tried to
slip the noose over the lizard's head. The iguana gave a leap, and as it
shot by me I struck at it with the _machete_, which hit it and threw it
on the rocks below. However, before we could reach it, it had made good
its escape.

Returning to the mule I found it eating grass contentedly by the
roadside. It was three o'clock in the afternoon when our human beast of
burden finally arrived, took up his burden and was ready to start. Then,
suddenly, I took a new resolve. Before us rose the appalling mass of the
Sierra Madre; to get that mule across it would wear us out in mind
and body; I regretted that he had not died, and determined to have no
further trouble with him. Quickly, we sent back word to Nenton that a
mule and saddle were for sale; the crowd gathered. We demanded fifteen
dollars for the mule, ten for the saddle; and were offered ten and five
respectively. But we declared we would kill the mule and burn the saddle
before we would take less; we triumphed. Our account stood:

  Cost of mule                              $45.00
  Cost of saddle                              6.00
                                            ------
                                             51.00

  Selling price of mule                      15.00
  Selling price of saddle                    10.00
                                            ------
                                            $25.00
                                            ------
  Loss--paid for experience in mules        $26.00



CHAPTER V

AT HUIXQUILUCAN

(1897)


Our serious work was to begin with one of the most conservative and
reserved of Mexican indian populations. If we could do what we planned
to do with the Otomis, we were likely to have but little greater trouble
with any tribe. In ancient times the name of Otomi was synonymous with
stupidity. When an Aztec was particularly stupid or clumsy, his fellows
in derision called him an Otomi. They still are ignorant, suspicious,
and unprogressive.

Huixquilucan, which we had chosen as our field for labor, is situated
on a high ridge within sight of the National Railroad, at a distance
of perhaps a mile and a half from the station of Dos Rios. A crowd of
indian women and children are always at the station when trains pass, to
sell _tortillas, chalupas_, and _pulque_ to passengers; few travellers
from the United States, passing over this road, have failed to notice
the dark and ugly faces of these sellers, and have received their first
impression of the indians of Mexico from seeing them. Our party, three
in number, reached Dos Rios in the morning and began work at the station
with the women who were selling there. Dr. Powell, as our interpreter,
undertook the personal dealings, and our material, as was to be
expected, was chiefly women. When we came to record the names of
our subjects, we found that every woman's first name was Maria, the
differentiation between them being first found in the middle name. They
were little creatures, scarcely larger than well grown girls of eleven
or twelve among ourselves. Some old women, with grey hair and wrinkled
faces who piously kissed our hands when they met us, were among the
smallest. Now and then some young woman or girl was attractive, but
usually their faces were suspicious, sad, and old before their time. The
skin was a rich brown; the eyebrows heavily haired, often meeting above
the nose; the hair grew low upon the forehead, and in young women the
forehead itself was covered with a fine downy black growth. The nose
was flat, broad, and depressed at the roots, while its tip was flat and
wide. The eyes were dark brown and the hair was black and coarse. If we
were to judge the population by the women only, we might call the
Otomis true pygmies. The average stature of 28 subjects was 1,435
millimeters--while Sir William Flower's limit for pygmy peoples is 1,500
millimeters.

[Illustration: OTOMI INDIAN GIRLS; HUIXQUILUCAN]

[Illustration: THE MOON-STONE, AT DOS RIOS STATION]

Many of the women whom we measured and photographed carried babies; the
disposition of the children while the mothers were being examined was
something of a problem. When given to another woman they usually cried
lustily, and so conducted themselves as to distract the attention of
their mothers and interfere seriously with our work. In the crowd of
lookers-on there chanced to be a little girl, surely not more than ten
years old, who seemed to be a born caretaker. Upon her back, supported
by her _ayate_, she carried her own baby brother. We quickly found that
really refractory babies were best committed to her charge. No matter
how loudly they might have been crying beforehand, when transferred to
the arms of this little creature they became instantly quiet. The poor
little thing was kept busily employed the greater part of the afternoon
with the two babies, one upon her back, the other in her arms.

Almost all the women wear the ancient costume, which consists of the
_huipíl, enagua, faja_, and _ayate_. The _huipíl_ is a cotton blanket,
with a slit through which the head passes. On each side of the slit are
bands of patterns embroidered in bright colors. Much of the remaining
surface of the garment may be similarly decorated; sometimes it becomes
one mass of designs. The patterns are usually geometrical figures, but
may be representations of animals, birds, or human beings. They may be
regularly arranged, or jumbled together haphazard. The _enagua_, skirt,
consists of two strips of cloth of different kinds and colors, sewn
together side by side and then wrapped horizontally about the body. The
strips of cloth are native spun, native dyed, and native woven.
The favorite colors are dark blue, brownish purple, or indian red,
horizontally banded with narrow black stripes. The two strips are
usually joined by a line of colored stitching. The _enagua_ is simply
wrapped about the body, sometimes thrown into pleatings in front, and
held in place by a broad cotton belt of bright color, into which are
woven birds, animals, human figures, and geometrical forms. These
belts are called by the Spanish name, _faja_. Both men and women carry
_ayates_. These are square or rectangular blankets made of _ixtli_, the
strong fibre of the maguéy. Like the _enaguas_, they usually consist of
two pieces, side by side, stitched together with some bright color. The
fibre, which is gotten from the leaves partly by maceration, partly by
beating, is spun in a primitive fashion. Almost every woman one meets
upon the road, no matter what burden of babies or goods she carries,
has a hank of the fibre thrown over her shoulder, and keeps her little
spindle whirling, spinning the strong thread as she walks. Her spindle
consists of a slender stick thrust through a whorl of baked pottery.
Such whorls are no longer made, but the ancient ones, called by the
Aztec name _malacates_, are picked up in the fields and reapplied to
their old use. Usually the _ixtli_ thread is left of its original grey
or white color, but sometimes the fibre is dyed, a fine shade of orange
being favored. The _ixtli_ thread is woven into _ayates_, which are used
for carrying burdens. Vegetables, charcoal, babies--anything--are put
into them. Two ends are tied together to hold the burden in place, and
the other two are passed across the breast and tied in front. These
blankets are astonishingly strong and unyielding.

At evening, after a fair day's work, we made our way on foot across the
valley and up the long slope to the summit of the ridge on which lay
Huixquilucan, the official centre of a municipality of 11,000 persons.
Of these, 3,000 live in the village, while the remainder are clustered
together in hamlets like San Bartolito, San Francisco, Agua Bendita, or
are scattered in single-house settlements over the mountains. Of the
11,000 persons, more than three-fourths claim to be full Otomis. There
are no truly poor in the whole town. Every family has its field, its
house, its bit of woodland. All the people still speak the native
tongue, and many speak no other. The town is picturesquely situated upon
the crest and flank of a long, narrow ridge, which is enclosed by a
grand sweeping curve of lofty mountains. The flanks of the enclosed
ridge and the whole slope of the surrounding mountains are occupied by
the little fields of the indians, long narrow patches separated by lines
of _maguéy_ or century-plants. The houses are built of adobe bricks with
thick and solid walls, which are usually plastered on the outside and
tinted white or pink. The roofs are pitched, but with a gentle slope.
They consist of frameworks of poles upon which long narrow shingles are
laid, and pegged in place with wooden pegs which project both above and
below for several inches in a formidable, bristling way. Sometimes the
shingles, instead of being pegged in place, are held by stones, which
in some cases weigh several pounds, and are laid in regular horizontal
lines.

When we were there, great stacks of corn-husks were to be seen in
almost every yard; these were placed on floorings, raised by posts some
distance above the ground to keep them from animals. A long ladder
usually leaned against one side of the stack and a light cross of sticks
stuck into the top of the stack kept off evil influences. Sometimes this
cross was cut in relief on the smooth, carefully trimmed end of the
stack itself. More striking than these stacks, and quite characteristic
of the Otomi country, were the queer corn-bins or granaries called by
the Aztec name _cincalote_. They rose in all directions like great
square columns. The floor of boards was slightly raised from the ground
by stones, and measured some 4 or 5 feet on a side; from its corners
rose 4 poles, sometimes to the height of 20 feet; these were connected
at the top and held firm by ropes. The sides of the bin were built up
of a cobwork of slender staves laid horizontally. The vertical bin thus
formed was filled with ears of corn roofed about with a light thatch or
shingled roof. Later in the season, as the corn was taken from these
bins, the sides would have been removed piecemeal to keep progress with
the diminishing hoard. When the time of planting should be near, the
whole structure but the floor and upright poles would have disappeared.

Next to maize the chief culture among the Otomis is _maguéy_. This forms
division lines between the corn-fields and the village yards, and is
sometimes, though not commonly here, planted in fields. The _maguéy_ is
an agave very close to the century-plant. Manifold are its uses, but to
the Otomi its value is chiefly in two directions. It furnishes _ixtli_
fibre for _ayates_, and it yields _pulque_. For a dozen years
the _maguéy_ plant stores away starchy food in its long, thick,
sharp-pointed leaves. It is the intended nourishment for a great shaft
of flowers. Finally, the flower-bud forms amid the cluster of leaves.
Left to itself the plant now sends all its reserve of food into this
bud, and the great flower-stalk shoots upward at the rate of several
inches daily; then the great pyramid of flowers develops. But man
interferes. The flower-bud is cut out, and a neat, deep cup is fashioned
amid the bases of the cluster of leaves. The sap which should produce
that wonderful growth is poured into this cup. The _pulque_ gatherer,
with his long gourd collecting-tube, and skin carrying-bottle, goes from
plant to plant and gathers the _agua miel_--honey-water. Fermented, it
becomes the whitish, dirty, ropy, sour-tasting, bad-smelling stuff
so dear to the indians. And the Otomi are fond of _pulque_. We were
compelled to do our work in the mornings; in the afternoons everyone was
drunk and limp and useless in the operator's hands.

We slept and ate at the house of the _presidente_, an old _mestizo_
of rather forbidding manners but kindly spirit. Our cases came rather
slowly and a deal of coaxing, argument, and bribes were necessary to
secure them. Here we gave a trifle, a few _centavos_, to each subject.
The policy was bad, and we abandoned it with reference to all subsequent
populations. Naturally the natives were hostile to our work. They
thought that we were measuring them for their coffins; that they would
be forced into the army; that disease would result; that an uncanny
influence was laid upon them; that witchcraft might be worked against
them. After having had a lot of trouble with many of our subjects, we
were surprised one day to have the oldest man of the village, Antonio
Calistro, born in 1813, still so hale and hearty that he works his own
fields, come in for measurement and photographing. He still wears the
old style of dress: a loose jacket with wide sleeves made of dark blue
woolen cloth, gathered around the waist by a closely-woven cotton belt;
short, wide-legged trousers of buckskin. He is the only man left in the
village who wears his hair after the old fashion; that on top of his
head in front was combed together and braided into a little tail, while
that on the sides and back of the head was made into a longer braid.
When we asked him how it was that he was not afraid to undergo our
measurement and photographing, we learned that someone had told him that
the purport of the work was to send information to the Pope in Rome as
to how his Otomi children looked, and from respect for the Holy Father
the old man of eighty years had walked in from his distant farm to be
measured and photographed.

A curious fact in respect to the Otomis resulted from our study. The
men, apparently of pure blood, presented two quite different types.
There are many who are as little as the women; these present almost the
type already given as that of the women, but are a little lighter in
color. The second type is tall, sometimes over 1,700 millimeters. It is
lighter in color, presenting at times a light brownish-yellow shade.
Some indians of this large type have white skins, blotched with
disagreeable red or purple. The eyes of these large men are usually
widely-spaced, and the face appears rounder than in their smaller
brethren. All the Otomis of both types, men and women, have
astonishingly big heads, and many dwarfish individuals would require a
7-1/4 hat.

[Illustration: THE CHURCH; HUIXQUILUCAN]

[Illustration: OTOMI INDIAN; HUIXQUILUCAN]

One night during our stay we had a grand illumination. It was St.
Martin's Eve. During the afternoon the men and boys planted dead trees
in the plaza and streets, and filled the branches with bunches of dry
brush. At dusk we walked up to the crest before the church. All through
the valley the men and boys had been busy, and as darkness settled down,
blaze after blaze sprung forth until every hillside was dotted with
flaming heaps. On every church and farm-house of large size, straight
lines of little bonfires were built along the edges of the roof. There
must have been many hundreds of fires in sight at once. Meanwhile,
all the churches of the little hamlets around clanged their bells
discordantly. Then the church close by us burst into illumination,
and its bells joined in the clangor as we started down the hill. The
villagers were putting torches to the piles, and children were dancing
in the glare, shooting off their little rockets and adding their full
share to the general confusion.

In the olden time Huixquilucan had a bad reputation for highway
robberies. A great hill overlooking the town is called the hill of
crosses, and here a cross by the wayside usually signifies a place of
murder. Many a traveller in the not distant past found his way from here
as best he could to the capital city minus burden and money, minus hat
and shoes, and sometimes minus clothing. They used to say that from
Toluca to the city a man was robbed three times; the first time they
took his money, the second his watch and valuables, the third, his
clothes. We were told that the church here, the chief church of our
Otomi friends, is called "the church of the thieves," and that it was
even lately a favorite resort of _ladrones_, who prayed for blessing
upon their thieving expeditions and for release in case they should
be taken captive. And not so long ago, among the little silver votive
offerings,--eyes, legs, arms, hands,--all given in fulfillment of
promises for the cure of ailing members,--one might see little chains
and manacles, visible evidence that saint or Virgin had kindly released
some fellow, taken in his misdeeds, from a well deserved punishment, in
answer to his pious prayers.

Below the station of Dos Rios a little ravine borders the main valley.
There, within sight of the track on one side of the ravine lies the
stone which long ago "fell from the moon." It is a great boulder, with
flat lower surface, and round upper surface, sufficiently large for a
considerable party to camp on. The earth is washed away somewhat from
below it, and on its under side are rude figures painted in imitation
of suns and circles and symbolic designs. It is said that the indians
throughout the country around respect this rock, making prayers and
offerings to it.

One of Huixquilucan's pretty hamlets is Agua Bendita,--blessed
water,--near the upper, narrowing end of the valley. A dozen or so
houses compose the settlement. Near it, upon a little side gorge, two
lovely springs burst forth from the rock. From them a babbling stream
of sparkling water flows, in which, in the bright sunshine, women wash
clothes, and lay them out on bushes or grassy banks to dry; little naked
children play about while the mothers labor; hither dusky maidens come
to perform their toilets; here women fill their _ollas_ with water; here
_pulque_-gatherers wash and scrape their skin bottles. In the little
tank below, where the water lies so clear that everything is
visible upon its bottom, one may see axolotls creeping. They are
water-salamanders, but they have a strange history. Like frogs, they
pass through a series of changes, and the larval is very different from
the adult form. In some Mexican lakes of genial temperature, the little
creature goes through its full history from the larva to the adult; but
in cold mountain lakes, the adult form is never attained, and the larva
(elsewhere immature) lays eggs that hatch its like.

Our last evening at Huixquilucan, I went out to purchase native
garments. We rode from house to house, and were quite away from the town
in a district where houses were few and far between. It was nearly dusk
and our search must end. We were at the last house on a slope near the
bottom of a valley, on whose opposite slope were but a few houses. The
people were primitive in appearance, dress and language. They could not
understand all we said, but were anxious to please the "_padrecito_,"
whose hand they kissed. Having no clothing to sell us, they tried to
help us procure some. Orders were given to a shy and wild girl, with
deep-set, shining jet-black eyes, raven hair and dark brown skin,
dressed in rags. Stepping to a little out-jutting mass of rock, she
gave a wild cry, looking across the valley to the nearest house on the
opposite slope, fully half a mile away. We could see the people of
the house turn out to hear. Then, in a high, clear voice, strangely
penetrating, but without harshness or a break or pause for breath,
with rising and falling intonation, she cried her message. There was a
moment's pause, and then we saw the answering crier take her place, and
in the same clear, penetrating, unbroken, up-and-down voice, came back
the reply. It was not favorable, and the old man apologized for the
failure, as he kissed the _padrecito's_ hand in parting.



Some weeks later we were again at Huixquilucan, this time to secure some
busts. Having reached the house of the _presidente_, we sent out our
drunken friend Augustin, who had been useful to us during our measuring
experiences, to find subjects. He finally appeared with a man who agreed
to submit to the operation for one _peso_. Everything went well until
the moulds were removed; it is true that in the removal a good deal of
hair was pulled out, but no serious damage was done. When the _peso_
agreed upon was offered, the subject indignantly refused to receive it,
demanding five. I replied that he well understood our agreement: there
was his _peso_; if he cared to take it, good; if not, I would keep it;
but that to pay five _pesos_ was out of the question. He thereupon
grew angry and boisterously demanded the increased sum. Several of his
friends gathered and backed him in his demand. The noise they made
attracted a still greater crowd until at last we were surrounded by
forty or fifty angry Indians. The man continued to demand his five
_pesos_, the other crying, "Pay him five _pesos_." I was firm, declaring
that the man should receive no more than had been promised. Again the
_peso_ was offered, again to be rejected. At that moment some brilliant
genius cried, "If you do not pay five _pesos_ we will break your
moulds." And the cry was caught up by the angry crowd: "Yes, we will
break the moulds unless you pay five _pesos_." At this threat I told my
two companions to stand back out of the way, and then, speaking to him
who had suggested the breaking of the moulds, said, pointing to them,
"Yes, break the moulds." His ardor cooled. Turning to another, I said
to him, "Come, break the moulds." He began to back away. Turning to the
cause of the disturbance, who had joined in the cry about destroying the
moulds, I said to him, "Come, come, we are waiting for you to break the
moulds." No one made a move toward destroying our plaster-work, so I
said, "No, you know quite well you will not break the moulds; if you
did, you know what would happen; I should take you all as prisoners to
Toluca." At that moment, catching sight of the old _presidente_ who was
passing on the road, I clapped my hands and beckoned him. When the old
man came I laid the matter fairly before him, telling him the agreement
that had been made, the time taken for the work, and the fact I had
offered the man the _peso_ promised; that he now demanded five _pesos_,
refusing to take the proffered money. The old man looked a moment at me,
then at the angry indian; then at me, and again at the indian; then,
stepping up to him, he patted him on the back as a father might a
spoiled child, saying, "Come, come, son; don't be a fool; three good
days' wages for an hour's time; take your _peso_ and be gone." We had
feared the incident would cast a damper on our work and hinder other
subjects. Far from it. We were supplied as rapidly as our men could work
at the same price we paid our first subject.




CHAPTER VI

LAKE PATZCUARO

(1897)


Mexico has few large lakes, the largest, Chapala, having an area of
only 1,685 square kilometers. Patzcuaro is much smaller, but far more
picturesque. The form is something like a fat horseshoe; fine hills rise
around it on all sides, behind which are mountain heights, with jagged
outlines; pretty islands dot its waters, and twenty-two villages or
towns of Tarascan indians are situated on its borders. The indians of
these villages rarely use the land roads in going from town to town,
commonly journeying by canoes, of a somewhat peculiar type. These are
"dug outs," made from single tree trunks, and range in size from those
intended for a single hunter to those which will carry ten or twelve
persons. At the stern they are cut almost squarely across; at the bow
they are trimmed to a slope; they are flat-bottomed and considerably
wider at the bottom than above; they are dug out in such fashion that
the walls are thin and almost vertical on the inner side. Buttressing
pieces are left at the bottom, at two or three places, extending across
the canoe and no doubt strengthening the sides; they also serve as
squatting places for the passengers. The prow narrows as well as slopes
upward, and a buttressing piece left in it serves as a foot-rest for the
steersman, who sits in the bow, instead of in the stern. He steers by
means of a long-handled paddle thrust through a loop of wood fastened
to one side of the canoe. The paddles used for propulsion have handles
three or four feet long, with round blades. The paddlers sometimes make
their stroke on but one side of the canoe, sometimes on both. When they
paddle over one side only, the stroke of the oar through the water is
oblique, maintaining a steady course.

[Illustration: SANTA FE DE LA LAGUNA]

In such canoes the Tarascans of the lake villages go from place to
place; in such a canoe, we started one morning before six o'clock, for
Santa Fe de la Laguna. Our force consisted of three persons, an old man
named Felipe, his wife, and a young man. All three had paddles, but only
two really paddled, the third one steering. The sun rose shortly after
we started, and the light effects of early morning on the water and
surrounding mountains were fine. Though we had made an early start, many
had started earlier, and in the first part of our journey we met scores
of canoes, the paddlers of which were on their way to Patzcuaro. It
was a beautiful sight to see six or eight paddlers in some great canoe
keeping exact time in their movements, singing as they went. Sometimes
two canoes were raced, and laughter and excited cries accompanied
the contest. Here and there along the shores we saw little huts of
fishermen, with nets hung out to dry, or groups of men seining or
dropping dip-nets; upon many slopes were little terrace garden spots,
where modest crops were cultivated; here and there were mats lately
finished or heaps of fresh-cut rushes for their fabrication. Five hours
of good paddling brought us to Santa Fe de la Laguna, just opposite the
far more famous Tzintzuntzan, and but a little distance from the much
larger town, Quiroga. Santa Fe is quite a town, stretching for a
considerable distance along a terrace, but little elevated above the
water level. The houses are built of rather large, dark-brown, adobe
bricks; the walls are usually white plastered; the roofs of all the
houses are tiled, and the supporting rafters of the roof extend out far
beyond the front wall of the house, so that the passer on the footpath
is sheltered against rain and the noonday sun. The outer ends of these
rafters are cut to give an ornamental effect. All the houses are
surrounded by fruit trees--orange, lemon, lime, _ahuacate_ and
_chirimoya_. Each little property is surrounded by a stone wall of some
height; the gate-way through this, giving entrance to the yard, is
surmounted by a pretty little double-pitched roofing of thatch.

A crowd of pure indians had gathered at the landing, by the time we were
unloaded. Forty or fifty men and women of medium stature, dark-brown
skin and broad, expressionless faces, watched our every movement with
curiosity, but none was ready to assist us in carrying our luggage to
the _curato_. Taking it ourselves, as best we could, we found a boy to
direct us and made our way to the house. The _cura_, had gone to Quiroga
and his suspicious household would not receive us until his return,
although permitting us to leave our goods. Going to the _plaza_, we
succeeded in getting bread and cheese at a _tienda_, and after eating
loitered until, at half-past-two, the Padre Ponce made his appearance.
We showed him our letters and asked his interest and aid. He at
once made us at home in his house, summoned the officials, read the
governor's letter aloud to them, and told them it was their duty to
assist us in every way. We at once began our work, and before nightfall
had measured and photographed a number of cases.

The next morning, Saturday, all started merrily. After breakfast,
however, Padre Ponce left us, going to Quiroga for celebrating
Christmas. The moment he was gone, work slackened, and it was with
difficulty that we could procure subjects. Early the next morning the
_padre_ appeared to say mass, after which he stirred up the people and
we were again at work. But as soon as he left for Quiroga, once more,
the interest diminished. Finally, as no one came and the officials had
disappeared, we started out upon a tour of investigation. We found the
whole town drunk; the _juez_, the chief of police, the _mayores_, all
were too drunk for measurement. We experimented upon two or three
subjects, but soon gave up in despair.

[Illustration: LOS VIEJOS; SANTA FE DE LA LAGUNA]

Padre Ponce need not have gone to Quiroga for Christmas celebrations; we
had them also. For example, we had _Los Viejos_. One afternoon, we saw a
band of half-a-dozen persons singing in the street. All but one of them
were men or boys dressed in long robes of brilliant red, purple or
green, which were buttoned down the front; their heads were covered with
white cloth, over which were fitted little masks of clay. The last one
in the company was a woman, dressed quite in the usual fashion, but
barefoot and with her _rebozo_ covering her face and a man's _sombrero_
on her head. Two of the party had guitars of local manufacture. This
company strolled through the streets, singing and dancing; some of the
dancing was clog-dance, some the _jarabe_, a man and woman taking part.
Having noticed this group, we saw that the whole town seemed in movement
toward the _corral_ connected with the shrine behind the church.
Following with the crowd, we found the _corral_ already filled with
people. The men were seated on benches or squatting against the walls;
women and children were sitting on the ground. We noticed that all the
women brought burdens, which proved to be pots full of hot _atole_,
bundles of large _tortillas_, trays heaped high with _tamales_, or sacks
full of little cups. Various bands of dancers made their way around,
delighting the crowd with their performances. The group we had already
seen was the least interesting. Those that really represented _los
viejos_ (the old men) were the best. These wore large, comic, wooden
masks, many of which showed signs of long-continued use; one represented
a long, warty, bearded face and was painted purple; others were painted
red or brown, but most of them were of the natural color of the wood;
great wigs of corn-husk or of matting were worn over the back of the
head; the clothing was ragged and dirty, and in some cases was really
of ancient style; some wore roughly made garments of the skin of the
_tigre_. Each band had its leader, and each tried to outdo the others in
the oddity of performance, vigor of dancing and coarseness of jest. Much
fun and laughter were caused by their antics. Meantime, boys and young
women were busied as waiters. Cups of steaming _atole_, delicious
_tortillas_, hot _tamales_ were distributed until everyone, including
the strangers, were supplied. No one ate until the whole company had
been served, when the town officials set the example and all fell to
feasting. Dancing, music, laughter and fun followed, and were kept up
until some time after nightfall.

On the second day after Christmas a strolling band of _pastores_, from
San Geronimo, passed from house to house singing their Christmas songs.
The company consisted of two or three musicians, a carrier--who was an
indian boy about fifteen years old--and half a dozen other youngsters,
wearing new palm hats and carrying long staves ending above in a loop
from which streamed strips of brilliantly colored tissue paper. The
carrier bore a cushion, upon which was stretched a figure of the infant
Christ. At each house, he passed before the spectators, allowing them
to kiss the figure and to deposit gifts of flowers or of money for the
little church at San Geronimo; the music then struck up, the leader
began to sing, and the little shepherds (_pastores_) marched around and
around singing in chorus.

We lost quite two days on account of the drunkenness of the town. When
it was past, by a vigorous indulgence in wheedling and threatening,
we got the work again under way, and were just finishing with our
one-hundredth man, when Padre Ponce returned for good and all. We had
nearly starved during his absence; his old housekeeper had done her best
with the poor materials which we were able to secure, but the best was
bad. With Padre Ponce came another priest, Padre Torres of Patzcuaro,
who used to be located at Santa Fe and was much loved by the natives.
With the assistance of the two Padres we were able to secure and deal
with our female subjects in less than a day, and were ready to bid adieu
to the _padrecitos_ and leave for Tzintzuntzan.

[Illustration: CHURCHYARD AND BELLS; TZINTZUNTZAN]

[Illustration: VIEW AT JANICHO; LAKE PATZCUARO]

All the tourist world that goes to Patzcuaro visits Tzintzuntzan to see
the Titian. Padre Ponce was anxious to have us see the famous picture
and photograph it. It was late when we reached the town, which consists
in large part of _mestizos_ and indians who speak little but native
Tarascan. We found the _cura_ was not in town, but were taken to the
_curato_; arrived there, we discovered that the good man had taken his
keys with him. We arranged, with some difficulty, for something to eat,
and, after supper, were shown into an open room, with an unfinished
roof, without a door, and with no hint of bed. Here we shared a lumber
pile with two or three young men and suffered frightfully from cold all
night. We were up early, as sleep was impossible, and filled our time as
best we could, until it was light enough to photograph the picture.

We had our letter from Padre Ponce to the _cura_, in which he
recommended the priest to have us photograph the painting. This letter
and the governor's letter we had shown the town officials the night
before, telling them that we should make the picture. They replied that
they could not give permission to do so during the _padre's_ absence.
After we had breakfasted, and the light had become sufficient, we made
our way to the old church, in front of which are some beautifully
gnarled and irregular ancient olive trees, amid which the old bells are
quaintly hung. Entering the church, we soon found the Titian, a descent
from the cross. The figures are boldly painted and skillfully grouped;
the action and lighting concentrate upon the figure of the Christ. Padre
Ponce had told us that the proper place from which to photograph was the
pulpit, and he was right. The sacristan was looking on with doubt: when
he saw us making preparations for the picture, he hurried to us and said
it was against all rule for anyone to take a photograph when the _cura_
was not present. We told him our time was short; that we must return
to Patzcuaro that day to arrange our farther journey; we showed the
governor's order and Padre Ponce's letter, but all in vain. We must wait
until the _cura_ came. With this I put some _centavos_ in his hand and
told him I was certain his duties called him outside the church and that
we would not detain him; that we should stay awhile to gaze upon
the picture, which deserved close and pious examination. He at once
withdrew, locking the door behind him. The instrument was quickly placed
in the pulpit and the picture taken. Curiously, the sacristal duties
ended just as we were ready to leave the church and the door opened as
if we had said "Open sesame."

By ten-thirty we had secured a canoe and boatmen, two young and vigorous
pure-blood indians. Though a wind was blowing squarely against us,
we made good time. We stopped at the picturesque fishing-village of
Janicho, on its rock island. Its houses cluster on a little terrace near
the bottom of the hill, which rises behind it as a fine background.
Steps of rock lead up the stony slope from the water's edge to the
houses. In every yard mattings are laid, upon which little white fish
are drying. As they walk through the streets or stand talking together,
the men are ever tatting at nets; long lines of net-cord are reeled out
for many yards along the wayside; hundreds of feet of seines are hung
out in the sun to dry. The houses, with their pretty red tiling, are
irregularly clustered along narrow winding streets. The people are
purely indian, and wear the characteristic dress.

[Illustration: TARASCAN FISHERMEN; JANICHO]

No town in all the region makes so much use of the _tsupakua_, or
spear-thrower, a wooden stick cut to fit the hand and support the shaft
of a spear or long dart, the end of which rests against a peg near the
tip of the thrower. By means of this instrument, the long, light, darts
of cane with iron points are thrown more directly and forcibly than by
the hand alone. These spears are used in hunting ducks. Anciently a
spear-throwing stick was widely used through Mexico; to-day it lingers
in few places, the best known of which is here on Lake Patzcuaro.




CHAPTER VII

TO URUAPAN BEFORE THE RAILROAD

(1898)


We easily arranged at Patzcuaro to leave for Uruapan the next morning.
Although delayed beyond our proposed hour of starting, we were off at
six. It was early enough, indeed, for the morning air was cold; heavy
frost coated the leaves and grass and lay upon the soil; in spite of our
heavy blankets, wrapped closely about us, we shivered as we rode along
upon our horses.

The ride, however, was a lovely one. At first we seemed to leave the
lake behind us; mounting for some time we reached a summit from which it
again broke upon our view; descending, we constantly caught glimpses
of it, with its sinuous shores, its lovely mountain backgrounds, its
islands, and its pretty indian towns. Finally, we again left it and rose
into a magnificent mountain region, covered chiefly with pines. Passing
through Ajuno, which lies upon a steep slope, we overtook a party of
police, mounted on horses, taking a group of prisoners to Uruapan.
At Escondidas, itself a miserable village, we were impressed by the
mercantile spirit of these indians. In all these villages the houses are
constructed of heavy logs or timbers, closely and neatly joined; the
roofs are shingled with long and narrow shingles, and are abruptly
four-sloped. At every house there was something for sale--food, drink,
or _cigarros_. All these houses were built close to the edge of the
road, and in the middle of the front was a little square window, in
which the goods were shown. When no trade was solicited, these windows
were closed with solid wooden shutters. Not only, however, was every
house a store, but on the highway between towns, we passed many places
where, beneath brush shelters, women offered fruit, food, or drink for
sale. Usually several such shelters would be near together, and the
venders had gay times, chatting, laughing and singing. Such houses and
roadside-selling are common through the whole Tarascan region.

[Illustration: TARASCAN WOMEN; JANICHO]

Soon after passing Escondidas, we began a descent, which seemed
absolutely endless. Time after time we thought we had reached the
bottom, only to find that we were on a terrace from which another
drop led us still further down. On and on into this bottomless pit we
descended to Ziracuaretaro, a striking town. Banana plantings surrounded
the houses; orange-trees covered with their golden spheres reared
themselves to the unusual height of thirty feet or more; _maméys_, with
their strange nut-brown fruits, and coffee-trees, loaded to breaking,
were abundant. Amid this luxuriant mass of tropical vegetation,
houses were almost invisible until we were directly in front of them.
Notwithstanding the enormous descent we had made, it appeared to us,
when we crossed the stream and began the ascent, that we had not really
been to the bottom of the great valley. For a long distance we mounted
through a district of sugar-canes; then passed a little settlement
of rude huts spread out over a reddish space; then, by a gentle but
circuitous ascent, to a rugged trail which brought us to the summit
and the edge of the great slope to Uruapan. At the further side of the
valley and to our left, in a mass of green, we saw smoke rising from the
factories of Uruapan. Crossing one of the characteristic bridges of the
district, with a pretty shingled roof--four-sloped like those of the
houses--over it, and with benches at the sides, where passers can
sit and rest, while looking at the dashing, gurgling, foaming, water
below,--we followed a level road between blackberries, wild roses, and
other shrubs, to Uruapan.

No town in Mexico is more beautiful. Perpetual spring reigns. Although
several thousand feet above sea level, it is so situated, with reference
to mountain slopes and funnel valleys, that it has a genial climate,
where plants nourish which are usually found only at lower altitudes.
Its fruits and "the finest coffee in the world" have rendered the town
long famous. The houses, bowered in dense groves of green, are of the
picturesque Tarascan type. The four-sloped roofs, now covered with long,
narrow shingles, now with the dull red tiles, suggest the prettiest
pictures in Japanese towns. The streets are clean. Through the centre
of the town dashes a mountain stream of clearest water, with the hue of
sapphire. This pretty stream furnishes power for mills, factories and
lighting-plant, and is crossed several times by picturesque, roofed
bridges, in the shelter of which one may spend hours in watching the
dashing water, foaming cascades, curious potholes worn in the rocky
banks, and the passing Indians. Most Mexican towns are contented with
one _plaza_; this one has three, following each other closely, separated
only by single lines of narrow buildings. They are neatly planted, and
supplied with bandstand and monuments. The town is electric-lighted and
several hotels had been lately put in readiness to receive the crowd of
visitors expected with the completion of the railroad, a matter of a few
months later.

The _prefecto_ of Uruapan and _jefe politico_ of the district is the
son-in-law of Governor Mercado, and to him we bore a special letter from
his father-in-law. The old gentleman had been insistent that we should
return by Capacuaro and Cheran, indian towns. He said that at the former
we should find a _mogote_ (mound or heap of stones and dirt) which every
traveler should see, while at the latter Lumholtz had secured some
skulls of exceptional interest, and that we should do the same. As our
time was short, we asked the _prefecto_ to send a messenger to Cheran
with orders to dig some skulls and have them ready against the time of
our arrival. That official expressed delight in doing our bidding, and
we saw the messenger summoned and the order placed in his hands, with
full direction as to its delivery.

[Illustration: INDIAN SPEAR-THROWER; LAKE PATZCUARO]

Meantime, there were objects of interest for us in Uruapan itself. The
town is famous for its lacquer work, made with _aje_, like that of
Chiapa. Gourds are ornamented, fruit-forms are colored after nature,
bowls made from fruit shells are elaborately decorated, all quite like
the Chiapa work. What is characteristic of Uruapan are the placques and
table-tops of wood, decorated with floral designs in brilliant colors,
upon a background of dark-green, pink, blue, yellow, or black. This art
is in the hands of a few persons, some pure indians. Visiting them, we
found the wooden placques and table-tops are brought from one of the
mountain villages of the Tarascans; they are first covered thickly with
the background color; upon this the pattern is pencilled and then cut
out in the lacquered surface; the color, mixed with oil and _aje_, as
with other substances, is then applied with the finger-tips to fill the
cut patterns; the lustre is then brought out by careful rubbing. The
work is striking, and is prized throughout the Republic.

In the same quarter of the town, where this local industry is carried
on, are many goitrous persons. The disease seems to be confined to the
one district, but there perhaps one-half the people have it, most of
them to but a slight degree. Occasionally the swelling is notable, and
in the families affected we find, as usual, deaf-mutism.

On the morning of New Year's day, we left for Capacuaro and Cheran. As
we rode out from the city, we were more than ever impressed with
its verdant beauty and picturesqueness. The road to Capacuaro was
unexpectedly level and good, and we reached the town, which is purely
indian, by nine o'clock. Women, almost without exception, wore the
native dress. Goitres were common, and some, among the men, were really
enormous. Riding through the long town, we drew up before the house
of the _jefe de policia_ (chief of police), and summoned the village
officials. On their appearance we found that all but the _jefe_ himself,
were drunk, the _secretario_ in particular being almost useless. When we
handed him the letter from the _prefecto_ he was quite unable to make
aught of its grandiloquence. Having looked it through in a dazed way, he
declared that we were "gringos," "like the one who was here last year"
(presumably Lumholtz). With some severity, I told him he did wrong to
call visitors to the town by the opprobrious name of _gringos_, and
ordered him to read the letter and make known its contents to the
_jefe_. He made another effort and then helplessly said--"Who can make
anything of such a letter? It is in their _idioma_." Sternly pointing to
the signature I said--"The letter is from your _prefecto_ and written
in his _idioma_; you see the _firma_." Helplessly shaking his head, he
said, "Oh, yes, the _firma_ is that of Silvano Martinez, but the letter
is in your _idioma_." Seeing that he was of no earthly use, I took the
letter from him, and, turning to the crowd which had gathered, rebuked
them for their drunkenness, asserting that it was disgraceful for a
whole town government to be intoxicated at the same time; that some one
ought always to be sober enough to attend to business; that we had been
insulted by being called _gringos_, and that our order had not been read
to them because the _secretario_ was too drunk to do his business; that
there were two ways of dealing with such town governments, and that,
unless something was done promptly, we would see how they would like
to go back with us to Uruapan, whence we had come. The _jefe_, who was
really not drunk, thereupon begged to know what we desired, and the
drunken _secretario_ was somewhat frightened; the remainder of the
official body expressed a wish to do only what we wanted. I then read
the _prefecto's_ letter in my best manner and added that we had come to
Capacuaro only at the desire of the governor himself, to visit their
_mogote_, and that we ought to wait no longer for guidance. At once all
was commotion and bustle. Bidding the disgraced _secretario_ go to his
house and stay there, the _jefe de policia_ summoned the rest of his
company about him, seized his staff of office, buckled on his great
_machete_, and took the lead; three policemen, with their _machetes_,
followed; two others, unarmed, followed, and, with this escort, we
started to hunt our ruins on the mountain. They proved to be two heaps
of rubbish, from constructions of stone. Had we had time for serious
investigation they might have proved of interest; as it was, we spent
but a few minutes in their inspection, and then, bidding our drunken
escort good-bye, we continued our journey. We had planned to go first to
Nehuatzen, thence to Parracho, and, after visiting Cheran, back again to
Nehuatzen. At the _mogote_, however, we were already near the Parracho
highway and at once struck into it. Our journey led through forests,
chiefly of pine, with open glades, at intervals; on many of the trees
we saw great bunches of a parasite that bore honeysuckle-like, yellow
flowers. Parracho we found lying at the base of mountains at the very
end of a long stretch of level. It is an unattractive town, our only
reason for visiting which was to see something of the manufacture of its
famous _rebozos_, which differ from others in the wide border of white
and azure blue silk, which is attached to a netted foundation to form
decorative patterns, representing birds and animals, or geometric
figures. The work is curious, and I am inclined to see in it a surviving
imitation of the ancient feather-work for which the ancient Tarascans
were famous. From Parracho our road led through Aranza to Cheran. Just
beyond Aranza we passed over the astonishing wash from some summer
torrent. During the wet season a single rain may fill the gorges, sheet
the mountain slopes with water, tear great trees from their hold, break
off mighty rock fragments and carry them onward, like wooden blocks,
with hundreds of tons of finer gravel. At this season there was not a
sign of water; not a trickling thread was visible in any of the gorges;
but from their now dried mouths there spread fan-shaped deposits many
rods in length and breadth, containing quantities of blocks of rock that
measured from four to ten feet in diameter, trunks of trees up to
two feet in thickness, all in the greatest confusion and at places
completely covering our road to a depth of several feet. We could trace
the tailing out of the fans of deposit, from their thicker, heavier part
at the base of the torrent, to their margin on the plain; from heavy
rock masses weighing tons, through smaller masses, into sand and gravel.

[Illustration: HOUSES AT URUAPAN]

The way to Cheran seemed endless, but at last we reached that
interesting, great indian town, when the afternoon was nearly spent.
It was the New Year, and the street celebration of _los negritos_ (the
negroes--or the little negroes) was in progress. As we rode through the
streets, however, we attracted much attention and the performance was
neglected. We rode directly to the town-house, entered and asked for the
_presidente_. He was slow in appearing and long before he arrived scores
of people were crowding around the doors and windows to see us and know
our business. When he arrived, we greeted him in a most friendly way and
told him that we had come for the skulls. He looked aghast. "The skulls,
what skulls, sir?" "The skulls the _prefecto_ ordered you to dig for
us." By this time, the crowd outside, which had increased with every
minute, showed uneasiness. The _presidente_ declared he knew nothing of
any skulls. After we had explained the matter more fully, he assured us
that no messenger had come from the _prefecto_; this, which at first we
thought to be a lie, was no doubt true. He was plainly scared. He begged
us to be careful lest the people, who were ignorant, should overhear us.
He told us that a year before Don Carlos (Lumholtz) had been there; that
he, too, had wanted skulls, and that the town officials had given him
permission to dig some from the graveyard; that this caused so much
excitement and so many threats that the permission had to be revoked. He
feared the people had already heard our wishes and were even then in an
ugly mood--a thing which seemed likely from an inspection of the faces
in the doorway and windows. He said, however, that Don Carlos afterward
secured some skulls from an ancient burial-place not distant from the
village, and, if we pleased to wait in Cheran through the morrow, as it
was now too late, five in the evening, to do aught, he would gladly show
us the burial place of the ancients, where no doubt abundant skulls
could be secured. Not yet certain that the man was telling truth, we
spoke to him severely, saying that we should report him to the governor
for not having obeyed the order of the _prefecto_. At the same time we
demanded an official document signed by himself as _presidente_, and by
the _secretario_, and duly sealed, stating that no messenger had come
to him from the _prefecto_. To our surprise this document was promptly
furnished, good evidence that the _prefecto_ had played us false, only
pretending to despatch the messenger whom we had seen started.

With profuse apologies and expressions of regret from the officials, we
left Cheran, hurrying on to Nehuatzen for the night. Our chief reason
for doing so was that everyone who knew of our intention to visit Cheran
had shaken their heads, remarking "Ah! there the nights are always
cold." Certainly, if it is colder there than at Nehuatzen, we would
prefer the frigid zone outright. Nehuatzen is famous as the town where
the canoes for Lake Patzcuaro are made. We had difficulty in securing
food and a place to sleep. The room in which we were expected to slumber
was hung with an extensive wardrobe of female garments. These we added
to the blankets we carried with us, but suffered all night long from the
penetrating cold. The two indian boys, who accompanied us as guides and
carriers, slept in the corridor outside our door and when day broke
they were so cramped and numbed and stiff with cold, that they lighted
matches and thrust their cold hands into the flames, before they could
move their finger-joints. We had planned to leave at five, but it was
too cold to ride until the sun should be an hour high, so finally
we left at seven. There was heavy frost on everything; curved frost
crystals protruded from the soil, and we broke ice a half inch thick in
water-troughs, unfinished canoes, by the roadside.

For ten hours we rode, without even stopping for lunch, through Sabina
and Pichataro, San Juan Tumbio and Ajuno, back to comfortable Patzcuaro.




CHAPTER VIII

TLAXCALA

(1898)


We have always loved the State of Tlaxcala and its quaint little capital
city of the same name. For more than a dozen years its governor has been
Prospero Cahuantzi, a pure-blood indian, whose native language is Aztec.
He is a large, well built man, with full face and little black eyes that
are sunken deeply into the flesh. He is a man of some force and energy.
The population of his little state, the most densely populated in the
Republic, is almost entirely indian, and it at once fears, hates, and
respects him. Having made several previous visits to the city, and
having always been graciously received by Don Prospero, we thought it
hardly necessary to carry with us our usual letters of recommendation
from the Federal authorities.

Just before we were ready to visit Tlaxcala, while we were in the City
of Mexico, we learned that Governor Cahuantzi was there, on business.
We thought it best to call upon him, explaining our proposed work and
asking his interest. So to the Hotel Sanz, where he always stops when in
the Capital, we went. We called twice without finding him and our third
call appeared to be as unsuccessful, but just as we were leaving,
resolved not to try again, we met the governor alighting from his
carriage at the door. Intercepting him, we asked a moment's interview,
which was granted, though with ill grace. It was plain that he was sadly
out of humor. Apologizing to him for our intrusion at so late an hour
and so immediately after his return to his hotel, we told him of our
projected visit, described the measurements, photographs and other data
we were gathering, reminding him that two years earlier he had heard our
plans and promised his assistance. In a somewhat gentler mood, he told
us we might visit Tlaxcala and that he would aid us, but he must have a
little time "for preparing the soil;" that all his people were indians,
and that our work would necessarily be considered with suspicion. Upon
our asking him how much time would be needed "to prepare the soil," we
received no definite reply. He, himself, planned to leave for home the
following morning, Friday; so we suggested that we would go first to
Puebla, and reach his capital on Monday. He plainly considered this
somewhat hasty, but grunted his assent, and we left him, somewhat
surprised at his unusual gruffness and lack of interest.

Early Monday morning, we appeared upon the scene. After breakfast we
betook ourselves to the state palace; the governor was already in
his reception room, but, instead of being ushered promptly into his
presence, as had always happened in our previous visits, we were left
to sit two hours in the outer office. Finally, on our displaying some
impatience, a message was again taken to his Excellency, and a few
minutes later, the _jefe politico_ of the district bustled past us into
the carefully guarded reception chamber. He did not long remain there,
and, on coming out into the office where we were waiting, brusquely
asked, "Are you the persons who want to measure heads? Well, they are
waiting for you out there in the corridor; why don't you go to work?"
Seizing our instruments, blanks and camera, we hurried to the corridor
and began operations. Three or four were measured in quick succession;
then, when I cried, "_Otro_" (another), the _jefe's_ eyes began
to bulge. That one measured, and another called for, he seemed
half-distracted; desperation seized him; as he faintly repeated "_Otro_"
he looked wildly around in search of subjects and it was plain that
he had not begun to realize what demands we planned to make upon him.
Before the noonday rest, we had measured fourteen subjects, but the
_jefe's_ personal interest had ceased, and he had completely disappeared
from the scene of action. When we returned at three o'clock to resume
work, only the guards were there to help us. One and another subject,
invited to be measured, showed no interest in advancing science. So, Mr.
Wilson went to see the _jefe_ in his office; the old man was furious and
actually ran out, with the statement that he had plenty of his own work
to do. When this scene had been reported, it in no wise increased the
readiness of subjects to undergo the operation. Finding that we were
accomplishing nothing, we decided upon desperate measures. Going to the
office of the governor's private secretary, we insisted on his telling
the chief executive that we were losing time, that no one was assisting
us, that subjects were obdurate and stubborn, and that something must
be promptly done. We waited but a few minutes. The fiat went forth; the
_jefe politico_ appeared, puffing and blowing, and wildly excited. He
was closeted a moment with the governor. On his reappearance, we greeted
him cordially, and told him that the people present would not be
measured and indicated one particularly stubborn subject, who was dealt
with, promptly, and without gloves. The _jefe_ remained long enough to
reestablish order, though, under his breath, he muttered curses and
threats, and expressed his feeling to any official, who chanced to pass.
He said the business was driving him clean crazy; that he was doing what
he did, not for love of us, but from respect to the orders of his chief.
Having set the ball to rolling, he left us and there were no more
delays.

When the labor of the day was over, we stopped at the _jefe's_ office
to inform him that we should continue work the following day, and
emphasized the fact that we wished one hundred cases, and, as yet, had
less than half that number. We suggested that systematic arrangements
would not only facilitate _our_ labor, but would lessen his own task.
The result was evident; on the following day delegations, ordered by the
_jefe_, and consisting of from six to a dozen persons each, began to
come in from the outlying villages. This made our work easy, indeed. In
one respect, Tlaxcala differs from all the other Mexican states with
which we are acquainted. Most of the people live in very little towns,
which cluster around the larger places. Thus, around the capital city,
Tlaxcala, there are some seventeen of these small pueblos.

Working at the palace, we had secured almost no women for measurement.
Asking the advice of the _cura_, in the matter, he recommended that we
should go to some one of the neighboring indian villages; that he would
give us a letter to the _juez_ and that, thus, we would secure our
subjects easily. He suggested San Estevan and wrote the promised letter
to the _juez_ of that village. San Estevan is a pretty village, near the
summit of some low gray hills of tufa, behind which rises a background
of higher hills of the same material. The slope is terraced for the
houses, which are all built of adobe bricks and have flat roofs. The
"three part house," of the ancient Aztec type--god-house, kitchen, and
granary--is better shown in this state than almost any other part of the
Republic. The granary, or _cuezcomate_, is particularly characteristic.
It is built of clay, in the form of a great vase or urn, open at the
top, above which is built a little thatch to shed rain and to protect
the contents. The _cuezcomate_ is often ten feet high. One or more of
them is found in connection with every house.

[Illustration: HOUSE AND CUEZCOMATE; LOS REYES]

The _juez_ lived in a comfortable house of two rooms, half of which is
used at present for the boy's school, of which his son is teacher. He
received us graciously, and was pleased to receive a letter from the
_padre_, though he stated it was not a government order and carried no
actual authority; that if the women cared to be measured, well and good,
but if not, no force could be employed. The appearance of the camera,
however, interested him; plainly, he desired to have a family group
photographed; he hinted at this so broadly that, taking him to one side,
I whispered that it was, of course, impossible to take family groups
for everyone, but if we secured the twenty-five women without delay,
notwithstanding the fact that we had no more authoritative document than
a _cura's_ letter, the group should be taken. The effect was immediate.
The police were summoned and sent through the village to bring in women
for measurement and naught was said about their right of refusal.

When, toward evening, we returned from San Estevan, tired but quite
satisfied with the day's work, we found a delegation of more than a
dozen men waiting for us in the _plaza_. We did not need so large a
number to complete our work, and it was nearly dark; we would gladly
have dismissed them and run our chances of securing others the next
day. But neither they nor the _jefe politico_ were to be bluffed. So we
marched into the corridor, lighted candles and got to work. When those
lacking to make our full hundred had been measured, we proposed to let
the others go, but they were not to be thus got rid of, and insisted
on being measured as such were the orders of the governor. We were not
through until long after dark, and we were ravenously hungry.

This delegation was one of the most attractive, clean, and intelligent
with whom we had dealt. It was from Los Reyes, a little town at a
distance of about half a league. It was headed by the village _juez_.
After we had completed the measuring, they stood, shifting their
_sombreros_ from hand to hand and plainly wishing to say something
further; finally, mustering courage, the _juez_ and _secretario_
advanced and stated that it was the town's desire to have a picture
taken of the church, with the saint and people of the village before
the door. Would it be possible for us to make the picture and on what
conditions? We replied that time was precious and that the trip, if it
involved a loss of time, was quite impossible; but if they supplied
carriers to take the instruments to and from their village, and had all
ready before seven in the morning, we would make it. Delighted, the
officials then inquired what we would wish for breakfast; we answered
French bread and red wine. When we looked out of our window, a little
before seven, we saw our party ready and waiting. The _juez_, the
_secretario_, and two others made the company. A basket, carefully
carried by one, was suspected to contain our breakfast. The burdens were
shouldered, and we started out in the cool, fresh morning air, for the
village, where we arrived in about half an hour. It is a town of less
than one hundred people, situated upon a little mountain, hidden, to one
looking from Tlaxcala, by intervening hills. We were received in the
town-house, which is a portion of the old church building; mass was in
progress, and we told those who received us, that we had no wish to
interfere with their religious duties; that those who wished, might go
to service. Most went, but two or three were left as a committee of
entertainment. They took us to a view-point from which there was a
magnificent valley to be seen. And, here, we found one of the finest
echoes possible. Rockets were exploded and the noise was echoed
from hill to hill around the great amphitheatre; it was like a long
reverberation of thunder, but it sank and swelled, sank and swelled,
repeatedly, until it seemed that it would never stop. Service over, the
procession formed, and the _santito_ was brought out before the church.
The townspeople were arranged and the view taken. We were then invited
in to breakfast, which was fine. There were plenty of French rolls and
the red wine brought from town, and a great heap of _enchiladas_, fresh
lettuce and eggs. After eating, we expressed a wish to hear the village
drum, a great _huehuetl_. This musical instrument is a reminder of the
olden times; it is not found everywhere, but a number of indian towns
possess one, which is kept to be played on festal occasions. The one as
Los Reyes was some three feet or so in height, a hollow cylinder of wood
with a membrane stretched across the upper end; it was painted blue.
A chair of state was placed for me in the little _patio_. After I was
seated the three musicians took their places,--one played the great
_huehuetl_, a second beat the _tambour_ or ordinary drum, the third
performed upon the _chirimiya_, a shrill wooden pipe. It was the first
time we had really heard a _huehuetl_. The player used two sticks with
padded heads, beating with great force in excellent time. The booming of
the instruments was audible to a great distance. The whole village had
gathered, and in a momentary lull in the music, I told the people of the
ancient use of the _huehuetl_; that Bernal Diaz, in his history of the
Conquest of Mexico, tells us what feelings filled the hearts of the
Spaniards, when they heard the great _huehuetl_, in the temple of the
ancient city of Tenochtitlan; then it was chiefly beaten when human
victims were being sacrificed to the gods, and the soldiers knew that
some fellow-countryman, or a Tlaxcalan ally, was dying. Never have I
given a public lecture, that was listened to with more attention or
greater appreciation.

[Illustration: THE VILLAGE AND ITS SAINT; LOS REYES]

[Illustration: CUEZCOMATE, OR GRANARY; SAN NICOLAS PANOTLA]

The day we measured women at San Estevan, we found an indian mason
there at work, whom we had measured at Tlaxcala, and with whom, on one
occasion, we had some conversation. He was disgusted at the conduct of
the women while undergoing measurement, and at evening said, "Sir, it is
a pity for you to waste your time in a town like this; these people are
little better than animals; in my town there is great enthusiasm over
your work, and by going there you might do your will and find people
with minds, not beasts." There was really no work left to be done, but
we desired to see a town where there was great enthusiasm over our
investigations. Hence, we arranged with Ignacio Cempoalteca to visit his
pueblo of San Nicolas Panotla. Accordingly, on the afternoon of the day
when we visited Los Reyes, we went across the valley to Panotla, Ignacio
and an older brother, Jose, met us at the hotel, where--excusing
himself on account of the mason-work at San Estevan, which could not
wait--Ignacio left us, assuring us that Jose would do everything for us.
This was quite true, and we found Panotla all that it had been painted.

Jose led us directly to their home. The walls were well built of stone
set in adobe mortar; they were smoothly coated with a snowy plaster; the
supporting walls of the little terrace on which the house was built were
also well constructed and it was with some pride that Jose told us that
the work had all been done by himself and Ignacio. Jose is married and
has a wife and three children; Ignacio is a bachelor; a younger
brother, Carmen, is also unmarried--he has taught himself free-hand and
architectural drawing and showed us examples of his work. The old father
and mother own the home and received us hospitably. Jose guided us
through the village, where we photographed whatever took our fancy,
entered houses, examined all that interested us, and really found
enthusiasm for our work everywhere. Before the churchyard stands a
quaint old cross of stone, dated 1728, upon which are represented all
the symbols of Christ's passion; a long inscription in Aztec is cut into
the base. Close by the church, we visited the boy's school, where
we found some forty dark-skinned, black-eyed, youngsters, whose
mother-speech is Aztec. We proposed to photograph them, so they were
grouped outside the schoolhouse, but not until a pair of national flags
and the portrait of the governor, Prospero Cahuantzi, were fixed upon
the background wall.

[Illustration: THE ANCIENT DRUM--HUEHUETL; LOS REYES]

[Illustration: FIESTA AT CHOLULA; DAY OF SAN ANTONIO ABAD]

After the picture had been taken, we told the _maestro_ we would like
to hear the boys sing. It was plain he did not consider singing their
strong forte, but our wishes were met. One boy, standing, wielded the
baton, beating time. When the singing was done with, the _maestro_
said he would like us to see the class in arithmetic, if we had time.
Accordingly fourteen or fifteen boys, from ten to fourteen years of
age, stepped out upon the dirt floor; we were told that they could
work examples in percentage, interest, bonds and mortgages, discount,
alligation--which did we prefer? Truth to say, it was so long since we
had studied alligation, that we had really forgotten what it was, and
so expressed a preference for it. "Very good, sir," said the _maestro_.
"Will you not propound a problem?" From this quandary we escaped
by stating that we could not think of doing so; that we had every
confidence in his fairness and that he had better give it, as the boys
were more accustomed to him. We have visited many classes of the same
grade and age in the United States and have never seen one that would
surpass them in quickness, accuracy, and clearness of explanation. After
our trip through San Nicolas Panotla, Jose took us back to his house,
where, meantime, a, dinner had been made ready.



Weeks later, we learned the probable reason of the governor's gruffness,
which was in such marked contrast to his previous treatment, that it
puzzled us considerably. At about the time of our visit, a number of
wealthy _hacienderos,_ of the State of Tlaxcala, had been arrested for
counterfeiting silver money. They were men whose _maguéy_ fields brought
them enormous incomes; one would suppose their legitimate sources of
wealth would have contented them! But such was not the case, and they
had gone into wholesale counterfeiting. The fraudulent coin had long
been known and diligent efforts were made to find the criminals, efforts
at last crowned with success. The guilt was fixed without a doubt, the
parties were arrested, tried, and sentenced. Every attempt was made to
secure their pardon, in vain. Governor Cahuantzi is an old friend of
President Diaz, believed to have great influence with him. Men of
wealth, interested in the release and pardon of the criminals, promised
Cahuantzi ten thousand dollars in case of his successful intercession
with the President in the matter. These details, not generally known, we
received from a source respectable and trustworthy, and we believe them
true. Anxious to gain the reward, and probably feeling certain of his
influence with Diaz, the old man made the journey to Mexico. It was the
very time when we called upon him. When we had our interview, he had
just seen the President, and it is hinted that, not only did Don
Porfirio refuse to pardon the counterfeiters, but showed a dangerous
inclination to investigate the reason of the indian governor's
intervention. No wonder that the old man was gruff and surly to his
visitors, after the loss of ten thousand dollars which he had looked
upon as certain, and with uncertainty as to the final outcome of his
unlucky business.

[Illustration: TLAXCALAN SCHOOLBOYS; SAN NICOLAS PANOTLA]




CHAPTER IX

ZAMORA AND THE ONCE PUEBLOS

(1898)


The morning train from Guadalajara brought us to Negrete at about two
in the afternoon, and we had soon mounted to the top of the clumsy old
coach, which was dragged by six horses. The road to Zamora runs through
a rich farming district. For the greater part of the distance the road
is level and passes amidst great _haciendas_. The corn crop had been
abundant and carts were constantly coming and going from and to the
fields. These carts were rectangular, with side walls some four or five
feet in height, made of corn-stalks set close together and upright.
All were drawn by oxen. Most of the carts had a light cross, made of
corn-stalks, set at the front end, to protect the load from adverse
influences. Great numbers of men, dressed in leather trousers drawn over
their cotton drawers, in single file lined past us, with great
baskets full of corn strapped on their backs. Here and there, in the
corn-fields, groups of such men were cutting the ripened ears from the
plants.

We now and then met groups of men bringing great timbers from the
mountains fifty or sixty miles away. These timbers were many feet in
length and trimmed to a foot square; from four to six made a load. The
cart upon which they were carried consisted of a pair of wheels and an
axle; one end of the timbers was attached to this, and the other was
fastened to the yoke of oxen. It was rare that we met with a single
timber cart, as four or five usually went together. The drivers who were
in charge of them were pure Tarascans.

For a considerable distance a fine slope rose to our left, strewn
with loose rock masses, and covered with a growth which was chiefly
_pitahaya_, some of the plants attaining the size of grown trees. Many
of them presented an appearance which we had not seen elsewhere--the
tips and upper part of the upright branches being as white as if
intentionally whitewashed; the simple explanation of this strange
appearance was that the branches in question had served as buzzards'
roosts. Our journey of twenty-five miles was made with two relays of
horses. After perhaps three hours' riding, we reached the Zamora River,
which we followed for some distance. From the time when we began to
follow this stream, our road was almost a dead level. At many places
along the river, we saw a peculiar style of irrigation machine, a great
wooden scoop or spoon with long handle swung between supporting poles.
The instrument was worked by a single man and scooped up water from the
river, throwing it upon the higher land and into canals which carried it
through the fields. Sometimes two of these scoops were supported side by
side upon a single frame, and were worked in unison by two persons. At
the only town of any consequence upon the road, we found numbers of
interesting hot springs which might really be called geysers. They were
scattered at intervals over the flat mud plain for a distance of a half
mile or more. We could see jets of steam of more or less vigor rising
from a score or so at a time. At some of these the water really boiled,
and we saw it bubbling and tossing to a height of a foot or so above the
margin of the spring. Groups of women, laughing and talking or singing
snatches of songs, were washing clothes at several of these hot springs,
and the garments were spread out over the bushes and trees to dry. At
one little geyser, bubbling up in the very middle of the road, as we
passed we saw a boy pelting the water with stones and mud in order to
make it mad and see it spout. The plain was sprinkled here and there
with thickets of acacia and mesquite. In the early evening the breeze
came loaded with the fragrance of the golden balls of the acacia. There
was bright moonlight, and we could see the country, even after sunset.
The latter portion of the journey was through low swampy ground, much of
the time over causeways.

There are few towns in central Mexico, not on a railroad, to be compared
with Zamora. It is large, clean, well built, and presents an air of
unusual comfort. The main _plaza_ is large, and finely planted with
palms, orange-trees, roses and flowering shrubs. The orange-trees
were in full bloom and the air was heavy with their odor. The town is
electric-lighted and has a good system of waterworks. The great church,
with two slender towers, fills up the whole of one side of the _plaza_,
while the other three are occupied with business houses. The amount of
life in the town at night surprised us. Even after ten o'clock, many
were on the streets, and the _dulce_ stands, _cafe_ tables and _loto_
hall were doing a large business. Few towns in Mexico are so completely
under priestly influence, but few again appear as prosperous,
progressive, and well-behaved. Two distinct types of houses
predominate, the older and the newer. The old style house is such as
is characteristic of many other Tarascan towns, but is here more
picturesquely developed than in most places. The low-sloped,
heavily-tiled roof projects far over the street and is supported below
by projecting timbers, which are trimmed at the end to give a pleasing
finish. So far do these roofs project over the sidewalk that the water
is thrown into the middle of the street and the footpath below is well
sheltered. The new style of house, which is required by the recent laws,
has an almost flat roof which ends squarely at the sidewalk, and from
which long tin pipes project to throw the water into the streets. Here,
as so frequently, the old fashion is at once more comfortable and more
artistic.

We spent the morning in efforts to secure horses, but finally secured a
man, Don Nabor, who agreed to accompany us with five animals. The party
consisted of myself, my interpreter, my plaster-worker, and Don Nabor.
Each of us was mounted, and a fifth horse carried the plaster and other
luggage. Leaving at noon, we took the long road past Jacona, a little
town famous for its fruit. Having passed there, after a long journey, we
looked down from the height almost directly upon the place whence we
had started. The scene was of unusual beauty--the wide-spreading, flat
valley, with its fields of wheat and clustered trees, presented a mass
of rich green coloring, in the midst of which stood the pretty
city. After a long climb, we descended into a valley in which lies
Tangancicuaro, a large town with a _plaza_ full of fine, great trees,
where we ate at a quaint little _meson_. From here we pushed on to
Chilchota, the head town of the Once Pueblos. From the crest, just above
the town, we looked down upon a level valley, green with new wheat.
Entering the town a little after five, we rode up to the _meson_ of
San Francisco, near the little _plaza_. It was with difficulty that we
secured a room containing a single bed, with mattress, and two mats.
There was nothing at all to eat at the _meson_, but on strolling out to
the _plaza_ we found some Indian women selling _atole_ and bread.
With this we were compelled to be content until morning, paying seven
_centavos_ for our four suppers. Hunting up the _presidente_ of the
town, we found him sitting, with his court, on benches in the _plaza_.
He was a pleasant, rather dressy young man, but at once took interest in
our work, and told us that Huancito was the best town for our bust work,
as the population there is primitive and purely indian.

The Once Pueblos--eleven towns--are famous through this portion of
the Republic. Several of them are purely indian; Chilchota is largely
_mestizo_. The towns lie in a long line on the side of the little
valley, at the foot of the bordering hills. Between some, spaces of
considerable extent intervene; others are so close together that, in
riding through them, one sees no line of separation. All consist of
adobe houses, of a rich brown color, roofed with tiles. Some of the
churches are of considerable size, but are also built of brown adobe.
The Once Pueblos are famous for their pottery, and in some of them
almost every house has its little kiln or oven. Fruit is cultivated,
and the houses are frequently embowered in trees; in many yards are
bee-hives. The valley is abundantly watered with little streams of
perfect clearness.

The _presidente_ had insisted that the school teacher at Huancito would
prove invaluable. He gave us a letter of introduction to him, and an
order upon the authorities. We were at once given possession of the
schoolhouse for our work, and I started out to find a subject. Almost
the first person encountered was a young man of twenty-three years, who
presented the pure Tarascan type. I at once told him that he was the
very man we wanted; that we planned to make a picture of him in plaster;
at the same time, I described the method of work, and while talking,
holding him by the arm, drew him over toward the schoolhouse. Almost
before he realized it, we were ready for the task. As he removed his
shirt and prepared for the operation of oiling and the application of
the plaster, he looked somewhat sombre. After seeing the work well
begun, I stepped outside and sat in the portico until it should be
done. The first piece of plaster had been applied, the subject had been
turned, and was lying ready for the second application. At this moment,
an indian maiden, with dishevelled hair, came rapidly running across
the _plaza_ toward the schoolhouse. Rushing past me, she entered the
school-room, and seeing the subject lying on the floor clasped her hands
and cried, "Florencito! My Florencito, why wait here? Stay not with
these cruel men; flee with me!" Seizing him by the hand, they dislodged
the plaster from his shoulders and started for the door, but catching
sight of me, cast a glance around, saw the open window, and leaping
through it, dashed off home. Up to this time the local authorities had
shown an interest in our work and a willingness to aid. Calling the
chief of police, I bade him and the teacher seek our subject and bring
him back for the completion of the operation. "But, sir," said the chief
of police, "suppose he does not wish to come?" "Why are you chief of
police?" was my reply. The teacher, who is himself a _mestizo_ and
despises the poor indians in his charge, was loud in his complaints. He
vigorously declared that what these people needed was a second Cortez,
that they had never been properly conquered, and, with the chief of
police, he started out for the new conquest. After an hour or more of
waiting, we saw them reappear with Florencito. But humanity is ever
loath to admit defeat. As he passed us, he grumbled that he saw no good
reason for such a fuss, as he had simply gone to eat his breakfast.

Having completed the work with this subject, we suggested that others
should be brought, but met with a prompt refusal. The judge and the
chief of police both declared that the people did not wish to have busts
made, and that they would bring no more. In vain I suggested that a
meeting of the townspeople should be called together in order that
we might address them and explain the purpose of our visit. It was
impossible to move the officials. Finally I told the judge that I should
send a mounted messenger, who had accompanied us from the _presidente_,
to Chilchota to report the failure of the town officials to do their
duty. He promptly declared that he was going to Chilchota himself to
see the _presidente_ in the matter. Sure enough, when my messenger was
ready, he had made his preparations, and the two departed together to
present the different sides of the question. Neither returned until
we were through for the day. During the afternoon we secured two more
subjects, and by nightfall had three good busts as the result of the
day's labor. Then we faced new difficulties. Carriers could not be had
for love nor money. What was wanted were three men, one to carry each
bust back to Chilchota, where we planned to spend the night. Finally,
after loss of time and temper, each of us shouldered a bust and rode
back on horseback with our trophies.

We soon discovered that the eleven towns were in a ferment of
excitement. Most dreadful tales were rife with regard to us and our
work. Some asserted that we cut off heads and hung them up to dry; that
in drying, they turned white. Others reported that with knives, made for
the purpose, we sliced off the ears of unfortunate indians, close to
their heads. Still others reported that we had a frightful instrument
which was fitted into the nose, and by means of which we tore strips
of flesh and skin from the face of the subject. It was said, and quite
likely truly, that they were arming in all the houses; that _machetes_,
guns, pistols, and clubs were laid convenient to hand.

The next day was Sunday, and we made no attempt to continue work. It was
market-day, and indians from all the pueblos had gathered in the _plaza_
to buy and sell. All were pure in blood and spoke Tarascan. Fruits,
sugar-cane, corn, _tortillas, atole_, coffee, were the chief staples.
Stocks of pottery were attractively displayed. Two characteristic wares
are both pretty. Most typical, perhaps, is the black and green ware
which is made into bowls, plates, mugs, and pitchers. The clay of which
it is baked is local and dark brown in color; a white earth applied to
this, on baking, gives rise to a rich metallic green glaze. Designs are
painted upon this in black. This black and green ware goes far and
wide, and everywhere is recognized as coming from the Once Pueblos. At
Huancito and some other pueblos, they make little _canteras_ with a red
ground and decorative designs in black and white. One thing, offered in
the market, was new to us, dishes full of _ucuares_--long, irregular,
swollen, dry, brown objects that looked like stewed worms with thick and
fleshy skins. One _centavo_ bought far more than any person would be
likely to eat; even after having been stewed in sugar, they were bitter,
and had a foul smell that was most unpleasant; they appeared to be roots
or tubers of some plant.

Naturally, our work had attracted much attention in Chilchota. No one
of the many dozen visitors who came to see us at the _meson_ was so
profoundly impressed as a boy of fourteen, named Ignacio. Appearing
early in the morning, he remained with us almost all the hours of the
twenty-four. Thinking that the effect on the villagers might be good,
I decided to ride in the afternoon through the pueblos. When the
_presidente_ discovered my intention, he insisted upon supplying a
mounted and armed escort, and at the same time gave me a general letter
to the eleven towns, in which strict orders were given that my wishes
should be respected, and dire threats made in case any one should show
me aught but the greatest consideration. Ignacio accompanied me. Riding
through the towns, we passed far enough beyond Huancito to see the most
remote of the eleven pueblos. They are separated somewhat from the rest,
and lie rather higher up in a bend of the valley. Everywhere I took some
pains to talk with the people, to visit their houses, to examine their
pottery, their bees and their growing crops, as I felt that such an
interest would help us in our work. On our return, Ignacio told me that
he should stay to dinner with us, as he much preferred to do so to going
home. He also told me that it would be a great pity to lose the theatre,
which was to take place that evening. Accordingly, after dinner was
over, we went to see the play. I expected that at that season of the
year it would be a _pastorela_--and in fact it had been so announced.
It was, however, a true drama, and one of the
funniest--unintentionally--imaginable. The stage was set in the middle
of the _patio_ of a large house. The boy insisted that we would be late,
and so we went at 7:15, although the bill announced the hour as 8. The
spectators brought their own chairs with them. Except a few youngsters,
no one arrived before 9, and the curtain at last rose at a quarter
before eleven. Among the last to arrive was the _presidente_ and his
party. He was resplendent in a cape of crimson velvet with brilliant
yellow facings. Hardly was his party seated, when we were politely
invited to sit with them. Three acts were rendered, and while waiting
for the fourth, one of the party declared that there would be eleven
more. This gave the _presidente_ an opportunity to relate an experience
of his own. On one occasion, after watching a play from seven in the
evening until four in the morning, the stage broke down; the management
appeared and apologized regarding the accident, particularly, since some
twenty acts were still to have been rendered. Our play, however, turned
out to have had but eight acts, and one of these was omitted. When it
should have been given, the whole troupe appeared upon the platform;
the manager announced the reason why the act would not be given, but
promised that on the following Sunday, in another play, an extra act
should be inserted, in order that all might receive the full value of
their money. Our play ended at one, when the audience dispersed.

Needing but two more subjects, we looked about Chilchota the next day,
hoping to find indian

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