SIX MONTHS IN MEXICO
BY
NELLIE BLY
AUTHOR OF "TEN DAYS IN A MAD HOUSE," ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
AMERICAN PUBLISHERS CORPORATION
1888
TO
GEORGE A. MADDEN,
MANAGING EDITOR
OF THE
PITTSBURG DISPATCH,
IN REMEMBRANCE OF HIS NEVER-FAILING KINDNESS
JAN. 1st, 1888.
CONTENTS
I. ADIEU TO THE UNITED STATES
II. EL PASO DEL NORTE
III. ALONG THE ROUTE
IV. THE CITY OF MEXICO.
V. IN THE STREETS OF MEXICO
VI. HOW SUNDAY IS CELEBRATED
VII. A HORSEBACK RIDE OVER HISTORIC GROUNDS
VIII. A MEXICAN BULL-FIGHT
IX. THE MUSEUM AND ITS CURIOSITIES
X. HISTORIC TOMBS AND LONELY GRAVES
XI. CUPID'S WORK IN SUNNYLAND.
XII. JOAQUIN MILLER AND COFFIN STREET
XIII. IN MEXICAN THEATERS
XIV. THE FLOATING GARDENS
XV. THE CASTLE OF CHAPULTEPEC
XVI. THE FEASTS OF THE GAMBLERS
XVII. FEAST OF FLOWERS AND LENTEN CELEBRATIONS
XVIII. GUADALUPE AND ITS ROMANTIC LEGEND
XIX. A DAY'S TRIP ON A STREET CAR
XX. WHERE MAXIMILIAN'S AMERICAN COLONY LIVED
XXI. A MEXICAN ARCADIA
XXII. THE WONDERS OF PUEBLA
XXIII. THE PYRAMID OF CHOLULA
XXIV. A FEW NOTES ABOUT MEXICAN PRESIDENTS
XXV. MEXICAN SOLDIERS AND THE RURALES
XXVI. THE PRESS OF MEXICO
XXVII. THE GHASTLY TALE OF DON JUAN MANUEL
XXVIII. A MEXICAN PARLOR
XXIX. LOVE AND COURTSHIP IN MEXICO
XXX. SCENES WITHIN MEXICAN HOMES
XXXI. THE ROMANCE OF THE MEXICAN PULQUE
XXXII. MEXICAN MANNERS
XXXIII. NOCHE TRISTE TREE
XXXIV. LITTLE NOTES OF INTEREST
XXXV. A FEW RECIPES FOR MEXICAN DISHES
XXXVI. SOME MEXICAN LEGENDS
XXXVII. PRINCESS JOSEFA DE YTURBIDE
SIX MONTHS IN MEXICO.
By NELLIE BLY.
CHAPTER I.
ADIEU TO THE UNITED STATES.
One wintry night I bade my few journalistic friends adieu, and,
accompanied by my mother, started on my way to Mexico. Only a few
months previous I had become a newspaper woman. I was too impatient
to work along at the usual duties assigned women on newspapers, so I
conceived the idea of going away as a correspondent.
Three days after leaving Pittsburgh we awoke one morning to find
ourselves in the lap of summer. For a moment it seemed a dream. When
the porter had made up our bunks the evening previous, the surrounding
country had been covered with a snowy blanket. When we awoke the trees
were in leaf and the balmy breeze mocked our wraps.
Three days, from dawn until dark, we sat at the end of the car inhaling
the perfume of the flowers and enjoying the glorious Western sights so
rich in originality. For the first time I saw women plowing while their
lords and masters sat on a fence smoking. I never longed for anything
so much as I did to shove those lazy fellows off.
After we got further south they had no fences. I was glad of it,
because they do not look well ornamented with lazy men.
The land was so beautiful. We gazed in wonder on the cotton-fields,
which looked, when moved by the breezes, like huge, foaming breakers in
their mad rush for the shore. And the cowboys! I shall never forget
the first real, live cowboy I saw on the plains. The train was moving
at a "putting-in-time" pace, as we came up to two horsemen. They wore
immense sombreros, huge spurs, and had lassos hanging to the side of
their saddles. I knew they were cowboys, so, jerking off a red scarf I
waved it to them.
I was not quite sure how they would respond. From the thrilling and
wicked stories I had read, I fancied they might begin shooting at me
as quickly as anything else. However, I was surprised and delighted to
see them lift their sombreros, in a manner not excelled by a New York
exquisite, and urge their horses into a mad run after us.
Such a ride! The feet of the horses never seemed to touch the ground.
By this time nearly all the passengers were watching the race between
horse and steam. At last we gradually left them behind. I waved my
scarf sadly in farewell, and they responded with their sombreros. I
never felt as much reluctance for leaving a man behind as I did to
leave those cowboys.
The people at the different stopping-places looked at us with as much
enjoyment as we gazed on them. They were not in the least backward
about asking questions or making remarks. One woman came up to me with
a smile, and said:
"Good-mornin', missis; and why are you sittin' out thar, when thar is
such a nice cabin to be in?"
She could not understand how I could prefer seeing the country to
sitting in a Pullman.
I had imagined that the West was a land of beef and cream; I soon
learned my mistake, much to my dismay. It was almost an impossibility
to get aught else than salt meat, and cream was like the stars--out of
reach.
It was with regret we learned just before retiring on the evening of
our third day out from St. Louis, that morning would find us in El
Paso. I cannot say what hour it was when the porter called us to dress,
that the train would soon reach its destination. How I did wish I had
remained at home, as I rubbed my eyes and tried to dress on my knees in
the berth.
"It's so dark," said my mother, as she parted the curtains. "What shall
we do when we arrive?"
"Well, I'm glad it's dark, because I won't have to button my boots or
comb my hair," I replied, laughing to cheer her up.
I did not feel as cheerful as I talked when we left the train. It had
been our home for three days, and now we were cast forth in a strange
city in the dark. The train employés were running about with their
lanterns on their arms, but no one paid any attention to the drowsy
passengers.
There were no cabs or cabmen, or even wheelbarrows around, and the
darkness prevented us from getting a view of our surroundings.
"This has taught me a lesson. I shall fall into the arms of the first
man who mentions marry to me," I said to my mother as we wended our way
through freight and baggage to the waiting-room, "then I will have some
one to look after me."
She looked at me with a little doubting smile, and gave my arm a
reassuring pressure.
I shall never forget the sight of that waiting-room. Men, women, and
children, dogs and baggage, in one promiscuous mass. The dim light of
an oil-lamp fell with dreary effect on the scene. Some were sleeping,
lost for awhile to all the cares of life; some were eating; some were
smoking, and a group of men were passing around a bottle occasionally
as they dealt out a greasy pack of cards.
It was evident that we could not wait the glimpse of dawn 'mid these
surroundings. With my mother's arm still tightly clasped in mine, we
again sought the outer darkness. I saw a man with a lantern on his
arm, and went to him and asked directions to a hotel. He replied that
they were all closed at this hour, but if I could be satisfied with a
second-class house, he would conduct us to where he lived. We were only
too glad for any shelter, so without one thought of where he might take
us, we followed the light of his lantern as he went ahead.
It was only a short walk through the sandy streets to the place. There
was one room unoccupied, and we gladly paid for it, and by the aid of a
tallow candle found our way to bed.