EL PASO DEL NORTE.
"My dear child, do you feel rested enough?" I heard my mother ask.
"Are you up already?" I asked, turning on my side, to see her as she
sat, dressed, by the open window, through which came a lazy, southern
breeze.
"This hour," she replied, smiling at me; "you slept so well, I did not
want to rouse you, but the morning is perfect and I want you to share
its beauties with me."
The remembrance of our midnight arrival faded like a bad nightmare, and
I was soon happy that I was there; only at mealtime did I long for home.
We learned that the first train we could get for Mexico would be about
six o'clock in the afternoon, so we decided "to do" the town in the
meanwhile.
El Paso, which is Spanish for "The Pass," is rather a lively town. It
has been foretold that it will be a second Denver, so rapid is its
growth. A number of different railway lines center here, and the hotels
are filled the year round with health and pleasure seekers of all
descriptions. While it is always warm, yet its climate is so perfect
that it benefits almost any sufferer. The hotels are quite modern, both
in finish and price, and the hack-drivers on a par with those in the
East.
The prices for everything are something dreadful to contemplate. The
houses are mostly modern, with here and there the adobe huts which
once marked this border. The courthouse and jail combined is a fine
brick structure that any large city might boast of. Several very pretty
little gardens brighten up the town with their green, velvety grasses
and tropical plants and trees. The only objection I found to El Paso
was its utter lack of grass.
The people of position are mainly those who are there for their health,
or to enjoy the winter in the balmy climate, or the families of men who
own ranches in Texas. The chief pleasure is driving and riding, and the
display during the driving hour would put to shame many Eastern cities.
The citizens are perfectly free. They speak and do and think as they
please.
In our walks around we had many proffer us information, and even ask
permission to escort us to points of interest.
A woman offered to show us a place where we could get good food, and
when she learned that we were leaving that evening for the City of
Mexico, she urged us to get a basket of food. She said no eating-cars
were run on that trip, and the eating gotten along the way would be
worse than Americans could endure. We afterward felt thankful that we
followed her advice.
El Paso, the American town, and El Paso del Norte (the pass to the
north), the Mexican town, are separated, as New York from Brooklyn, as
Pittsburgh from Allegheny. The Rio Grande, running swiftly between its
low banks, its waves muddy and angry, or sometimes so low and still
that one would think it had fallen asleep from too long duty, divides
the two towns.
Communication is open between them by a ferryboat, which will carry you
across for two and one half cents, by hack, buggies, and saddle horses,
by the Mexican Central Railway, which transports its passengers from
one town to the other, and a street-car line, the only international
street-car line in the world, for which it has to thank Texas
capitalists.
It is not possible to find a greater contrast than these two cities
form, side by side. El Paso is a progressive, lively, American town; El
Paso del Norte is as far back in the Middle Ages, and as slow as it was
when the first adobe hut was executed in 1680. It is rich with grass
and shade trees, while El Paso is as spare of grass as a twenty-year
old youth is of beard.
On that side they raise the finest grapes and sell the most exquisite
wine that ever passed mortals' lips. On this side they raise vegetables
and smuggle the wine over. The tobacco is pronounced unequaled, and the
American pockets will carry a good deal every trip, but the Mexican
is just as smart in paying visits and carrying back what can be only
gotten at double the price on his side; but the Mexican custom-house
officials are the least exacting in the world, and contrast as markedly
with the United States' officials as the two towns do one to the other.
One of the special attractions of El Paso del Norte (barring the
tobacco and wine) is a queer old stone church, which is said to be
nearly 300 years old. It is low and dark and filled with peculiar
paintings and funnily dressed images.
The old town seems to look with proud contempt on civilization and
progress, and the little _padre_ preaches against free schools and
tells his poor, ignorant followers to beware of the hurry and worry of
the Americans--to live as their grand- and great-grandfathers did. So,
in obedience they keep on praying and attending mass, sleeping, smoking
their cigarettes and eating _frijoles_ (beans), lazily wondering why
Americans cannot learn their wise way of enjoying life.
One can hardly believe that Americanism is separated from them only
by a stream. If they were thousands of miles apart they could not be
more unlike. There smallpox holds undisputed sway in the dirty streets,
and, in the name of religion, vaccination is denounced; there Mexican
convict-soldiers are flogged until the American's heart burns to wipe
out the whole colony; there _fiestes_ and Sundays are celebrated by
the most inhuman cock-fights and bull-fights, and monte games of all
descriptions. The bull-fights celebrated on the border are the most
inhuman I have seen in all of Mexico. The horns of the _toros_ (bulls)
are sawed off so that they are sensitive and can make but little
attempt at defense, which is attended with extreme pain. They are
tortured until, sinking from pain and fatigue, they are dispatched by
the butcher.
El Paso del Norte boasts of a real Mexican prison. It is a long,
one-storied adobe building, situated quite handy to the main plaza, and
within hearing of the merry-making of the town. There are no cells, but
a few adobe rooms and a long court, where the prisoners talk together
and with the guards, and count the time as it laggingly slips away.
They very often play cards and smoke cigarettes. Around this prison
is a line of soldiers. It is utterly impossible to cross it without
detection.
Mexican keepers are not at all particular that the prisoners are fed
every day. An American, at the hands of the Mexican authorities,
suffers all the tortures that some preachers delight to tell us some
human beings will find in the world to come.
Fire and brimstone! It is nothing to the torments of an American
prisoner in a Mexican jail. Two meals, not enough to sustain life in a
sick cat, must suffice him for an entire week. There are no beds, and
not even water. Prisoners also have the not very comfortable knowledge
that, if they get too troublesome, the keepers have a nasty habit of
making them stand up and be shot in the back. The reports made out in
these cases are "shot while trying to escape."
In the afternoon I exchanged my money for Mexican coin, getting a
premium of twelve cents on every dollar. I had a lunch prepared, and
as the shades of night began to envelop the town, we boarded the train
for Mexico. After we crossed the Rio Grande our baggage was examined by
the custom-house officers while we ate supper at a restaurant which,
strangely enough, was run by Chinamen. This gave us a foretaste of
Mexican food and price.
It was totally dark when we entered the car again, and we were quite
ready to retire. There were but two other passengers in the car with
us. One was a Mexican and the other a young man from Chicago.
We soon bade them good-night, and retired to our berths to sleep while
the train bore us swiftly through the darkness to our destination.