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.
THE VILLAGE AND ITS SAINT; LOS REYES
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.
THE ANCIENT DRUM—HUEHUETL; LOS REYES
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.
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 indians from the more remote villages, who might permit their busts to be made. Two excellent cases were found. The last was a man from Carapan, the most remote of the eleven towns. He was a man of forty years, whose father accompanied him, and both were for a long time dubious about the operation. Finally, however, consent was given and the bust was made. As he arose and dressed to go, I said, "Did I tell you the truth? Did the operation hurt you, or did it not? Was there a reason why you should not have your bust made?" He promptly answered, "Sir, you told me truth; the operation did not hurt me and there surely is no harm in it; but, sir, you can hardly believe what an excitement this work has caused in our town. Yesterday, in the market-place at Chilchota, there were more than twenty men from Carapan who carried weapons in their clothing. We had selected leaders and arranged signals, and at the first sign of an attack from your party, we were prepared to sell our lives dearly."
It was a work of time to fill the moulds and pack the busts. Before we were ready to start upon our journey, it was half-past four in the afternoon. True wisdom would have suggested waiting until morning. Time, however, was precious, and I hoped to make Cheran that night; consequently, though against the advice of many, we started out, with eight leagues to go, over a road with a bad reputation, and at some points difficult to traverse. For a little distance, we followed the familiar trail down through the pueblos, but at Tanaquillo we turned up into the mountain. The ascent was steady until we reached the pass, through which an icy wind drove down upon us. We could hope to make the distance in six hours. At first we met many persons, all of whom warned us that we would be late in arriving, and recommended that we should stop at Rancho Seco. We had no intention of so doing, but knew that we must turn at that point into a new road. Between sunset and bright moonlight, there was an interval of darkness, and in that interval we must have passed the turning which led to Rancho Seco. At all events, we presently found ourselves entirely at a loss, wandering over a rocky hill covered with brush, amid which the trail had entirely disappeared. Retracing, as well as we could, our road, we finally found ourselves upon another trail which we followed until 9:30, when we met a little band of indians, the first whom we had seen for a long time. From them we found that we were not upon the road for Cheran, but at the edge of a slope at the bottom of which was a little indian town, Tanaco. Descending to it, we found a house where they agreed to shelter us for the night, and in the tienda near by we bought hard bread and old cheese. We were sheltered in a substantially built room, into which the cold air did not penetrate. The indians with whom we were staying were unusually intelligent; a number of books, including a large dictionary, lay upon the table, and the men, who crowded in upon us, were anxious to learn the English words for common things. This was an experience which rarely happened to us in indian Mexico. The people, however, were not quite sure of our intentions, and Nabor said that when he went to water the horses, a committee of village folk waited upon him, asking whether we were the party of white men who had been skinning live indians over in the Once Pueblos.
There were four leagues between us and Cheran, and many more beyond it to Patzcuaro, where we hoped to arrive the next night. Accordingly, we made an early start. Our host agreed to pilot us over the indistinct and tortuous bridle-path to the high-road. Many little mountains, almost artificially regular, arose in the otherwise plain country. As we rode along the trail we saw the church of Parracho far behind us in the distance. The latter part of the road, after Cheran was once in sight, seemed hopelessly long, but a little before ten o'clock we pulled up at the meson. We at once made arangements for food for ourselves and the horses, and determined to rest until noon. Our reputation had preceded us. I asked a child at the meson to bring me a mug of water. When he brought it, I noticed that the mug was of the characteristic black and green ware of the Once Pueblos, but asked the boy where it was made. With a cunning look, he answered, "O yes, that comes from where you people have been,—up at the Once Pueblos." And yet we had not come over the road from the Once Pueblos, but by the main highway from Parracho.
Rested and refreshed, we started at 12:30 for the long fourteen leagues of journey. We passed Pichataro, where the round paddles for Patzcuaro canoes are made, and where the applewood, so prized as material for spear-throwers, is procured. We passed Sabina, where the canoes themselves are hollowed out, miles from their launching place, to which they must be carried over mountains. Each town we passed made me more and more uneasy, as I knew that Nabor contemplated revolt. He did not like the idea of too long a journey for his horses. He wished to stop long before the goal that I had fixed. When we left the last of the important towns behind us, I felt for the first time secure. It was now dark, and we found the roads far worse than we remembered them. They were worn into deep gullies, into which our horses fell and over which they stumbled. Long before reaching Ajuno I felt convinced that we had missed the road, but we floundered on, and never was sight more welcome than the light of fires shining through the cane walls of the wretched huts of that miserable town. Here there was a final council regarding resting for the night. The whole party, except myself, considered Ajuno as a capital resting-place. All yielded, however, and we continued on our way. It was almost midnight when we rode up to the hotel, upon the plaza in quaint old Patzcuaro. All were cross and tired; neither crossness nor weariness were helped when we were told that there was no room for us at the inn. We made such vigorous representations, however, that the doors were finally thrown open. An old store-house was cleaned out and supplied with decent beds, and a good supper was served.
CHAPTER X
THE BOY WITH THE SMILE
(1898)
It is doubtful whether the common people of any country are so rarely surprised, or taken unaware, as those of Mexico. At a moment's notice, the commonest indian, who may have scarcely been outside of his own town in all his life, may start to go across the country. Astonishing incidents appear to create no more surprise in their minds than the ordinary affairs of every day. In January, 1898, we revisited Cholula. As we alighted from the street-car we noticed a boy, some fourteen years old, whose most striking characteristic was his smile. He wished to serve as guide, to show us the pyramid, the convents, the chapel of the natives. On assuring him that we knew far more about the lions of his town than he, he was in no wise abashed, but joined himself to us for the remainder of the day. He accompanied us to see the blessing of the animals in the great churchyard. He displayed an interesting knowledge of English, answering "yes" quite perfectly to every sort of question, and repeating the two words, which are well known the whole world over as American-English, on all conceivable occasions. When at evening he saw us safely on the street-car he left us with the same smile with which he had received us. On our next visit to Cholula much the same thing happened, but learning that we planned to stop at Cuauhtlantzinco on our way to Puebla, he stole a ride upon the car, for the sake of accompanying us. He was a rather handy boy, good-natured and anxious to please, so that, later in our journey, we hired him for several days and let him do what he could to help us.
Much later, when at home planning the details of our next extensive journey, the thought struck us that it might be well to make the boy with the smile a member of our party. It seemed as if, in going into districts rarely visited by strangers, it would be well to have the party as largely Mexican as possible. If, however, the boy were to accompany us, it was necessary that he should first learn something of our work and needs, and perhaps of English. Accordingly, I decided to go to Cholula and bring the boy up to the States.
The resolution was so hastily taken that there was no time to send word to the boy himself. Going straight to Cholula, I had some difficulty in finding his abode. I knew that the boy had no father, that his widowed mother had but one other child, a girl younger than the boy himself. I had once seen the mother and the little sister; I also knew the street on which they lived. Arriving at the street, however, no one apparently had ever heard of the boy. One and another through the whole length of the street was questioned, but none knew his name or recognized his description. Excepting that I knew that trait of Mexican character which assists acquaintances to seclusion, when they are sought by strangers, I should have despaired. As it was, I kept on asking, and finally, from a child who could hardly speak on account of youth, I discovered the house which I sought. It was a little hut set back behind a yard of growing corn. I had inquired at the houses on either side and at the house across the road, as also of a man working in the corn in the yard itself. But everyone had been profoundly ignorant of the boy's existence. Walking up to the house, I found the door open, and the mother and the little girl within. The moment the woman saw me, she said, "Que milagro, Señor!" (What a miracle, sir!) and rising, gave me a warm embrace. The little girl did the same. "And where is Manuel?" I inquired. "Ah, sir, he has gone to Puebla on an errand for a gentleman; but he will be back on the street-car at half-past ten. Pray wait, sir, till he comes."
The house consisted, like most of its class, of a single room. The walls were built of sun-dried bricks of adobe. Entrance was by a single door. There were no windows. The floor was clay. The flat roof was scarcely six feet above the floor. The furniture, though ample, was scanty. A little earthen brazier for heating and cooking, a stone metate, a rubbing-stone for grinding corn-meal, a table heaped with bundles and boxes containing the family clothing, and a chair were all. There were no beds, not even the mats which so frequently, among the poor of Mexico, take their place. Several pictures of saints and of the virgin were pinned against the wall, and there were signs of tapers which had been burned before them. A bird or two in wooden cages, a rooster and a little dog lived in the house with the family.
After answering various questions from the good woman and the little girl, I finally stated that I proposed to take Manuel with me to my country. He would stay with me there for six months, after which he would come back and accompany me for three months longer on a journey into southern Mexico. "If I have your consent," I said, "we leave to-day." Immediately the woman answered, "Sir, it is for you to say." Just then, however, the little girl, Dolores, began to cry. "Tut, tut, Dolores," said I, "I am sure you want Manuel to go away and visit a strange country and have a fine time; and think of the pictures that he can bring you to show what he has seen. And more than that, it is already half-past ten, and you shall go down to the street-car to meet him, and tell him that he must come straight home, for fear that he will loiter on the way; but do not tell him I am here, nor say anything about his going away, for we wish to surprise him." Drying her eyes, and smiling almost as the boy himself, Dolores started to run to the street-car line, and presently fetched Manuel home in triumph. As he entered and saw me, he said, "Que milagro, Señor" and kissed my hand. Having asked, as Mexican politeness requires, a variety of questions about his welfare, I finally said, "Well, Manuel, how would you like to go to Puebla with me for the day?" "Sir, it is for you to say." "Very good," said I. "And if I should conclude that it was best to take you to Mexico for a few days, what would you say to that?" "I am entirely in your hands, sir," he replied, "to do your orders." "Well," said I, "suppose I took you to my own country and kept you there for six months?" and the boy replied, "Sir, you are my owner; it is for you to command." "Very well," said I, "get ready, and we will go on the street-car, at twelve o'clock, to Puebla."
THE CROSS; SAN NICOLAS PANOTLA
THE BOY WITH THE SMILE
Telling his mother that she should put together the few articles of which there might be need, we started for the noonday car. As we left, I suggested that she and the little girl come to the city, during the afternoon or evening, to bid the boy good-bye, as we should leave on an early train the following morning. They came at nightfall. She had his small possessions tied up in a carrying cloth, and her mind was stored with bits of excellent advice and admonition as to his conduct and behaviour in his new surroundings. After Dolores and her brother had given each other a, farewell embrace, the mother said a few words to the boy, who knelt upon the floor of the room and crossed his hands upon his breast. The mother then gave him her parting blessing, and sent him forth into the outside world.
CHAPTER XI
IN THE MIXTECA ALTA
(1898)
Of all railroad cities in the Republic, Oaxaca is the most completely indian. It is the capital of a state the population of which is nine-tenths of native blood. Fifteen native languages are spoken in the state to-day. While some of these are related to each other, they are distinct languages, not dialects, even those which are related being as unlike as the French, Italian, and Spanish. The indians commonly seen on the city streets are Zapotecs or Mixtecs, but at times Mixes come from their distant mountain homes with burdens on their backs, or parties of Tehuantepecanas attract attention, by their fine forms and striking dress, as they walk through the streets. The market is crowded, even late in the day; ox-carts from the indian towns for miles around are constantly seen in the streets. Most of the sellers in the market are indians; they bring fruits and vegetables, dried fish from the Pacific, jícaras and strainers of gourds, beautifully painted and polished gourds from Ocotopec, honey, sugar—both the crude brown and the refined yellow cakes—and pottery. The indian pottery here sold is famous. Three kinds of wares are well known—a dull plain red, an unglazed but highly polished black, and a brilliant glazed green. The black ware is made into useful vessels, and also into a variety of toys, chiefly whistles and bells. Pottery would seem to be one of the least suitable materials for bells. Here, however, bells of pottery in many shapes are found—little bells, with handles like the upper part of a human figure; larger bells, with curious flat handles set transversely; others, still larger, like cow-bells in size and tone, and curious cross-shaped bells, really a group of four united. Among the whistles some are made into the shape of animals and birds and curious human figures; among the latter, some closely resemble ancient whistles from the prehistoric graves. This black ware is made at Coyotepec, and when the objects are first taken from the kiln they are almost white; before they are cold, they are exposed to dense smoke, and thus assume their black color. The brilliantly glazed green ware is the most attractive. Vessels made from it are thin, and, in the parts which are unglazed, resemble common flower-pot ware. The larger portion of their surfaces, however, is covered with a rich, thick, emerald-green glaze. Cups, bowls, saucers, plates, sugar-bowls, tea-pots, flasks, and censers are among the forms commonly made in this ware. The shapes are often graceful and the prices low. Most beautiful, however, and relatively expensive, are the miniature vessels made in this ware—scarcely an inch in height, but formed with the greatest care, and in such variety of dainty forms that one may seek some time to duplicate a piece which he has found; these little pieces are completely covered with the rich green glaze both outside and inside.
Our plan of journey for the year was first to make an expedition from Oaxaca to the north-west, into the Mixteca Alta; returning to Oaxaca, to strike eastward by way of Mitla, and the land of the Mixes, to Tehuantepec, from which place we should make a brief trip to the Juaves; returning to Tehuantepec, we should take the high road, by way of San Carlos, back to Oaxaca. Our first duty in the city of Oaxaca was to procure letters and orders from the governor. No governor in Mexico more completely realizes his importance and dignity than Governor Gonzales of Oaxaca. It is ever difficult to secure an audience with him; appointment after appointment is made, only to be broken when the inquiring visitor presents himself, and has been kept waiting an undue length of time. We had been through the experience before, and therefore were not surprised that it required four visits, each of them appointed by the governor himself, before we really had our interview. Governor Gonzales, is, however, an excellent officer. While we were waiting for our letters, after having explained to him our errand and plan of procedure, we had the opportunity to see a somewhat unusual and interesting sight. Like all public buildings and better-grade houses in Mexican cities, the governor's palace is built about patios, or inner courts. A wide balcony surrounds the court at the level of the second story and upon it the rooms of that story open. Having given orders that our letters should be prepared, the governor excused himself for a few moments, as he said that certain of his local authorities were ordered to meet him. We were seated where we could watch the reception. As we had entered the palace we had been impressed by the great number of indians, carrying official staves, who were waiting near the door. We now found that they were official delegates from the different towns, and that they had been sent from their homes to give the governor New Year's greetings. Having carefully arrayed himself for the meeting, the governor took his position in the wide balcony already referred to, with two officials of the palace stationed near, one on either side. The Indians represented perhaps twenty-five different towns, the delegation from each town varying from three or four to fifteen or twenty persons. All were dressed in their cleanest garments, and all carried their long staves of office, most of which had ribbons of bright colors streaming from them. The secretary of the governor arranged these delegations in their order, and they were presented one by one to the chief executive. As each delegation was presented, its members scraped and bowed, and the presidente and secretario kissed the governor's hand. A word or two of greeting having been exchanged, the spokesman from the village made a speech, sometimes read from a written copy, after which he presented a bouquet of flowers, real or artificial. The governor received the bouquet with a bow, placed the flowers on a little table near by, or, if the gift were a large bouquet of real flowers, handed it to one of the attendants standing near, and then made a polite speech of response, emphasizing it with vigorous gestures and plainly expressive of much interest and earnestness. The delegation then took its leave, always bowing reverently, and each man kissing the governor's hand as he passed out. As he received this mark of respect, the governor would make a playful remark, or pat the persons on the head, or otherwise treat them as a father might his little children. Instantly the flowers were cleared away, the next delegation ushered in, and the same ceremony gone through with. Finally, all was ready for our leaving. The party consisted of five persons—myself, as leader, Mr. Lang, my American photographer, Don Anselmo, my Mexican plaster-worker, Manuel, and the mozo. All but the mozo were mounted on horses, more or less good or bad. The mozo, Mariano, a Mixtec indian, went on foot, carrying the photographic outfit on his back, and our measuring-rod in his hand. It was well on in the afternoon before we started, and hardly were we outside the town, before Mr. Lang's horse showed signs of sickness. His suffering was plain, and every person we met volunteered the information that unless something was done promptly, we should have a dead horse on our hands. Going to a little shop on the roadside, where strong drinks were sold, we stopped, and after preparing a remedy with the help of a passing Indian, threw the horse down, wedged his mouth open, and gave him what seemed to be an unsavory draught. More than an hour was lost out of our already short afternoon by this veterinary practice, and long before we reached Etla, where we were compelled to pass the night, it was dark.
Leaving Etla in the morning, looking down as we passed out from the city upon a wonderful group of mounds, we passed rather slowly through the town of Huitzo. Don Anselmo and I loitered, as we found the whole country to be rich in ancient relics, examples of which were to be found in almost every house. As the afternoon passed, we found that we were likely to be completely left by our companions, and were forced to hasten on. The latter part of the daylight ride was up a continuous, and at times steep, ascent. As the sun neared setting, we reached the summit and found ourselves close by the station of Las Sedas, the highest point upon the Mexican Southern Railway. We had there expected to overtake the others of our party, but found that they had hurried on. It was a serious question whether we should try to overtake them. It had been wisdom to have stayed the night where we were. In this uncertainty, we met an indian boy driving mules toward Oaxaca, who volunteered the information that he had met our companions, who were just ahead, and that we would soon overtake them. This decided us, and we started down the trail. A heavy wind was blowing, and the night air was cold and penetrating. In a few minutes we met a half-breed Mexican, who, accosting us at once, urged us to go no further. His manner was somewhat sinister and disagreeable. He warned us that, if we attempted to make the descent in the darkness, we would at least lame our animals. He asserted that our comrades were fully three leagues ahead when he had met them, and that we would never overtake them. He also hinted darkly as to other dangers of the road, if we should succeed in making the descent without breaking the legs of our horses. Refusing his invitation to stop with him for the night, we pressed onward, and as we did so, he called out derisively after us.
The descent would not have been an easy one, even in the daytime, and in the gathering darkness there was really an element of danger in the journey. We left the following of the trail almost entirely to our animals. We were finally down the worst of the descent before night had actually set in. From here on, although the road varied but little from a level trail, we were obliged to go slowly, and it was with a feeling of true relief that, after floundering for a while in a brook in which our road seemed to lose itself, we heard ourselves called by name, from an indian hut situated a little way up the bank. As usual, the house consisted of a single room, of no great size, and was lightly built of cane. Two men, three women, a boy, and three little girls were the occupants. Our companions were already resting; their horses were unsaddled and were eating contentedly, and we were told that supper was being prepared for us. Entering the house, we found the women busy making tortillas, and fresh goat's meat, hanging from the rafters, gave promise of a substantial meal. When all was ready, we sat down to the finest of corn-cakes, beans, eggs, and tender kidmeat. We spread our blankets under a little shelter which stood in front of one side of the house. None of us slept well. It was very cold; dogs barked all night long; now and then a sudden outbreak of their barking, and curious signals and whistles, which were repeated in various parts of the mountain, gave us some uneasiness. At three o'clock in the morning, just as we were napping, Don Anselmo startled us by the statement that our mule was dead. In a moment, all was excitement. Mariano examined the animal and reiterated the statement. As for us, we were in the mood to care but little whether the mule was living or dead. Half frozen and very weary, our frame of mind was not a cheerful one. Just before daybreak we could stand the cold no longer, and gathering some dry wood, we started a fire and crowded around it. The report about the mule proved to be false, and when morning came, there was no sign that anything was the matter with him.
It was nine o'clock before we started on our journey in the morning. We had three long hours of clambering up and down heavy slopes, and, much of the way, through a stream the bed of which was filled with slippery boulders and pebbles, over which the horses slipped and stumbled frightfully. Our horses slid down small cascades, but, when we came to larger ones, we had to mount the banks by ugly bits of road, descending below the falls. After much labor and weariness, we reached El Parian at noon. Having rested through the hotter portion of the day, we took the road again at two. We followed up the brook-bed to the point where another stream entered it, at an acute angle. Up this stream we turned, and after following it a little, struck suddenly up a steep hill, and then climbed on and on over a good road, cut in the limestone rock, up and up, until we reached the very summit. The vegetation here was a curious assemblage,—palms, cedars, oaks, and a mimosa-like tree, formed the chief types. The limestone rock upon the summit was curiously eroded, as if by rain rills. The masses presented all the appearance and detail of erosion shown by the great mountain mass of the country itself; looking at one of these little models, only a few feet across, and then gazing out upon the great tangle of mountain peaks around us, one could almost imagine that the one was the intentional reproduction of the other, in miniature. For a long time we followed the almost level summit; then a little climb and a slight descent brought us to Huaclilla. At the meson we found real rooms and true beds, and decided to stay for the night. The supper was less attractive. A brief walk about the village brought to light two cases of small-pox, and, on returning to the meson, we were charmed to find a third one in the building itself. Still, we slept well, and were up betimes next morning. The country through which we were passing was Mariano's país (native land). Assuming that his knowledge was adequate, we left our meson early, with the intention of breakfasting at San Pedrito, where we were assured that everything was lovely; we were also told that it was but a short distance. The road thither was through a high open country, planted to wheat and oats and with some maguéy. The road was discouragingly long, but after at least three hours of constant riding, we reached precious San Pedrito, chiefly notable for the amount of pulque drunk there. It was with the greatest difficulty that we succeeded in getting anything to eat; the breakfast was certainly worse than the supper of the preceding night. With the prevalence of maguéy as a cultivated plant, the appearance of the houses and other buildings changed, as all of them were thatched with the broad, long, sharp-pointed leaves of the famous plant. Everyone in the district carries tinajas, or little sacks woven from splints of palm. Here, for the first time, we noticed that many of these had decorated patterns worked in black splints on the lighter ground. The blackness of these splints is given by exposure to the smoke of burning pine. Carrying-straps, also made of palm, are used for adjusting these tinajas to the back.
From San Pedrito the road is over a soft rock, which produces, when worn, a white glaring trail. The country through which we passed was fertile. Everywhere were fields of grain, wheat, oats, and, as we were descending into the lower land, corn. The little watch-houses for guarding the newly-sown fields are a striking feature of the landscape. In the higher districts they were small, conical or dome-shaped structures, made of the leaves of the maguéy, and hardly large enough for a man to lie down in. Lower down, these were replaced by little rectangular huts, only a few feet across, with thatched roofs, the whole construction being raised on poles ten or twelve feet above the ground. It was scarcely more than noonday when we reached Nochixtlan, where the jefe of the district lives. Telling him that we desired to visit Yodocono and Tilantongo, he wrote orders for us, and charged some indians of Tidaa to show us the road, so far as they were going. The country through which we passed was a continuation of that preceding Nochixtlan. The road was nearly level, with but slight ups and downs, until a little before we reached our destination, when we had an abrupt up-turn to Yodocono, a pretty town on the border of a little lake, which has but recently appeared, and which covers an area which a few years ago was occupied by cultivated fields. Our letter from the jefe introduced us to Don Macario Espinola, a mestizo, owner of the chief store in the village, who showed us gracious hospitality. We were guests of honor. The parlor was surrendered to our use; the chairs were placed in such a way that, when supplied with mattress, sheets, and blankets, they made capital beds. Our meals were good. Don Macario, on hearing the purpose of our visit, placed himself entirely at our disposition. Unfortunately, he gained the idea that the people whom we wanted for measurement and photography were old folk, and the most astonishing collection of aged men and women was summoned from every part of the village and surrounding neighborhood, and all had to be measured, although the measurements were afterwards discarded.