Guatemala

By Wednesday we had captured two mules; and these, in addition to our mare,—all being well shod,—enabled us to leave Coban accompanied by a capital mozo de cargo, who carried my photographic outfit. Santiago rode one mule, I the other; and Frank had the mare, who was a little wild at first, but soon became very tame and attached to us by kind treatment. After trying to get away for three days, we started early in the morning, and nearly forgot to look at the barometer, which was my constant companion; but after we were in the saddle the little dial was consulted, and the needle indicated an elevation of forty-four hundred feet. No barometer was needed to mark the elevation of our spirits on getting on the road again. As far as Santa Cruz we retraced our steps. Our mozo kept up with us, carrying our photographic and cooking utensils easily. And now this little town, in the early morning, was far more attractive than when, wet and hungry, we came to it before. On this visit there was more to eat, and from a tree by the wayside we bought twenty-five oranges for three cents, and also some good bananas. Our breakfast was very satisfactory, although eaten in a dirty house full of filthy children. At two we started on a good road for San Cristobal, where we arrived in an hour and a half. This little town, of some four thousand inhabitants, is surrounded by hills of great beauty; but the Laguna is an insignificant body of water. As there is no posada, we rode into the Plaza, and had a capital room assigned us in what was once a monastery,—now confiscated to public uses. Our comida was obtained at the house of an aged señora to whom the polite comandante conducted us. We found that Thursday and Sunday were the principal market-days, that the town-clock chimed the quarters, that there were unworked mines of silver and lead close at hand, and that the maguey grew abundantly there. We also watched the process by which the rotted leaves are macerated and washed in the brook which flows through the town, and we saw the resulting pita spun into cords for hammock-weaving.

The priests’ kitchen was roofless; but the great cooking-range was intact, being built of brick, with perhaps a dozen pot-holes of graduated sizes,—the largest being cut from the corners of four tiles, the smaller ones from the edges of two. Besides this range, which occupied the middle of the kitchen, there were two large cooking-benches.

The road to our next stopping-place was remarkably good, and the scenery very fine,—the road winding along the side of a mountain and overlooking deep valleys in which the night-clouds still lingered. By the wayside we saw a cascade of calcareous water, which petrified twigs and leaves in its reach. By eleven o’clock we rode into a sugar-plantation belonging to President Barrios, now in the charge of an old schoolmate of his, Juan Prado. There both sugar and coffee were cultivated, and much fine imported stock kept. It was but one of the many fincas belonging to the President, where he has endeavored to improve the agricultural standard of his country and the native stock as well. The cane was of the ribbon variety, and of fair quality; but the mill was simply a vertical twenty-inch iron roll-mill turned by four oxen. There was but one open kettle, with no clarifier; and the inspissated syrup was run into wooden moulds and cooled into very dark hemispherical blocks (panela),—a form of sugar much in demand among the Indios.

Señor Prado received us most hospitably, and set before us bananas, anonas, and limas, or sweet lemons; then brought us large glasses of a warm liquid made from rice and sugar,—not at all to our taste, although a favorite drink of the mozos. The buildings at the President’s finca were neither pleasant nor convenient; but a large roof, substantially framed, was being walled in with hewn pine-planks three inches thick, each plank representing an entire tree. In this building men were grating off the juicy pulp of the coffee-berry in rude machines; after this pulping the berries are washed, and spread in the sun to dry.

We here learned that we could not cross the Chixoy (pronounced chisoy) River that afternoon, as the wire suspension-bridge had been swept away the last year, and the man whose duty it was to haul travellers across on ropes would not be there so late in the day; we were consequently obliged to yield to the importunities of our host and stay over night at Primavera. To entertain us, in the afternoon Señor Prado took us to a mound which the new roadway had just grazed; and together we dug out fragments of fine pottery and bits of human bones much decayed,—the lower third of a left femur and a fragment of a pelvis being the most distinctly human. Some earthen vessels had been found here and sent to the Museo Nacional in Guatemala City. The bones were mingled with charcoal and ochre, and often cemented together like lime concretions or fulgurites.

We each had a tumbler of warm milk as a “stirrup-cup” when we said our adios to our kind host in the morning, and soon after six we were on the road again. Here, as so often again in the republic, we found that the road-bed was undergoing active repair. The primitive method of removing large rocks and ledges greatly interested us. Fires are kept up on and around these obstructions; when thoroughly heated, these are left to cool, or the cooling is hastened by water. In either case the hammerers have easy work.

The narrower road led among pine-forests, where many of the trees had been girdled and were slowly decaying,—the comajen being unknown at this elevation. Men were cutting timber for the President’s house and for a new bridge. A mortise is cut in the end of each log, to which the drag-ropes are fastened. We passed a pleasant village in the valley below us on our left, and after about nine miles of poor road we came to a rapid descent of twenty-two hundred feet, so steep that we were obliged to lead our mules almost to the bank of the Chixoy, where the pier on the side nearest us had been undermined in the last flood. The path ended on a narrow rock shelf, where was fastened a rude timber frame, from which two small and well-worn ropes stretched nearly two hundred feet to the remaining pier on the farther bank. A hundred feet below was the Chixoy, foaming over its rocky bed. This we might see to the best advantage; for one by one we sat in a sling hung from a rickety traveller, and, launching from the cliff, slid rapidly down the slack ropes, and after sliding back at the middle, were hauled up on to the remaining pier. From this structure we descended a rough ladder to the shore, which was sandy and strewed with bowlders and other remains of the action of higher waters. Dizzy as our own passage was, it was safe enough compared to the crossing of our animals. By the help of Indios, we stretched a rope across, and finally swam all our mules safely. Santiago and the bridge-keeper swam splendidly in the rapid current, and the latter was a fine muscular, lean specimen of manhood. Frank and I swam in as far as we dared, and landed the soaked and frightened animals. The bath was cool, and for the first time we had no thought of alligators. While I photographed the bridge, Frank went to the hamlet of Jocote to get eggs and tortillas, and Santiago boiled our coffee. Beautiful butterflies were hovering over the rounded pumice-stones strewed along the banks; and on a rock were fine Achimenes, the Dorstenia (which resembles botanically a fig turned inside out), and a wild Martynia.

Starting again in the early afternoon, we found the way led up and down through the valley, until we were seven hundred feet above the river, which in one place quite disappeared beneath the limestone ledges, to reappear some distance beyond. On either side the steep slopes were covered with coarse grass; and there were many small, compact aloes, with broad leaves and dried flower-stems here and there. Among the rocks were maguey-plants and a few palms,—these last seemed quite out of place in this high, dry country. Under the pine-trees the sod was green, and in the small lateral valleys clear brooks improved the pasturage; and here at the head of each larger gulch we found the deserted camps of the mozos de cargo.

After many turns we came at six o’clock to the village of Chicaman, just as the rain began to fall. This hamlet is on the north side of broken hills, and overlooks the Chixoy valley,—here of great depth, but narrow and winding. We found a picturesque little house, where we slung our hammocks in the best room, eating our huevos and tortillas on a shrine sacred to the black “Lord of Esquipulas.” This shrine is usual in houses far from any church; and here it was embowered in leaves, flowers, and fruit,—among the latter citrons of a large size and the showy yellow fruit of a solanum. We were nearly four thousand feet above the sea, and the night was cool,—a comfortable ending to a day altogether too short to hold properly all the fine weather, beautiful and changing scenery, and delightful journeying crowded into its twelve bright hours.

Before the sun had melted the clouds in the valley below us, we were on our horses and slowly climbing a steep ascent of eight hundred feet. I had photographed the house, and, turning the camera on its pivot, obtained a view of the cloudy valley below: these views are before the reader now. A league brought us to another Santa Cruz,—a village pleasantly situated, and about the size of Chicaman, consisting of perhaps ten houses. There we saw by the roadside some fine oranges; but when Frank rode up to the house with his “¡Buenos dias, señora! ¿Tiene usted naranjas?” he was met by “No háy” (there are none). That phrase we heard altogether too frequently on our journey. In this case it simply meant that the señora had no oranges in the house; but she added that we might for a medio pick as many as we wanted! We tried the several trees, and filled a pillow-case with the fine fruit,—half a bushel for five cents!

We had little need of guides, for the camino real had few branches between towns; but soon after leaving Santa Cruz we found a branch on our left which puzzled us a little, as our map gave no indication of its existence. But we kept on almost a league, riding through a pine-forest on a nearly level road,—which proved to be the right one, although the choice was guess-work. Grass grew beneath these noble trees, and herds pastured in this park-like region. It was most interesting to see the acorns inserted by the birds in the pine-bark, precisely as I had often seen them in the forests of Nevada and California; but with all my watching I could not catch the birds at work. The acorns that I dug out, although frequently dry and apparently abandoned, were free from worms. The common species of pine (Pinus macrophylla) had “needles” fifteen and a half inches long; and the Indios were gathering them to strew the floors of the churches,—a more fragrant carpet than the rushes of our ancestors. We frequently came across artificial mounds, which, according to Santiago, “were where houses had been.” At ten o’clock we halted at a little village which we were told was Uspantán (our wretched mozo Santiago, who pretended to be guide, but knew no more than we about the road, led us into this mistake); so we unsaddled and waited for almuerzo, with little to amuse us except two turkey-cocks, one white, the other dark, inseparable companions, who followed us wherever we went, and at last were driven nearly wild by their attempts to converse with us. Not until two o’clock did we arrive at the true Uspantán, and then very unexpectedly; for seeing some women at a spring washing, in a wild place where no houses were visible, we turned a low ridge, and found ourselves in the midst of a considerable Indian town. The church, which we did not enter, had huge buttresses at the apse,—doubtless a precaution against earthquakes. We saw a great deal of pottery, and anona-trees were on all sides; but the full-grown fruit was not ripe. We felt so provoked at our waste of time at the first village (whose true name we never learned) that we did not care to stop here, but rode out of the town through a deep artificial ravine. San Miguel Uspantán has some nine hundred inhabitants, who weave cotton from the lowlands and wool from their numerous flocks; and it is from the mines near by that all the silver was obtained for the vessels of the church,—so says tradition. Ruined walls and broken aqueducts attest the former importance of the place under the Quiché rule.

The road became a mere trail until we came to Pericon,—a village of two hundred inhabitants, whose only industry is wool-dyeing; and from this we climbed the pine-clad hills to a height of over seven thousand feet, where we came suddenly upon a fine view of Cunen, directly west, but several leagues away, across a valley twelve hundred feet deep. I wanted a photograph; but the sun was in our faces, we could not spare the time, the day was almost done, and we had a difficult descent before us. Although we did not delay, it was long after dark when we rode into Cunen and found the Plaza, where we were assigned a good room in a confiscated monastery or church building. We had a mahogany bench fifteen feet long and sixteen inches wide for our bed, and a good table and several chairs abundantly furnished our apartment. We had our own candles and coffee; but no other food was to be had except some ears of green corn which we had picked by the way for our animals, but which we were fain to eat ourselves when Santiago had scorched them by the embers of the mozos’ fires in the Plaza. Although the corridor was full of mozos who were to pass the night here, there was no noise whatever. We closed our door at six; and as soon as our notes were made, fell asleep. The poor Indios had no politics to quarrel over, and we had the satisfaction of a day well spent; so there was peace and harmony beneath our roof of tiles.

Every day the vegetation changed, and we might have constructed an itinerary of floral landmarks; to-day it was a fine pink dahlia far surpassing in vigor of growth and blossom any of the cultivated varieties. In such a climate, however, this plant did not provide for hibernation in its tuberous roots, of which it had none. Acres of fragrant Stevia perfumed the air, while Bouvardias and bright Compositæ brushed against us on either side of the narrow pathway.

Twelve hours of solid rest were not too much; and while in the early dawn our bestias were being saddled, I strolled into the church, which is much smaller than its ruined predecessor at its side. In Central America the roofless walls of ancient churches usually, if not always, enclose a campo santo, and here the early Cunenans slept their last sleep among the crumbling relics of their work. In the modern church were two large mermaids of the genuine Japanese type, carved as supporters to the altar.

In the cold, misty morning we started without coffee, and at once began to climb a long ascent; for Cunen seems to be built on a platform on the mountain side. On our left was the finest waterfall we had yet seen, and on the banks were red violets. The summit of this pass was nearly seven thousand feet, and a sudden turn on a sharp ridge brought us to another region and a different climate. The transition was astonishing, for only a few rods behind we had left the rainy season. Before us was a vast valley bounded by forest-clad mountains and grassy buttresses; but near and far no sign of human habitation. The path we were on was the only token of man’s presence, and that looked more like the dry bed of a mountain torrent than a public road. Broad-leaved agaves were very common, some crowned with golden blossoms on immense stems, some dead after flowering, still others wantonly hacked by the passer-by,—so we thought, in our ignorance, until the too-frequent mutilation of the tough stems showed a labor that could not be purposeless; and then we remembered that these “century plants” flower but once, after years of growth exhausting their entire substance in that supreme effort, and leaving a withered stem and shrivelled leaves, to be swept down the hillside by the next storm. Foiled in its attempt to flower by the decapitating machete of the mozo, the plant lives on for a longer period, furnishing fibre and drink from its leaves. Anona-trees grew at the very summit of the pass, although we were assured that frosts sometimes occurred. Oaks of two species were abundant, and laurels were in blossom. A rancho built by the roadside, a sad travesty of the Dâk Bungalows of India, gave us at least a chance to boil our coffee.

A long and rough descent brought us to a pine-forest, whence at an elevation of six thousand feet we again looked down upon the valley of the Chixoy. Among the pines and oaks I photographed the view. The little white-housed town of Sacapulas on the hillside above the right bank of the light-green river which did not half fill its bed; the cultivated fields around; far in the distance the volcanic cone of Tajumulco,—the first we had seen, a token that we had left the limestone mountains of the Atlantic, and were looking on the fire-fountains of the Pacific coast,—all these and so much more in this grand view before us. We hardly noted the contour, the lines, the masses,—all that we could trust to the ivory plate that should carry it away; but the vivid colors in that clear atmosphere, the marvellous tints of forest, sky, and river, no photographic art could carry away, and we must enjoy it now by ourselves. The town was five miles away, and three thousand feet below us; and the descent was very difficult, owing to the sharp bits of quartz in the path. In the valley we came upon the huge cylindrical cacti (Cereus) used in fencing. Jocote-trees were abundant, but the small yellow fruit decidedly inferior. Sugar-cane grew to some extent in gardens, but fruits and vegetables were scarce. On the trees and fences hung a light-blue convolvulus,—the most attractive color I ever saw; and this with a smaller white one brought the number of the “morning-glories” we had found so far to ten species.

Women were bathing in a spring near the road; the men seem never to bathe in public. Over the river was a bridge of six piers with simple hewn logs laid between them, no plank or rail of any kind, although the bridge was high and the current, even in ordinary stages of the water, very strong. As our bestias did not hesitate, we of course crossed with them. A short distance up stream were two brick and stone arches of a more ancient bridge extending from the town side. Several piers of the bridge we were crossing had fallen; but the masonry was good, and they generally held well together, forming bowlder-like masses, on which new piers had been built: in one case this process had been repeated. No doubt the bridge will soon break down again; and two wire cables are stretched from cliff to cliff to provide transit in case of accident. We went up a steep paved street to the Plaza, where Señor Placido Estada, the comandante, assigned us quarters in the cabildo, and exerted himself to find us a boarding-place. Whether the climate was favorable, I know not; but we were always very hungry when we were where food could be got: where it was wanting we did not care for it. Here we did full justice to the señora’s cinnamon-flavored chocolate whipped to a froth.

The church was small, and, like that of Cunen, built at the right of an older and much more extensive edifice now shattered by earthquakes and used only as a burial-place. We climbed the bell-tower and found one bell with the date 1683, another with that of 1773; all were bound to the supporting crossbeams by raw-hide thongs. The chief ornament of the Plaza was an ancient Ceiba-tree (Eriodendron) of immense size and traditionary antiquity. Below the terrace of the Plaza was a court, in which a fountain of odd design furnished water for the town. Animals were fed here over the gravestones that paved the court, and Frank remarked that in an earthquake country people chose stable ground for their graves. Our photographing attracted such a crowd that we walked away to the ruined bridge. Originally this was nine feet wide and about two hundred and fifty feet long. Its age we could not learn; but a large sand-box tree (Hura crepitans) seven and a half feet in circumference had grown up in the very midst of the paved approach, tearing up the stone floor with its slow, irresistible power, and another large tree of the fig family was persistently fingering the cracks in the ancient wall. The tiles used in the arches were thin like those in old Roman structures, and the mortar was generally harder than the terra-cotta. Frank sketched the bridge, and we followed in thought the river until it became the Rio de la Pasion, then as the Usumacinta (the ancient Rio de los Lacandones) flowing through the richest land and most genial climate, by the ruins of the ancient cities of the earliest men, and among the villages of the unconquered tribes to the shores of that Bay of Campeachy where Votan gave his laws to the children of the forest.

Even in this retired spot we became an attraction to the unemployed on this Sunday afternoon; and we slowly sauntered back to the cabildo, measuring on our way the trunk of a dead ceiba-tree forty feet in circumference above the buttresses. A game of ball was going on under the tree in the Plaza. Wooden balls five inches in diameter, not very round, were shoved about with paddles. In the evening two young men, at the request of the comandante, played on the flute and guitar for us a number of Spanish airs.

In all these towns the carcél, or prison, is simply a room in the cabildo with grated windows and door, and separate rooms are often, but not always, provided for women. We saw but few occupants in the prisons of the towns we passed through.

We made exceedingly comfortable beds of the public documents in the register’s office, and I must confess to reading one of these marriage-records, which, as usual, was entered with great particularity, filling a folio page. Comfortable as this “marriage bed” was, we were in the saddle the next morning at five o’clock; and leaving our adios for the kind comandante, followed the river bank for some distance in the mist. Not half a league from the town we came to a ruined church of considerable size, evidently shattered by earthquakes. Our path led directly through a campo santo, and even over the graves, which were usually covered with tiles crossed and edged with white paint.

We crossed the dry bed of a river,—certainly at some seasons difficult to ford,—and came upon a good level path extending along the river side for a mile; and then by a sudden turn we climbed out of the valley up a steep hill of decomposing rock, coming to a grassy plain on the top. There we met Indios loaded with pottery,—some with huge cántaras of red clay so large that two made a load; others with twelve fifteen-inch spherical pots, all of good workmanship.[13] The water by the roadside was all whitish, and not inviting. The highest part of the pass was 6,250 feet; only a few hundred feet below it we found a beautiful liliaceous plant, and some of the mozos we passed carried superb clusters of a purple orchid which we afterwards found parasitic on trees. Another valley and another steep gravelly slope to nearly eight thousand feet, and then we had a view over a vast extent of mountainous country. No lake or river relieved the thirsty landscape, though rain-clouds hung on the horizon and dropped their showers in the far west. Corn was in tassel; and where we rested at noon on a high plateau, 7,825 feet, we found it in milk. There we saw the maguey used as a hedge-plant,—and a very impervious fence it made. From this high land there was a gradual descent towards the south. Far away to the left we saw the church of San Pedro, surrounded by its little adobe village, and soon we caught a glimpse of the still-distant Santa Cruz del Quiché, high enough, but seemingly in a valley, for mountains like the hills about Jerusalem guarded it on every side. The soil near the road was very thin, and covered what seemed to be indurated tufa. Deep pools of water were formed in this hard substance.

As we came at last, after a hard day’s ride, into the uninteresting town, we found the streets all carefully named, as Avenida de Barrios, salida por Mejico (Barrios Street, the way to Mexico),—which was as useful as it would be to put a sign on the corner of Broadway, “Cortland Street, the way to Philadelphia.” All the inhabitants seemed to be in the Plaza, listening to a band and watching some fair acrobats who tumbled on mats and swung on a horizontal bar. After waiting some time before the locked doors of the Hotel del Centro, the proprietor came home and let us in. Tough meat, frijoles, bread, and tolerable chocolate were all we could get; and the vile dogs were even more troublesome than usual. Our beds were made up in the dining-room, and we had pillows and sheets again,—the only good things this posada afforded.

The morning was overcast; but Frank and I walked to the campo santo, nearly a mile from town. High walls of adobe surrounded it, and a locked gate kept us out; but we peered in over the heaps of white lilies (Lilium candidum) and marigolds offered at the entrance, and saw masonry tombs of very bizarre forms, some painted white, others red and blue, or blue and white, in checks. The meadows all around were intersected by wide ditches which we had no little trouble in crossing, the bare legs of the natives rendering bridges quite unnecessary. When one was beyond our jump we threw in the washing-stones on the bank until we had enough for stepping-stones. Returning to town, we paid our respects to the Jefe politico, Don Antonio Rivera, who is a young man exceedingly polite and obliging, and we found practice made it much easier to converse than when we met the Governor of Coban. Don Antonio showed us fine specimens of the woods of his neighborhood which had been prepared for an exhibition in Guatemala City; but he could not tell us the names, and sent for an old Indio who was better informed. This Indio also served to show us what the Jefe evidently considered a very amusing garment,—his trousers, which were in the usual black woollen jerga, cut up in front as high as mid thigh, so that they can be rolled up behind when the wearer girds up his loins to work. Cloths of various kinds were brought in for our inspection, and the prices given. These seemed high, for the material is only a vara (thirty-three inches) wide, and is sold in vara lengths. Not satisfied with showing us all that the market afforded, the kind Jefe furnished us with a guide to the ancient city of Utatlan, or Gumarcaah, and a mozo to carry my photographic kit.

A walk of three long miles westward brought us to a great disappointment. It is human to like what one has not got; Americans have an extreme respect for ruins, and we were no exception to the mass of our countrymen.

Stephens has described the remains of this powerful city of the Quiché kings, and has figured the very sacrificial altar of Tohil down whose steep sides were hurled the quivering bodies of the human victims. Three centuries and a half is a long period for people of a new country to look back over; but that time has passed since the Conquistadores destroyed the citadel and moved the inhabitants to the site of the present Santa Cruz del Quiché. Forty years ago the towers, faced with cut stone, the altar, some houses, and even the outer walls, were in good preservation; but all these have since been torn down, and the neatly cut stone removed to repair a miserable mud church in the town. These blocks of travertine were generally of uniform size, 18 × 12 × 4 inches; and mingled with them were blocks of pumice cut to one third of this size. The Plaza was still paved with a smooth layer of cement exactly an inch thick, not unlike the chunam of the East Indies, and entire, except where the modern vandals had cut through it in search of foundation-stones which they are too stupid to cut from the quarries much nearer the town. Five towers are plainly visible still, though now but insecure piles of rubbish, the casing having disappeared. In several there are small cavities not large enough for rooms, but sufficient to serve as ladder wells, and under one our guide assured us was the entrance to a long tunnel extending to the distant hills; but when we insisted upon his pointing out the place, he utterly failed. Not an arrow-head could we find, although plain pottery in fragments was abundant.

The whole fortress was built on a promontory surrounded, except at one narrow neck, by steep barrancas several hundred feet deep; and to the rivers at the bottom there were probably tunnels from the summit, as the ancient Indios were very expert in underground work. It is from these tunnels, most likely, that much of the pumice-stone was obtained. Across the barranca towards the town are the remains of three fine watch-towers, from which a good view of the entire fortress, as well as of the surrounding country, may be obtained. Remains of other similar towers were seen far up the mountain slopes on either side, and from these the warders signalled with fire or smoke the approach of hostile visitors.

At the beginning of the present century the palace of the Quiché kings was in such a state of preservation that its plan could be easily traced, even to the garden. But unfortunately a small gold image was discovered in the ruins; and this determined the Government to search for treasure, which tradition has always located in the ruins of Utatlan. In this search the palace was utterly destroyed; and hardly a wall would have been left standing had not the Indios, indignant at the wanton destruction of their once famous capital, become so turbulent that explorations were no longer safe. In 1834 a commission from the capital made a full and careful report on the condition of the ruins, and on this report Stephens largely rests in his interesting account of Quiché. Even in 1840, at the time of his visit, he found many traces which are now gone, especially the Sacrificatorio, which was a quadrilateral pyramid, with a base of sixty-six feet on the side, and a height, in that ruined condition, of thirty-three feet. One side of this awful relic of human misery was plain, though bearing traces of painted figures of animals; but the other three sides were supplied with steps in the middle, as may be seen in the illustration, taken from Catherwood’s sketch. These steps were only eight inches wide on the tread, while the risers were seventeen inches,—a proportion that must have made the descent very awkward for the priests if they were as corpulent as the more modern monks.

We met on our return a marimba, carried by two men, while the three players followed, beating out clear and agreeable notes. A frame between seven and eight feet long and twenty-nine inches high, supports on cords thirty strips of hard wood, beneath each of which is a wooden resonator duly proportioned for tones. The music was always attractive, and just now it drew a long procession in honor of the gymnasts of the day before, who followed the marimba on horseback.

In the Plaza we bought jicaras, or calabash[14] chocolate-cups,—three for a medio. Other interesting things for sale were small crabs dried on spits, dried shrimps of large size, raw cotton white and brown, floss silk, cloths both cotton and woollen, fresh and preserved squash, bread, sugar-candy, and eau sucré colored pink, tin-ware, pottery, ropes and bags of pita, leather sandals, sugar-cane, coconuts, baskets, and cheap foreign wares. In this town of six thousand inhabitants there are very few manufactures. We saw a woman boldly eating the game she caught in a little girl’s hair. I had before seen aged Hawaiian women engaged in this fascinating pursuit; but they always seemed ashamed to be seen by strangers. Not so the Quiché woman; the wretch even held her hand out for us!

To the fountain in the midst of the Plaza men and women came for water. The latter all carried their water-jars on their heads, while the men always slung them on their backs. Convicts were at work on the streets, or carrying stone for the church. They were chained in pairs, having shackles about the waist and ankles. The cabildo was the most important building in the town, as the parish church had so decayed that the walls of the entire nave had had to be removed. The new construction of adobe, with trimmings of stone taken from the ruins, will not last many years. The whole town looks dingy, and even dirty, owing to the universal use of adobe. The roof-tiles are not so well made, nor so carefully kept in place, as in some of the smaller towns; but, on the other hand, some of the streets are paved, there are some side-walks, subterranean street-drains, and street-lamps or candles.

The Quiché Indios of the present day are not so good-looking as the Mayas. The women are badly dressed, and not neat; the men wear slashed trousers, loose jackets, closed in front and put on like a shirt, and in cold weather a narrow blanket, or poncho, with fringed ends. Some of these ponchos are figured, and most of them have a border, more or less elaborate, woven at each end. These Indios are small of stature and light limbed, with scanty but common beards, round faces, and small hands and feet; they are by no means as modest as those of Alta Verapaz, and evidently unused to seeing strange white men. Women carry their babies on the back while washing clothes at the fountains or by the streams. At home hammocks serve well for cradles.

Vegetation is not free from pests here, for we saw black warts on the oaks, and smut (Ustilago serjetum) on the corn. The corn-stalks are of the size and appearance of our field-corn; but the juice is much sweeter, and Frank considered it quite as good as that of the withered sugar-cane brought up here from the coast. Everywhere marigolds (calendula) scent the air, and bunches of them are wilting at every altar in every church.

The fiesta is in commemoration of the Conquest,—so we were told; and it was rather curious to see the degenerate Indios decorating their houses and holding high holiday far from the memory of the horrible tortures inflicted on their ancestors in this same conquest. Red flags hung from every door and window,—fit emblems of the bloody event!

The excellent mozo Ramón Ghisli, who had come with us from Coban, was now ready to return. We would gladly have engaged this capital fellow to go with us all the way, but it was impossible; so I gave him extra pay, and with his carcaste[15] full of onions he started back on his long journey. Our mules were not very good, so we decided to send them back and get others here. Ramón had kept well up with the animals, had helped bravely in crossing the Chixoy, and had yielded implicit obedience to Santiago, who persisted in ordering about a man worth three of himself. Ramón got safely home, and delivered the mules all right.

A little alcalde in green spectacles exerted himself to find animals for us, as we were anxious to get away, since the hotel was full of dirty children and even dirtier dogs, and the food far worse than anything we had hitherto found. We had rain that night and the next day; but our new horses were brought in fair season. When we came to settle the bill we found the wretched landlord had charged seven dollars, given the bill to his wife, and hidden himself. Finding expostulation with the señora of no effect, I despatched Frank to lay the case before the Jefe, while I tried abuse; this had the desired effect of bringing the landlord from his hiding-place. I called him a ladron (robber), and, to the intense amusement of the many bystanders, described the meat he had set before us as mula solamente (nothing but mule). The boys caught the phrase, and we heard it shouted at the poor man until we departed. The Jefe sent the comandante and two soldiers to bring the “robber” to reason, and mine host thereupon told us to pay what we pleased. The comandante suggested three dollars as the proper price; but we gave him four, and soon after nine o’clock we scraped the mud of this town from our feet.

The road led down immense barrancas, where we saw deposits of pumice some eight hundred feet thick. Mingled with this layer were large blocks of lava, seemingly ejected from some crater eruption; but where was the crater? We passed a little hamlet marked San Sebastian de Lemoa on the map; but all the people had gone a fishing on a lake near by, whose borders were swarming with ducks. Four leagues from Quiché we came to Santo Tomas Chichicastenango. This is a neat, attractive little village, hardly as large as its name is long, with clean streets, a fountain and eucalyptus-trees in the Plaza, and an ancient church. Close at hand are the ruins of an older town, which we, to our regret, had no time to visit. At the cabildo we were politely received, and our beasts of burden, both biped and quadruped, unloaded. The Jefe had telegraphed to Santo Tomas for horses and a mozo, and we were assured that after almuerzo these would be ready. In this faith we strolled about the town. The church, as usual, attracted our attention; and here for the first time we saw the Indios burning incense, which seemed to be gum copal, or precisely the same material their ancestors used in idol worship. Marigolds were strewed all over the floor, and the odor was oppressive, even without the incense and innumerable candles. The altar was covered with plates of beaten silver of no very good workmanship. An image of a man on horseback, with a beggar by his side, excited our curiosity, which was not destined to be satisfied, although our mozo declared it was Santiago (Saint James). We pushed our explorations outside the church, and climbed by an external staircase to the organ-loft, which was floored with hewn boards not otherwise smoothed. An ancient organ, hardly larger than an ordinary davenport, stood in the midst, wholly apart from the bellows, which were worked by a suspended lever much as an ordinary forge-bellows. The keys were deeply worn by long use, horny fingers, or both, and they covered two octaves and a half; the stops were simply strips of hard wood projecting from the side of the case, and beyond the reach of the organist.[16] The locks on all the doors were of wood, and most primitive in design. All the worshipping Indios seemed very devout, chanting their prayers in their native tongue to the bare wall or a door-post, and they paid no attention to us as we passed them, although outside they generally bowed respectfully.

In a little shop at a street corner we found our almuerzo (there is no posada); and a very good one it was. Our hostess was a very respectable woman, whose house was well furnished (sewing-machine and rocking-chairs among other comforts), being quite a different person from the one who in our own country would occupy her position,—a rumseller. While we were waiting, two half-tipsy Indios came in, drank a small tumbler of aguardiente, and soon settled themselves quietly on the sidewalk for a drunken sleep, undisturbed by the passer-by.

Our way from Chichicastenango[17] led out over a narrow ridge or series of ridges, with deep barrancas on either side. The road was good, and hedged part of the way; but our animals were of the poorest kind. My little horse went slowly, and at last his legs seemed to collapse, and he came to the ground, leaving me standing over him. He was not worn out, he was a “trick horse.” For miles Frank and I walked on, leading our bestias. It grew very dark and misty; lightning flashed in the distance, and the trees were dripping with dew. With every desire to get on to Sololà, we agreed that in the darkness it was unwise to travel, and we looked anxiously for a camping-place, although the muddy ground, dripping bushes, and threatening sky gave no hope of a comfortable night. Twice we were misled by the gleam of fireflies, whose glow is so steady that we mistook it for light in a distant house. As we could find no safe place for a camp, a high bank on one side and a seemingly deep ravine on the other bordering the narrow cart-road, we walked on in the utter darkness until we almost ran into two ox-carts with a squad of white-coated soldiers, who told us we had lost our path in the dark, and were on the road to Totonicapan, and a long league beyond Encuentros. We returned with them to the latter place, where we found comfortable lodgings in the house prepared for the expected visit of the President. We occupied his room, which was temporarily furnished with plenty of Vienna bent-wood furniture, and decorated with a full-length, life-size painting of President Barrios and a small portrait of his wife. Two bedsteads of the box variety were quite bare, as His Excellency always carries his bedding, and we did not. After some excellent chocolate, but no other food, we spread our blankets and slept.

How cold that Thursday morning was when we started at daybreak! The thermometer marked 46° at half-past six o’clock, and we were at an elevation of eight thousand feet. We had a fine carriage-road for our travel to-day, on which I used Frank’s mare, while he tried his luck with my “trick horse.” For a while all went well, and Frank made the little beast go ahead, while I stopped to pick up some lava fragments in one of the cuttings; and so when Frank’s turn came I could see perfectly how odd it looked to have a horse collapse under his rider. Along the road were elder-trees (Sambucus) pollarded like our willows; as, however, they were not shady, but in the way of fine views, we voted them a nuisance. It was down hill all the way, and as we approached Sololà the view of the Lago de Atitlan and the volcano was disappointing. We had surfeited, perhaps, on the glories of landscape, and had expected something finer, with an immense lake, several volcanoes of more than average size, and a town whose white houses and red-tiled roofs were almost concealed in trees and flowers. However critical we might be, we were glad enough to see the town, and not less to find a posada, where we had a room to serve as store-room and bedchamber. We at once sent back our miserable horses; and after reporting to the comandante, as in duty bound,[18] we strolled through the Plaza, sending Santiago in search of bestias for our next stage. Here we first found the ripe fruit of the sapote (Lucuma mammosa), and did not like it. The outside was brown, rough, and leathery; the meat reddish, surrounding a smooth nut, and the whole flavored with cinnamon. Some sapotes were as large as a coconut, but generally they were not half that size.[19] The Plaza was full of people buying and selling. Mule-trains came in and went out, and it seems that this is the great wheat-market. This grain (trigo) is small and round, and the Government officials weighed each bag, which should contain six arrobas, or one hundred and fifty pounds. Fat-pine (ocote) is also an important article of commerce here, as it is the principal source of candle-light among the Indios.