A DAY'S TRIP ON A STREET CAR.
After being annoyed by the porter for two hours, who feared we would
miss the train, our party of two at four o'clock in the morning
started for Jalapa. Even at this unholy hour a large crowd had
gathered at the station, where they busied themselves packing their
luggage aboard. Every woman had one male escort, some several. The
Mexicans surveyed myself and my chaperone in amazement, but I defied
their gaze and showed them that a free American girl can accommodate
herself to circumstances without the aid of a man. The mozo who had
carried the bothersome sachel demanded "un peso" (one dollar), which
I very promptly refused, and gave him the smallest change from my
purse--twenty-five cents. The seats run lengthwise, like in an ordinary
street car, and a Frenchman sitting opposite, who witnessed our little
transaction and my very limited knowledge of Spanish, remarked: "Well,
mademoiselle, you are smarter than I. A man charged me one dollar and a
half just for the same service that one rendered you, and, although I
speak Spanish, I had to pay it."
The occupants of the car were the Frenchman and his wife, a musician,
wife and sister-in-law, a Mexican and Frenchman solitaire, as they say
here, and ourselves. It was far from daylight, so, making themselves
as comfortable as possible, they all went to sleep. The Mexican women
were dressed in plain black, with black veils and very high hats;
they carried little black hand sachels, wore no gloves, and their
fingernails, easily a half-inch longer than the finger, were cut in
the bird-claw shape then so fashionable. The Frenchwoman did not look
very pretty, as she slept with her mouth open. She was dressed in red
silk, with red hat and veil, yellow gloves and linen duster. She was
very fleshy, and had, besides a hand sachel, a cage in which were
two brown birds dotted with red, which they informed us later were
French canaries. Her husband was about six feet three inches, and
weighed undoubtedly three hundred pounds. The solitaire Frenchman was
bald-headed, and had white side-whiskers, which stood out at right
angles to the length of one foot; his whiskers were the largest part
of him. The Mexican had a very red nose, extremely thick lips, and was
rather effeminate-looking. The married Mexican looked exactly like a
jolly Irish-man--something very extraordinary. After I had finished
this inspection by the dim light of a lamp which hung in the center of
the car, I too went to sleep, and knew no more till the train stopped
at the journey's end, a few miles out from Vera Cruz.
It ended the train's journey, but not ours, for the rest of the trip
is made by tramway. The cars are very high, have four seats, and the
rays of the sun are excluded by a tin roof and canvas sides. Six mules
do the hauling, and two cars--first and second-class--are run each way
daily. They run on a regular iron track, as it was once the intention
to run steam cars here. A great deal of freight is hauled in this
manner. The village surrounding this station is entirely composed of
straw huts. We were soon seated in the tram car, our number increased
by the guardsmen, who, as the old saying goes, were armed to the
teeth. A bell rang, and off we started with a rush, the second-class
car keeping close to us. Our happiness would have been supreme had not
the driver lashed his mules continually. The scenery was fine. The
tall, graceful palms, the cocoa trees, the thousands upon thousands
of beautiful orchids and wild flowers, the many-colored birds, some
piping heavenly strains, others taking their morning bath in the
running stream which crept along the wayside with a dreamy murmur; the
delightfully fragrant, balmy air, everything seemed to lend its aid
to make the scene one of indescribable loveliness. It was interesting
to note the homes and home life of the natives in this rural spot;
their straw houses are built simply by setting trees for corner posts
and sticking the cane into the ground around them. The roof, of cane,
grass, or palm leaves, always runs up to a high peak. Generally every
house has a porch and more rooms than one, but never any other floor
than the ground. Sometimes they exhibit good taste in building and
one house will have several rooms, two or more porches and pretty
peaks and curves which one would think impossible to make of cane; the
furniture does not cost much, it consists entirely of petates; they
furnish the tables, the beds, the chairs, and, suspended by a rope,
make a comfortable swinging cradle for the babies. This useful piece
of furniture is nothing more or less than a mat, woven by themselves
in plain or colored straw; these people, no difference how poor, own
burros, dogs, chickens, pigs, and other domestic animals, which do not
occupy outside or separate houses, but live, sleep, and eat right in
among them. A pig is as much at home in the kitchen or parlor as in a
mud puddle. It is no uncommon sight to see sleeping children bound on
one side by a pig, on the other by a sheep, and at their feet either a
dog or a goat.
Dinner was secured at an inn situated midway on the line. The landlord
taxed each passenger one dollar for the frugal repast, and even then
did not seem satisfied. The rays of the sun were beating fiercely down
when the travelers again boarded the tram car. One woman took from her
sachel a cross and prayer book, and read herself to sleep. The other
Mexican girl leaned her head on the back of the seat and went to sleep.
The big Frenchwoman turned her back to the side of the car and putting
her knees up on the seat she, too, went to sleep. Her husband by this
time was nodding slowly and soothingly, while the other Frenchman was
trying to tickle him by running a straw down his back, but at length
he tired of efforts unrewarded and sat down and went to sleep. When I
looked at the two Mexicans they were asleep, one with a half-smoked
cigarette in his mouth. The driver had tied the lines around the brake
lock and was in the midst of the land of nod. Even the two holders
of defensive weapons, who were there to guard us from all sorts of
imaginary evils, were so sound asleep that a cannon shot would not wake
them. Even the little birds had tucked their heads carefully under
their wings and, maybe, were dreaming. It was all so comical that I
glanced at my little mother to find she was bravely trying to resist
the sleepy god. She gave me a drowsy, sympathetic smile, while I buried
my face in my light shawl and laughed just like I used to do in church
when I would see anything funny, and my laughter was just as hearty
and hard to control. The mules had long ago gone to sleep, but still
managed to move slightly. The situation was too overpowering, and I
must confess that after putting myself into as small a knot as possible
I deposited my entire body on the seat and soon went sound asleep.
When I opened my eyes I found all the rest awake and the married
Mexican preparing to shoot birds. The driver was certainly the most
obliging fellow in the world. When anything was shot he stopped the car
and waited until the other got off and procured his game. The Mexican
shot at everything which was living, except the trees and flowers, but
he got off for nothing but squirrels, and the heartlessness of it made
us wish they had a humane society here, for many of the poor birds were
disabled, and the thought that they must live on in pain for many days
was not a pleasant one.
Our route lay over the old diligence road that connected Mexico with
the end of the world. Cortes, the French and the Americans all traveled
over it. We crossed the old national bridge and saw the ruins of one of
the forts built by Cortes. When the Mexican tired of his killing sport
the three ladies joined him in a game of cards, which the passengers
and driver watched with absorbing interest, while the mules resumed
their nap. I was bored beyond endurance by the listlessness of the
company, and was not sorry when their attention was attracted by a cart
drawn by four oxen, which was descending a high hill in the distance.
The cards were put aside, and they began to talk about the hacienda,
which was clearly in view, and the beautiful mansion, cathedral, and
numerous homes for the laborers, which held a commanding position on
top of the same high hill down which the cart was coming. When we
reached the brow of the hill, by looking back, we could see a white
streak which separated sky and earth, and were told it was the sea at
Vera Cruz, sixty miles away. The cart stopped at this point, where the
motive power was renewed by fresh mules, and its passengers--three
women--kissed and hugged the trio of Mexicans in our party. The
hacienda, owned by our fellow travelers, once belonged to Santa Anna.
When we resumed the journey it was drawing on toward evening, and I
began to view the beautiful surroundings with but a lazy interest; the
queer fences, built of mud and topped with cactus plant, and hedges
formed of beautiful palms, fifty or one hundred years old, commanded
but a passing glance. Pretty little homes, lovely gardens and sugar
factories had ceased to be of interest, so we settled down to rest
until the Frenchman stretched out his arm and ejaculated "Jalapa!"
In a moment all weariness vanished, and we were fresh as in the
morning. I wish I could show you Jalapa just as I saw it then. It
nestled down in the valley like a kitten in a cushioned basket. The
white houses gleamed like silver through the green trees, while the
surrounding mountains were enveloped in a light bluish mist which
grew black as the distance increased. The sun had just slipped behind
one, leaving its golden trail, the black and white clouds, the misty
mountains all mixed in one harmonious mass. We entered the town with
a rush, the driver blowing his tin horn to warn the inhabitants of
our arrival. A large crowd had collected at the station, but only two
hotel runners were there to bother us, and as all the other passengers
were citizens they clung to us faithfully. The Frenchman said he would
go with us to the hotel and make all arrangements. He took us to what
he thought was the best, and asked the woman the price. "One dollar
and fifty cents a day," she said, and us we were satisfied he bade us
good-bye, and left us to the tender mercies of the Mexicans. The hotel
was certainly very clean and nice. In the courtyard were trees and
flowers. A porch paved with brick tile surrounded this, and was hung at
every available space with bird cages. The building, only one-story,
was painted white, with trimmings of blue, The overhanging roof
was down low, and the rafters, which are never hidden, were painted
a light blue. The supper was undoubtedly the best we had eaten in
Mexico, and it immediately put a warm place in our heart for the little
superintendent, who lived awhile in the States and there learned to
cook.
Jalapa is at present the capital of the State of Vera Cruz; the capital
business is very different here from what it is in the States; there,
once a capital, always a capital; here, every new Governor locates the
capital where it best suits his convenience, if that should be in the
forest. Orizaba and Vera Cruz have both served repeated terms, but
Jalapa made a successful run and got in at the last convention. It is
a very old town, and not only noted for the beauty of its women, who
possess light hair and eyes, and beautiful complexions, but for the
beauty of its location. It is known as the flower garden of Mexico,
and the old familiar saying was, "See Jalapa and die," as it was
supposed to contain everything worth seeing; but at present it is
simply a beautiful, sleepy paradise, reminding one of a pretty child
in death--quiet and still, almost buried in a wealth of flowers; the
government buildings and churches are very fine, but the houses are
only one story; they are built with low, red-tiled, overhanging roofs,
and are tastily painted. Some pink houses have light-blue overhangers
and _vice versa,_ while white houses have blue or pink, and the yellow
have blue, pink, and white trimmings. Every street is very irregular,
narrow in some places, wide in others, and as crooked as the path of a
sinner. One can walk for a day and imagine they are on the same street
all the time, or on a different one every thirty feet, just as fancy
dictates.
One would willingly spend a lifetime on this "spot of earth let down
from heaven," as the Mexicans speak of it. Away over hills and ravines
can be seen the great Cofre de Perote, thirteen thousand five hundred
and fifty-two feet high. A great mass of white porphyry, in the shape
of a chest, gleams from its dark side. From this it derived its name,
"Cofre." Still above all, as though endeavoring to reach heaven, is
the snowy peak of Orizaba. The former is within a day's travel from
the town, and well deserves a visit. To the northeast, thirty miles
distant, is the lovely village of Misantla, noted for its beautiful
scenery and Aztec temple and pyramid. A little further north is another
pyramid, the finest and oldest in Mexico. Jilatepec is only seven miles
away. It is a lovely Indian village, peculiarly situated at the bottom
of a deep valley. Several foreign families are located at the flower
town of Cuatepec, owners of some of its far-famed coffee plantations.
Jalapa has a population of 12,400, and an elevation of 4,335 feet.
The climate is cool, the soil fertile, and the town never visited by
contagious diseases. All around are plantations of coffee, tobacco,
vanilla, cotton, maize, and jalapa--the well-known old medicine which
was a remedy for every known ill to which flesh is heir to. Jalapa is
pronounced as though it were spelled with an _h,_ with a soft sound to
the _a_--Halapah. There are many cotton mills around the suburbs that
are well worth the time it takes to visit them. We visited one owned
by our polite French friend. The building once sheltered nuns, and
the garden which surrounds it shows what it might once have been, but
is now one tangled mass of climbing roses, lemon, orange and coffee
trees, and numerous flowers for which I know no name. At the back, from
a little stone turret, one can view a smooth green plain divided by a
silvery stream--known by the inappropriate name of the Dry River, while
it was never known to go dry--which flows on to make that ponderous
machinery its slave, as it turns around with almost diabolical glee.
Men and women do the work. They receive from one real to seventy-five
cents a day. The machinery all comes from England.
Not far from the main Cathedral are the ruins of the Convent of San
Francisco. It is easily three hundred years old, and is of immense
size. Over the door of the chapel part we could trace "Property of King
Philip, of Spain," while cut in gilt letters on a black plate, just a
little nearer the edge of the building, is the inscription, "Land of
Benito Juarez." The baths are now used for the benefit of the public,
costing only six cents. The open swimming baths are used for horses
and dogs, the former costing three cents, the latter gratis, providing
the canine accompanies the horse. The public laundry is another place
of interest. It is situated in the center of the town, built of brick,
with stationary porous stones for washboards. The city charges nothing
for the use of the place.
When evening came I called my old landlady up and offered her three
dollars for the day. "No," she said, "I want six dollars." I was
astonished, but managed--with a mixture of English and Spanish--to
tell her I would pay no more. She went to her husband and he made out
a bill "payable by Nellie Bly for two--supper, all night, coffee and
breakfast, six dollars." I told her it was all wrong, and added that
she was bad, because I did not know a Spanish word for cheat, but I
wanted to get as near it as possible. At last I tried to drive some
sense into her head, and explained that the bill for one day for two
was three dollars. "Si hay" (pronounced "see eye"), she asserted.
"Well, I came last night, was here till this afternoon; one day, eh?"
"No, two," was her astonishing reply. "Well, madame, twenty-four hours
is one day in the United States, and if it isn't so here, I will start
it now." I gave her three dollars; and, remembering the old adage
that "he who fights and runs away lives to fight another day," and
having no desire to leave my bones in Jalapa or go to Vera Cruz with
a map drawn on my face with her fingernails, returned to my room and
left her to vent her rage on her husband or servants, as she wished.
But she was not going to be beaten by a "gringo," so she sent for the
Frenchman who brought me there. He rapped on my door, and asked what
was wrong. I told him the old lady was not only seeing double, but
counted everything by the second multiplication table. He laughed, and
said she thought I was a "gringo," and she could cheat me. He soon made
her see clearer, and we remained the following night and had supper
for seventy-five cents. I had learned pretty well how to make all
arrangements first, and proposed in the future not to drink a glass of
water until I knew the price. I had no intention of allowing a Yankee
girl to be cheated by a Mexican, man or woman.
The next morning we started on our return trip to Vera Cruz. We looked
forward to it with pleasure, as the former day spent on a street car
was one of the most pleasant and unique experiences of my life. We
had very few passengers down, the conductor, two soldiers, driver,
one old woman and ourselves, and a game rooster, who crowed at every
village, and was treated with as much consideration as a babe would
have been. At the station, just before we started, an old man who had
heard us speaking English, came up and spoke to us. He was an American,
but having lived in this town for forty years had forgotten his mother
tongue. His English was about as good as the newsboy's who took me to
his hotel in Vera Cruz. The old woman was going about one hundred and
twenty-five miles to see her married daughter, and she was bare-headed.
This woman did not know there was such a thing as the United States,
could not imagine what New York meant, and had never heard of George
Washington, not to mention the little hatchet and the democratic cry
of "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again." She made the day's
trip alternately smoking a cigarette and reading her prayer-book. A
short way out on the road the driver got off and picked up a little
gray bird by the roadside. On examination I found its side was terribly
lacerated by a shot, but I bound it up with my silk handkerchief and
decided to carry it to Vera Cruz, where I would try my hand at surgery.
The day passed similar to the former one, everybody going to sleep
after dinner; but the beauty of the country, and the novelty of a day
in a street car, robbed it of all disagreeable features, and as we
neared Vera Cruz I not only noted this the spiciest experience of my
life, but said I would not exchange it for any other in the Republic of
Mexico.