The last days of October, 1883, promised good weather for the hill-country, and Frank and I again left Livingston in the only way one can leave it,—by water. Our route was as before,—up the Rio Dulce; but this time we had no comfortable but heavy “Progreso.” We had, however, a better craft for our voyage,—a fine native canoa, cut from a single log of a wood they called cedar (which it is not); its length was thirty feet, and its beam five and a half. With two masts and triangular sails, this canoa could show good speed with a fair wind; but we cared little for her sailing qualities on the present voyage. As there were no ribs, and the thwarts were easily removed, we made the after part, which was floored, quite comfortable with a temporary roof, or toldo; our luggage was stowed amidships, while our captain and two men had their quarters forward when not rowing or paddling. We had our coffee-pot (as necessary a travelling companion in Central America as an umbrella in England) and a supply of food for a week; although we hoped our voyage might last less than five days.

The cliffs on the Rio Dulce were as beautiful as ever. Theirs is a beauty which never fades with the fading year; and yet the changes are very marked. I never saw such a river,—a very Proteus, it presented a new form every time I saw it; and Frank, who is far more familiar with its face, tells me I have never seen it in its glory, which comes in July, when the brilliant orchids are all aglow. Now a cereus with crimson blossoms was prominent; so were the bromeliads, parasites on almost every tree. But among roses I saw the thorn. Our Caribs discovered a huge serpent asleep on a white cliff far above us. Frank, with a laudable blindness to all that was not pleasant, could see nothing but a fallen tree. I saw only a few feet of the head end, which had a diameter of about six inches; and I obstinately refused to fire at the reptile, since he was quite as near as it was desirable to have him, and should my bullet wound but not kill him, it was quite possible that he might wriggle down into the river below. Porpoises were common far up into the Golfete, where they were pursuing the abundant freshwater fish. A light sea-breeze helping us, we anchored for the night far above Cayo Paloma. Our mozo, Santiago, slept on one of the thwarts, which he exactly fitted, being slightly less in stature than the average New Englander.

Our anchor was up betimes; and before six o’clock in the morning we came to San Felipe,—a place we both had great curiosity to see; for in the absence of any definite account of the old Spanish fort, we allowed our imagination to build a very imposing, picturesque, and, withal, strong castle.

We found that Spanish castles in Guatemala were almost as unsubstantial as châteaux en Espagne; and it was some time before we distinguished the Castillo de San Felipe through the morning mist. At the outlet of the Lago de Izabal the shores approach each other closely,—indeed, the channel is hardly a stone’s cast broad; and on the northern point stands the fort built in 1655 to protect the then important commerce of Izabal from the buccaneers.[9] It is well built of round (uncut) stone, and the waves of the lago dash against the walls, which are gradually yielding to the insinuating roots of many plants,—even a delicate blue commelyna joining in the attack that the seventeenth-century pirates began in vain. The van of this vegetable scaling-party was led by a fine papaya (Carica papaya), which now towered far above the walls with its head of ornamental leaves, but which perished soon after; and we saw only the bare stem on our return, three months later.

Passing this mediæval ruin, we came to a slight wharf of stakes, where we had to undergo a rigid inspection by the guarda, who insisted on opening our trunks, in spite of a slight shower that was wetting us. But we submitted with better grace on reflecting how little amusement of any sort the custom-house men could have in this sleepy looking place; and when the nonsense was over we sent Santiago with the coffee-pot, which he was told to have boiled over somebody’s fire. He was also told to get all the food he could find; and this useless wretch brought back, as the total result of his foraging, three eggs! Coconut-trees and goyavas were abundant, but no fruit could be found. After this very frugal breakfast,—in which we did not ask Santiago to join,—we walked to the little Comandancia; but the officials were not visible, and we entered the old fort, as the only other sight in the dirty little town.

The plan is rather peculiar, but doubtless well suited to the defensive warfare of those days. The doorless entrance-ports invited us to enter, and we found a courtyard of paved and level surface occupying almost the entire area. At the outer end, commanding the channel, the bastion was higher than the main portion, approached by narrow and winding steps, easily defended; and here was the most curious part of the whole edifice,—the gun-deck. There is a law in the Guatemaltecan code forbidding photographing in military works; but I have since wished that I had broken that law then and there, so that my readers might see for themselves the clumsy guns, the carriages with wooden wheels, the magazine roofed, indeed, but doorless,—the whole business as dangerous to the gunners as to any enemy outside. Some fine orange-trees were growing up through the pavement, and their hard green fruit would be suitable ammunition for the ancient guns.

There was nothing whatever to attract the most curious traveller in San Felipe, and we sailed and paddled on with frequent calms and showers. We were completely in the hands of our boatmen, whose knowledge of the lago proved to be very limited; but as ours was even less, we suffered them to coast the northern shore, when, as we afterwards learned, the law directed our course southward to Izabal, the port of entry, where we should have obtained a permit to proceed on our voyage inland. Our map indicated the course we selected as the shorter to the mouth of the Rio Polochic; but the map was, as usual, wrong.

There was not much to see, as the mist and rain hid the mountains and hung low on the shores, driving us frequently under our rubber roof. Whenever the mist lifted we caught glimpses of the far southern shore, with the grand wall of the Sierra de las Minas catching the fleecy clouds on every black pinnacle; and the clearing sky attracted us still closer to the northern shore, where we could see a low wooded country backed by a high range of mountains, with here and there an opening through which some stream reached the lake. At two o’clock we landed at Sauce, on a beach of black sand, evidently volcanic, scattered with fragments of chalcedony and agatized wood,—a formation which puzzled me exceedingly, as all this region is supposed to be non-volcanic. We had no time to follow the beach to ascertain the extent of black sand, but it reached far beyond the few comfortable huts on the shore,—as far, indeed, as we could go into the jungle inland. In it grew luxuriantly limes, bananas, mangoes, and other cultivated plants not recognized. Goyavas grew to a large size, but all the fruit was ruined by worms.

Here first we saw the whole process of tortilla-making. The maiz was hulled in lime-water, washed in the lake, and ground laboriously on a stone metatle into a consistent paste, which is then skilfully patted into cakes from four to six inches in diameter, round and thick as an ordinary griddle-cake. These are then baked on an iron plate or comal, but not browned, and should be eaten hot, and then the tortilla tastes like parched corn. The metatles in Guatemala were all of very simple pattern and unornamented, not so well wrought as those in Mexico and farther southward, but serving their purpose equally well. A woman who cannot make good tortillas is in Guatemala not deemed fit to assume the duties of housekeeping; and yet there are few articles of food requiring more labor in preparation than this unleavened bread. Except the Hawaiian poi (paste of the Colocasium esculentum or Kalo), I can recall no article of diet that demands more physical labor. The inhabitants of the tropics in both these cases lay aside their proverbial indolence and earn their bread by the sweat of their brows. For our men we procured meat in long strips put on skewers and crisped over the fire, while for ourselves we bought bananas, limes, and tortillas. After this we continued our voyage until dark, when we anchored near shore and enjoyed a very quiet night. At early dawn we were again under way. The showers continued, and far away on the Santa Cruz range the rains were heavy, boding ill for our ascent of the river. The lake water, usually quite potable, was now full of a small green alga, and the cast skins of ephemera were so thick on the surface that for miles we could with difficulty get a dipper of clear water.

Twice our Caribs thought they had found the mouth of the Polochic; and at last, at high noon, we discovered it, where we least expected, on a marshy promontory or delta. Masses of coarse floating grass were attached to the banks on each side, almost blocking the way; and the rapid current, which we estimated at five miles an hour, made these grass plots wave as if the breezes were playing over their tops. Pelicans were abundant and tame; so were the iguanas. The air was still, and the thermometer marked eighty-five degrees, while the water was much cooler,—nine degrees. All the creeks in the lowland flowed from the river, so high was the flood, and we found no comfortable landing-place.

At night we anchored in the stream, and the mosquitoes were very troublesome; unlike those on the Chocon, these were black, and had very long and sharp lancets. At three in the morning we could bear them no longer; Orion was in the zenith, and we struck our toldo, the men slowly rowing on until six, when we anchored for coffee. As we were eating, a cayuco, covered with a neat awning of leaves, came rapidly by us on the way down; its occupants assured us that there were many vueltas (bends) and a great current (mucho corriente) before we should be able to reach Pansos.

Ten miles a day was the utmost limit of our propelling power, and in crossing the bends to escape the current we hardly held our own, so strong were the flood-waters. Our creeping pace gave us ample time to see, but no time to stop for, the many curious things on either bank. Close on the shore were red abutilons, and over them crept the long-tubed white convolvulus (Ipomœa bona-nox) and the brilliant yellow allamanda; high up on the wild fig-trees were black, long-tailed monkeys, common and tame, their wonderfully human faces peering down at the intruders, the mothers clasping their hairy little babies to their breasts with one arm, and with the other scratching their heads in a puzzled manner. One of our Caribs shot a little fellow before I could prevent him, and the creature clung, even in death, by his tail. As I had shot an iguana through the head with my revolver in the morning, I was called upon to cut with my bullet the provoking tail, that the Caribs might have a caribal feast. Regard for my reputation as a marksman, and the memory of a taste of roast monkey in India, forbade the attempt, and the poor monkey, like the Tyburn thief, “is hanging there still.” There was foam on the water, but we heard no water-fall,—and indeed the flat nature of the country made falls, cascades, or even rapids, impossible.

We passed another night when the torrents of rain had no effect on the myriads of mosquitoes and black-flies. Still all the brooks ran inland, although, as we afterwards learned, in the dry season these banks are so high above the water that they are hard to climb. All day long we saw monkeys along the banks, though high above us, and the following night we heard the howlers; but in compensation for that evil had no mosquitoes. By Saturday (Nov. 3, 1883) we hoped to be well on our road from Pansos to Coban, but, except the cayuco, we saw no signs of men or the work of men’s hands; on that morning, however, we came to a little finca on the river bank, where a good sized stream from the river flowed into the yard and through the house. The poultry had taken refuge on the roof, and the Indian proprietors waded through the flood. Luckily the oven, or fire-place, was raised on sticks several feet above the water, so that the señora could make us some tortillas,—eight for a real. Eggs were the same price. Slight as the forage was, it was very acceptable, as our food was nearly gone, and we were already dependent on the Caribs for their cassava-bread. The river, these persons said, was falling, so we pushed on with new courage.

A fine spider-lily (Crinum) grew on the bank where we moored our canoa. We noticed that whenever we made fast to the cane-brake, the black-flies bothered us far more than when we had trees overhead; was it not because the cane did not afford roosts or concealment for the fly-catching birds and reptiles? The blossoms of the cane were very beautiful, indeed as attractive as those we had noticed on the Chocon. Mahogany-trees were seen here and there, and we were told that there was much of this fine wood on the Rio Zarco, just at hand. I also saw a goyava-tree, some eighteen inches in diameter and eighty feet high. In the afternoon we passed willows (Sauce), and about five o’clock were startled by an unusual noise behind us, when a huge three-storied structure came sweeping up the stream, as if in pursuit; it was the steamer “City of Belize,” a flat-bottomed stern-wheeler. As the current was very strong and the channel narrow, we hastened to make fast to a large fig-tree overhanging the stream. Before, however, our arrangements were made, the steamer was upon us, and her surge, added to the current, tore us from our mooring and swept us under the tree. Our masts caught in a branch, and we were turned on our beam-ends. For an instant our situation was critical. Our weather-rail was six inches under water, and we were clinging to the other side as the water came pouring in; then the mainmast slipped, and we righted, all hands bailing out eagerly, while Frank held by some branches and prevented a repetition of the disaster. If the canoa had upset, our journey would probably have ended there, as our photographic supplies would have been ruined, and there would have been little chance for us in that deep, rapid river, with no banks, and no trees that offered food, even if they gave us shelter from the alligators; and these too would have shown themselves as soon as the disturbance caused by the steamer had abated. Our Carib captain was as frightened as we were, and with the little English he knew, exclaimed as we anchored for the night: “D—d good boat; wouldn’t sell her for h—ll!” The persons on the “City of Belize” must have seen us filling, but they did not stop to see if we drowned.

All night we had mosquitoes, but no rain; and to our wakeful excitement was added the horrible noises of tigres, wild hogs, monkeys, alligators, and other animals. We were getting tired of the river, and our voyage seemed interminable. Early in the morning we passed the mouth of the Rio Cahabon, where the steamer had anchored the night before, and soon after I shot my first alligator. He was a large one, and my ball struck him just behind the foreleg. He jumped clear of the water, turned over, and fell back, tingeing the river with blood.

We thought we had counted twice the seventy-two vueltas in the fifty miles between the mouth of the river and Pansos; but this port still fled before us, and it was nearly dark before I smelt human habitations. Not one of our company had ever been there before; but the Caribs were greatly amused at my assertion, and I think Frank smiled in his sleeve at my scent. But I certainly smelt them, and kept the men rowing, and blew the conch-shell, as the law requires on approaching a port; and at last, long after dark, the lights of the steamer fast at the wharf appeared, and we were soon alongside.

We had been a week in our canoa, and five days without landing; but our troubles were not yet ended. The stupid soldiers flatly refused to allow us to land our traps without a permit from the comandante, and insisted that we should go with them to the Comandancia, nearly a quarter of a mile away. I started with Santiago, over a road worked into pasty mud by the ox-carts from Coban. It was raining and very dark, and the almost naked soldiers tried to light the way with splinters of fat-pine, called here ocote. At last the road ended in a black pool, into which the barelegged soldiers waded. But I declined to go farther unless they carried me; and it almost made the night bright to see the look these apologies for men gave each other and the stranger who weighed twenty pounds more than their united weights. It ended as it should have begun; and Santiago went on with one guard to explain matters, while with the other I returned to the steamer. The officers of the steamer had kindly invited us to sleep on board; but the soldier on guard refused to let us pass the plank, so I pitched him into the river,—the proper place for all such stupid military men,—and went on board unopposed. Soon word came that we might sleep where we pleased. Mosquitoes were as bad here as anywhere on the Polochic; and while Frank slept on the dining-table without a net, I had a very dirty bed and a net full of mosquitoes and other things; so in the morning we could not decide which had had the least comfort.

With light usually comes a more cheerful feeling; and a good breakfast, to which the officers of the steamer invited us, made us feel at peace with all men, and I even took the trouble to ask if the soldier I had pitched into the river was drowned. The rain having ceased, we started for the town, ferrying ourselves over the creek in an old canoa half full of water.

As the comandante had not recovered from his overnight debauch, we went about the little village to do some necessary shopping and arrange for our journey to Coban. The town was small, but neat and attractive. A clear brook ran over a limestone bed, and in one place it fell over a ledge into a pool where washing is done both of persons and garments. An old Spaniard was bathing here, and, although half a dozen women were washing clothes or soaking maiz in the same limited bath-tub, he invited us to join him. Near by, a man was dressing an oxhide by pegging it to the ground and then salting the inside.

At the Comandancia we found, not the chief, who was still too drunk, but two very polite officials, with whom I had a pleasant chat; I then wrote my name, residence, and all the titles I could ever lay claim to, as well as those of Señor Don Francisco, my “Secretario.” The impression was so marked that our lawless neglect of Izabal was overlooked, and we were given a full permit to land our luggage. Once more we returned to the river, in order to dismiss our Carib boatmen, and on the way we met an intelligent ladino who spoke English (indeed he had been to London); and he, acting as our interpreter, greatly assisted us in shopping and in our preparations for the long journey before us. In his garden were some goyava-trees (Psidium); but the fruit was unripe, and we found that our new friends eat the goyava as the Chinese eat pears and other fruits,—quite hard; salting it, however. Santiago found horses for Frank and myself, and at the Comandancia we procured Indian mozos to carry our luggage. This was our first experience of a system that we found very convenient throughout the country. By an order from the Comandancia, Indios are obliged to carry burdens, as in the present case, precisely as their Northern brothers have to serve on a jury, and do it for three reals (37½ cents) a day,—quite equal here to the fee the law allows an intelligent juryman in the North. They cannot be sent beyond their district, nor made to carry more than four arrobas (100 lbs.). In many cases they carry six arrobas without complaint, supporting their burden by a raw-hide strap (called mecapal) over the forehead. The person hiring pays to the authorities, with whom the men are registered, a real a head. I provided four of these men to carry our luggage to La Tinta; but Santiago cut down the number by half at the end of the first stage. Our experience with these mozos de cargo was pleasant, as they usually kept up with our horses on the mountain-roads, and took good care of the parcels intrusted to them. Each one carries a palm-leaf umbrella (suyacal), which also serves for bed at night. I have employed dozens of these bearers, and found only one of whom I could complain; and he was not with me on the road, but sent with our mozo Santiago,—which might be an excuse for him.

There is no posada in Pansos; and after getting our breakfast at noon in a little shop which was papered with pictures from “Harper’s Weekly” and “Puck,” we decided to spend the night at Teleman. After some difficulty in getting permission for our guide to leave town,—the comandante being still drunk,[10]—at two o’clock, mounted tolerably, Frank and I, with our boy Roberto, left Pansos. The pleasure of being again on horseback after the dull inaction of our canoa voyage was so great that I was willing to overlook any deficiencies in my mount. As Roberto stopped a short distance from the town to make a slight addition to his wardrobe, we went on alone for a while; the road could hardly be missed, it is so worn by the bullock-carts used to bring coffee from the plantations of Alta Verapaz. The beautiful vegetation, healthy and luxuriant, drew our attention from the muddy road, which became worse as we got farther into the forest. Many fine clear brooks crossed our path, and as we came out of the woods the valley of the Boca-nueva lay before us. Two piers of masonry stand on opposite banks of this river; but the iron bridge lies on the shore at Livingston, and there seems to be no very strong attraction between the iron and the masonry. The absence of a bridge was no great hardship, for not only was the river shallow and easily fordable, but there was a most curious vine-bridge, built of vejucos, perhaps a hundred and fifty feet long, hung from two convenient trees and approached by ladders. It was old, and one side was broken down; so it required care and courage to cross it. It was very similar in construction to modern wire suspension-bridges, but wholly vegetable, there being not a particle of metal about it.

A few miles farther brought us out of the wooded to the cleared land, where is the hamlet of Teleman, famed for its delicious oranges. Although nearly sundown, and cloudy, the thermometer stood at seventy-eight degrees. We found lodging at the house of Don Pablo, a fine-looking old man with a heavy gray beard. His little home was in the midst of orange and coffee trees close on the road, and only a light rail kept the too familiar cattle out of the house. We had no long time to look around before dark; but our comida was good, and the coffee grown there was very fine. The hospitable Don Pablo pointed to a pile of oranges on the floor and told us to help ourselves, which we did freely. Another Spaniard came in soon after we were settled, and I had the best chance I had ever had to exercise my “book Spanish.” I surprised Frank, and myself as well, obtaining from these two agreeable men a great deal of information about our road and the country generally. The room was certainly as strange a one as I had ever slept in,—a table in one corner, with a mahogany bench fifteen inches wide before it (on this bench a small child slept all night, without pillow or covering); two hammocks; a bedstead with mosquito-netting; piles of coffee, oranges, and other small matters; a shrine of tinsel containing two images, before whose dingy holiness a sardine-box lamp burned luridly; meat in strips hung from the roof. The chickens had all gone under the bed for the night; and when it was time for the featherless bipeds to roost also, our host and his women retired into the dark inner room, after assigning me the bed and Frank one of the hammocks, while the stranger took the other and soon settled himself comfortably. The bed certainly was not luxurious, and the pillow had seen better days; but I rigged up a cleaner head-rest with a towel, and was comfortable enough. Not so Frank, who was unused to hammocks; and before I was quite asleep I heard his whisper, asking if there was room to take him in; and as the bed was large, his hammock was deserted.

We were up at four; and as it was still quite dark, the sardine-box lamp was again lighted, and we drank the delicious coffee grown in Don Pablo’s garden, while a little muchacha drove out her chickens from under the bed. The clouds promised rain; but we had none all day, in spite of the predictions of both host and guide.

We crossed two aguas calientes. One of them was steaming in the cool morning air; but their temperature was very little above that of the atmosphere at midday. Cacao-trees were very common, though we saw none cultivated. Here we first saw in abundance some of the convolvulus blossoms for which the country is noted. One was of a pale rose, another a deep blue, with hispid calyx and a corolla five inches across, while a third was of flesh-color and satiny texture, covering the trees near La Tinta. We arrived in that village about noon, and after some delay found a house where they would cook us an almuerzo. Our menu comprised good white rolls, broiled meat, fried plantains, frijoles, fried eggs, and good coffee,—all which we relished exceedingly; and we were not less satisfied with the price,—two reals each. The house contained only one room, a stone cooking-bench[11] at one end, and a row of box-like beds along one side. Under these several hens were sitting, and two or three dogs tried hard to get into a bed, while a colt kept putting his head into a window, and finally upset the corn-box. There was not much to the town, certainly. The school had thirteen pupils,—some bright enough; but the church was an insignificant shed. Pasturage was good, and we noticed a very large proportion of bulls by the roadside; these were quite as gentle as the cows.

In the afternoon we crossed, on an iron truss-bridge covered with a thatched roof, the Polochic, now a shallow but still wide stream. I wished for my camera here,—as I had several times since I left Pansos; but we were effectually parted until our mozos should overtake us at Coban. We had been assured by the blind ladinos that there was no interesting scenery on the road. We were now constantly ascending, and we passed many Indios of the Poconchi tribe,—clean, good-looking, and dressed in white, with fanciful designs of darker colors sewed on.

We arrived at Chamiquin early in the afternoon, and found the hamlet consisted, as far as we could see, of two very inferior houses and as many sheds. A fine grove of mango-trees, but no fruit; a hen-house built in the second story only, and accessible by ladder; palms, with the withered leaves still clinging to the stem (cultivated for the nuts, but dreary looking); limestone cropping out on the neighboring hills,—comprised the distinctive features of the place. Our room was new and clean, lined with banana-leaves, and the hard earth floor was of course uncarpeted. The furniture was simply a table and a bench; but frugal as the furnishing was, our dinner surpassed it,—a few tortillas, four eggs, and some nasty coffee for two hungry men! We had our own candles, or we might not have seen how little it was. Perhaps our hostess did as well as she could, for the twenty-five dogs that besieged our room while we ate were evidently half starved.

All through the country the dogs are very ill conditioned, and I several times remonstrated with their owners for what seemed to me cruel treatment; for although I detest this unclean brute, I do not like to see him suffer. But I was always assured that the dogs were underfed, not on account of cruelty, but to make them good hunters and scavengers. It certainly made them useless for the only purpose besides hunting that dogs seem to have been created for,—human food. Guatemala canines are certainly a contrast to the juicy little poi dogs of the Hawaiians (which are fed only on poi, sweet potato, and milk), or the excellent dogs always hanging in the butcher-shops in China.

Here let me speak of the atrocious coffee that we found in this place and elsewhere as we went on. The berry, which is of fine quality, is burned, not roasted, and when pulverized, boiled for hours, and then bottled. This nasty mess they call esencia de café, and mix it with boiling water at the table. It was generally served to us in patent-medicine bottles, with a corn-cob or a roll of paper for a stopper. It had not the slightest taste of coffee, but reminded one of the smell of a newly-printed newspaper.

We were on our way next morning at half-past five, and found the road much washed by the severe rains of the night before. On our right, across the valley, was a fine cascade spattering over the limestone rocks, and now we came for the first time to home-like pine-trees. Begonias of two species grew in the clefts of the roadside rocks, and in a house-yard was a fine Euphorbia Poinsettii. As my horse had hurt his foot at Teleman, I walked much of the way, so our progress up the hills was not very rapid; and we were by no means expecting it when a turn in the road between two hills brought us abruptly into San Miguel Tucurú.

This interesting town, of some three hundred inhabitants, had no posada; but we found a capital casa de hospedaje, kept by a señora of African descent married to an invisible ladino. The house was of fair size, built of adobe, and well plastered. A black Saint Benedict hung in effigy on the wall,—the forerunner of a host of black saints and holy people whom we saw both in sculpture and painting as we advanced through this ancient domain of the Spanish missionaries. Our señora had a calentura,—the national excuse for not doing anything or going anywhere; but for all that she got us a good breakfast. Our horses were used up, and our boy could get no others. An appeal to the alcalde brought one poor horse; but all our further efforts were answered by mañana (to-morrow),—that word so hateful to an active man, but universal here. As we had a very comfortable house to pass the night in, we made ourselves easy, and started to explore the town. On our way in I had seen an attractive spring a short distance from the road, and I went alone to explore it, taking a calabash I had just purchased for a drinking-vessel. A well-worn path led across a meadow, and a sudden turn brought me upon a party of women in exceedingly slight apparel, bathing and washing in a little pool into which the spring emptied through a spout. These naiads were most of them young; but one old woman, a foul-visaged hag, scowled savagely upon me, while the others giggled as I quietly handed my calabash to the prettiest, and asked her to give me a drink of water, which she caught from the high spout with skill and without hesitation, although the action exhibited her form in all its beauty. How I wanted my camera!

Stuck in the muddy road was a train of ox-carts, and the oxen from seven or eight were yoked to the head cart; and when that was dragged out of the slough to a camping-place, the next and all the rest were treated the same way. We wandered about town between the showers, saw lime-kilns, a lead-mine, and several potteries, and at last came to the church,—a more considerable building than we had yet seen in Central America. The door was tied with a leather shoestring, and there was no resident priest. The images seemed, to our unaccustomed eyes, most horrible; but they must have appeared in holier form to the poor worshippers, for marigolds and amaranths were strewed before them, and votive candles burned on the floor. The ancient name of this town was Tucurúb (meaning “town of owls”); but the Spaniards re-christened it by one of the saints called Michael,—which I do not know, but apparently not that one whose churches in western Europe are usually perched on some almost inaccessible pinnacle, as at Le Puy in France, St. Michael’s Mount in Cornwall, etc. Only one man in the town could speak English, and he could give us very little information about our road. Indeed, all the way we were in that delightful condition of travelling without knowing exactly what is coming, and constantly meeting the unexpected. The rain at last came down in earnest, and drove us within doors. A Boston boy who has a fine coffee estate in the neighborhood came in as we were at dinner and initiated us into the mystery of tortillas tostadas. Certainly by toasting, the tough, clammy, cold tortilla is made even better than new.

At four in the morning our boy Roberto lighted the candle and waked us up. We had settled our score the night before, and so did not disturb the family, but completed our toilet on the doorstep, as we saw to the saddling of our horses, by the light of the solitary candle. It was so dark as we rode away that we could not see the road, and blindly followed our guide’s white horse. A gate across the road gave us some trouble, as we could only feel it. By daylight the scenery must be fine; but as the noise of rushing waters, and a blacker streak by the road-side, alone indicated the torrents and barrancas at hand, we were troubled rather than pleased by these picturesque properties. We came to an ox-train camped in the middle of the road; and but for the glowing embers of their camp-fires we should have had great difficulty in passing.

As the gray dawn brightened over the mountains, the numerous white cascades attracted enough attention to keep us from the drowsiness we were both falling into from the darkness, cold, and dampness, and the slow gait of our horses. Fire-flies were still sparkling when it was light enough to see the road.

It was quite early when we came to Tamahù; and as we entered the little town (1,517 inhabitants), which is twelve leagues from Coban, we saw a shrine with images as horrible as any of the idols of the ancient Polynesians. Most of the houses had tiled roofs, and looked neat and comfortable. At one of the best we stopped for coffee; and while the preparations for our meal were going on, Frank and I went up to the church hard by. The door was tied with a rope, and we found little of interest within, except images closely resembling East Indian idols, and around all a flavor of mild decay. Our hostess—for always it was the señora who managed the hospitalities and took the pay therefor—gave us rolls and fried plantains with our good coffee, and the table and bench were of some choice wood, darker and harder than mahogany. Fine roses blossomed in the yard (it was November), and cotton-dyeing and weaving, the principal industries of the town, were carried on in nearly every house. Lime-burning and tile-making also employ a goodly number of the people.

As we rode into the country, we passed many clumps of a fine arborescent composite some twenty feet high,—one of the giants of this great and widely spread family. Crimson lobelias (like cardinal-flowers) with red stems, crenulate leaves, and a very unpleasant odor, were common. The road was badly gullied, and the nightly rains had made the Polochic, which still kept at our side, an angry looking torrent quite unfordable. The grades of the road were good, and showed engineering skill and constant care; but for all this my horse broke down before noon, as I had expected, and our boy, after some consultation with the drivers of a mule-train we passed, captured a stray mule for me and turned the horse loose. All the horses here seem so feeble, and many of the mules so sore, that I seriously thought of capturing one of the powerful bulls feeding peaceably by the path, and riding him in true African style; but Frank earnestly dissuaded me, so we had to walk half the time to save our wretched hacks.

Through the mud we rode into Tactic, four leagues farther on, at half-past one o’clock. The barometer recorded 4,650 feet; but this was not high enough to insure dry roads at this season. The town, of some thirteen hundred inhabitants, seemed prosperous; the houses were of a better class than any we had yet seen, and the gardens were full of fruit-trees and vegetables. Tree-abutilons, both pink and crimson, were covered with blossoms, and peach-trees bore both blossoms and unripe fruit. The roads were quite too muddy for foot-travel, except in native undress. The corridors of the houses generally had carved posts and lintels, and the central tile of the ridge was usually fashioned into a cross, with two lambs or doves as supporters. The casa municipal was a noteworthy building. In gardens we saw fine coffee-trees, and were told that here there are three blossomings in May, and as many harvestings in December; the first and third are small, while the second is large. Roses were even finer than at Tamahù; and a little girl gave me a bunch of a kind much like the old-fashioned cabbage-rose. Most of the inhabitants are Indios of the Poconchi tribe.

The façade of the church is ornamented with dumpy statues of saints, and the main altar is elaborately carved. We noticed a picture of three men in the flames of Sheol,—whether Hell or Purgatory we could not tell; one wore a tiara, another a mitre, while the third had on a plain four-cornered canonical cap. In front of the church we bought twenty jocotes (Spondias sp.) for a medio. There are several varieties of this plum-like fruit, and the red is larger and better than the yellow. When quite ripe, the rather tender skin contains a juicy yellow pulp around a rough stone. From the fermented juice chicha is made,—much used as a mild intoxicant, not unlike thin cider.

As we rode out of town we saw that the suburban gardens were much overrun by squash and bean vines. Maiz stood fifteen feet high; far up on the hills we saw cornfields (milpas), having in their midst dwelling-houses almost in the clouds, and seemingly built like swallows’ nests against the steep hillside. The campo santo, or cemetery, was surrounded by adobe walls, and seemed utterly neglected. We had seen in the church, and now found by the roadside, a fine red and yellow orchid, and another pure white one, as well as the cardinal-flower. All day there had been showers; and when we arrived at Santa Cruz, long after dark, we were wet, in spite of our ponchos and the water would run into our boots.

There was no posada, so our boy declared, and we had to try the cabildo for the first time. The Escuela por Niños, or “school for ninnies,” as Frank persisted in calling it, was placed at our disposal; but the floor was bare, hard concrete, and we had no mats, while there was no chance to hang our hammocks. It was not inviting; but one of the attendants kindly brought two mahogany settees from the court-room, and this was so hard a couch that one might be pardoned for going to bed with boots on,—and mine were so wet that I feared I should not get them on in the morning if they once came off. We needed food quite as much as a bed, and at last found rolls and coffee at a little shop near at hand. At four o’clock in the morning there was an earthquake, which did not wake Frank, though it jarred my bed as though some one had run against it in the dark. This shock was felt, as we afterwards found, at Coban, San Cristobal, and for miles around. Slight earthquakes are said to be common enough here, but we saw no evidence of severe ones.

In the morning at half-past five, while Roberto was saddling the horses, we visited the church and found many curiously carved and gilded altar-pieces. After performing our ablutions in a puddle in the road, left by the last night’s rain, we got our coffee and hastened on our way, as it was Friday, and we still had twelve miles to ride to Coban.

This city, although at an elevation of 4,500 feet, is surrounded by much higher hills; and from the pass over which the road winds, the view of the surrounding coffee-region is very fine. The streams were in flood, and some of the lower plantations were under water. Near the town we saw the method of raising coffee-plants under frames covered with dried ferns. Crossing a good bridge, we came up a paved street, and soon after ten o’clock rode into the Hotel Aleman, where we had a very comfortable room and two beds with sheets and pillow-cases,—the first we had seen since we left Livingston; and we were not now compelled to sleep in our clothes. Our breakfast was the best we had found since we had been in the country, and consisted of soup, sausages, frijoles negras, wheaten rolls, fried plantains, tortillas tostadas, tomato salad, fried potatoes, and good coffee. The potatoes here are native, seldom larger than an English walnut, and very mealy. In the patio of the hotel bloomed roses and violets.

As this Hotel Aleman was the first house of solid masonry we had entered since our arrival in Guatemala, we examined it with some curiosity. Externally it was very plain,—white with stucco, of one story, and roofed with red tile. Windows were few, and the large door of two valves was generally closed in a rather inhospitable manner to an outsider. Once within the portal, however, the scene changed wonderfully. Before us was a courtyard (patio), into which the house opened. Directly in front was a plain building, used as kitchen (cocina) and stable; on the left was the garden (huerto); on the right, the corridor, on which opened the sala, or parlor, an apartment or two, and the dining-room (comedor). In the corner was a large concrete tank to catch rain-water. Our own apartment was at the left of the entrance, and was quite large, with tiled floor and separate corridor. A curtain was suspended between two of the pillars to shade the dining-room, and hammocks could be swung in every direction when needed. Birds hung in cages, and flowers in baskets; and the négligé air of everything, except the neat little Indian women who did the household work, added to the comfortable feeling the place inspired.

We walked up a paved street an eighth of a mile to the casa municipal, and, passing an arched gateway in the clock-tower, entered a spacious plaza, with the cabildo on our left and the foundations of the new palace on the brow of the hill opposite. Directly before us was the church and connected buildings,—once a college of priests, since confiscated by the Government, and now used as a music-school, blacksmith’s shop, and for other purposes. The main part of the Plaza was paved; and here were congregated several hundred Indios, mostly of the Quekchi tribe, buying, selling, and bartering. We bought twenty-five fine granadillas (fruit of the passion-flower) for a medio, and as many jocotes for the same price. Delicate straw hats, woven in two colors, were three reals and a medio; cotton napkins (servilletas) of native weaving, two reals; palm-leaf umbrellas (suyacales), such as every mozo de cargo carries, one real. There was a fair supply of raw cotton, cacao, brown sugar, tallow, soap, and blankets.