The Route to Mexico.--Via the Mammoth Cave.--Across the Rio Grande.--A
Large River.--Piedras Negras.--Characteristic Scene.--A Barren
Prairie Land.--Castano, a Native Village.--Adobe Cabins.--Indian
Irrigation.--Sparsely Populated Country.--Interior Haciendas.--
Immigration.--City of Saltillo.--Battle of Buena Vista.--City of
Monterey.--The Cacti and Yucca-Palm.--Capture by General Taylor.--
Mexican Central Railroad.--Jack-Rabbits.--A Dreary Region.--The
Mesquite Bushes.--Lonely Graves.
Although it is of Mexico exclusively that we propose to treat in these
pages, still the reader may naturally feel some interest to know the
route by which the Rio Grande was reached, and thus follow our course
somewhat consecutively from Boston through the Middle and Southern
States to the borders of the sister republic. The road which was chosen
took us first westward, through the Hoosac Tunnel, to Niagara Falls,--a
view of which one cannot too often enjoy; thence southward via Detroit
to Cincinnati, Ohio. The next point of special interest was Louisville,
Ky. That great national marvel, the Mammoth Cave, was visited, which,
next to Niagara, the wonderland of the Yellowstone Park, and the grand
scenic beauty of the Yosemite Valley, is the greatest curiosity of this
country. The vast interior, with its domes, abysses, grottoes, rivers,
and cataracts profitably entertain the visitor for hours. It is said
that one might travel a hundred miles underground if all of the
turnings were followed to their terminations. Echo River alone may be
traversed for three quarters of a mile by boat in a straight course.
Much might be written about the cave, but our objective point is Mexico.
Resuming our journey, and keeping still southward, Nashville, Tenn.,
Montgomery, Ala., Mobile, and New Orleans were reached respectively, and
on schedule time. The Crescent City is the greatest cotton mart in the
world, and is situated about a hundred miles from the Gulf of Mexico,
within a great bend of the Mississippi River, and hence its title of the
"Crescent City." It has over a quarter of a million of inhabitants. Its
peculiar situation makes it liable to floods each recurring spring.
Following what is known as the "Sunset Route" westward, we passed
through Texas by way of Houston, Galveston, and San Antonio.
A few hours were devoted to the latter place, in order to see the famous
Alamo, the old fort which, in 1836, the Texans so gallantly defended
while fighting for their independence. There were less than one hundred
and fifty men in the Alamo when it was besieged by four thousand Mexican
troops under Santa Anna. The Mexicans had artillery, the Texans had
none. They were summoned to surrender, but knowing what Mexican "mercy"
meant, they refused, and resolved to defend themselves to the very end.
The siege lasted for thirteen days, during which Santa Anna's soldiers
threw over two hundred shells into the Alamo, injuring no one. In the
mean time, the Texan sharpshooters picked off a great number of the
Mexicans. No shots were thrown away. If a gun was fired from the Alamo,
one of the besiegers was sure to fall. Santa Anna made several assaults,
but was driven back each time with great loss, until, it is represented,
he become frenzied by his want of success. At last, on the 6th of May, a
final and successful assault was made. When the fort was captured, every
Texan fell, fighting to the last. To be exact, there were just one
hundred and forty-four men inside the fort at the beginning of the
siege, and this handful of men either killed or wounded about one half
of the besieging force. It is said that over fifteen hundred Mexicans
were killed! This was about seven weeks before the battle of San
Jacinto, on which occasion General Houston captured, with a much
inferior force, the entire Mexican army, including Santa Anna himself,
who was running away in the disguise of a common infantry soldier. It
was with difficulty that his life was saved from the just fury of the
Texan soldiers. This decisive battle ended the war, and made Texas
independent of Mexico. It was a large slice to cut off the territory of
Mexico, as it would make, so far as size goes, over thirty States as
large as Massachusetts. It contains at this writing about two million
inhabitants, and the value of its taxable property is nearly or quite
eight hundred millions of dollars.
Finally we reached Eagle Pass, which is the American town on the north
bank of the Rio Grande, Piedras Negras being its Mexican neighbor on the
other side of the shallow river. Previous to the opening of the Mexican
Central Railroad, which was completed March 8, 1884, nine tenths of the
travelers who visited the country entered it from the south, at the port
of Vera Cruz, journeying northward to the city of Mexico by way of
Orizaba and Puebla, and returning by the same route; but the completion
and perfection of the railroad system between the north and the south
has changed this. Since 1888, when the International Branch Railroad was
opened, the favorite plan is to cross the border from the north, say at
Eagle Pass; and on the homeward route, after visiting the central and
southern portions of the republic, to recross the dividing river at Paso
del Norte. This was the route followed by the author, the Rio Grande
being crossed at the international bridge, and Mexican territory entered
at the town of Piedras Negras in the State of Coahuila, a thriving place
of some four thousand inhabitants.
One pauses thoughtfully for a moment to contrast the present means of
crossing the dividing river with the primitive rope ferry which answered
the purpose here not long since. A little flutter of anticipation also
moves us when it is realized that the territory of another country is
reached, that we are actually on a foreign soil, where a strange tongue
is spoken, where a new emblem floats from the flagstaffs, and where
another race possesses the land. The Rio Grande, which we cross at this
point, is not a navigable stream; in fact, river navigation is
practically unknown in Mexico, though some of the watercourses are of
considerable size. The Rio Grande has a total length of fifteen hundred
miles, rising in Colorado and emptying into the Gulf of Mexico. In the
rainy season, and when the snow melts in the mountains, the Rio Grande
is flooded to its full capacity, often overflowing its banks in marshy
regions. The first bridge built by the railway company at this point was
of wood, which was swept away like chaff by the next flood of the river.
The present substantial iron structure bids fair to last for many years.
The river, such as it is, belongs to the two nations, the boundary
agreed upon being the middle of the stream.
As we drew up at the railroad station, a lazy, listless, bareheaded,
dark-skinned crowd of men, women, and children welcomed us with staring
eyes to Mexican soil. The first idea which strikes one is that soap and
fine-tooth combs are not yet in use on the south side of the Rio Grande.
Piedras Negras boasts a spacious stone hotel, two stories in height,
which is quite American in appearance. The town is spread over so broad
an area as to have the effect of being sparsely peopled, but it is
thrifty in aspect and growing rapidly. From the manner in which scores
of men wrapped in scarlet blankets and mounted on little wiry Mexican
horses dashed hither and thither, one would think some startling event
was to transpire; but this was not the case--all was peaceful and quiet
in Piedras Negras.
The section of country through which the route first takes us is perhaps
one of the least interesting and most unproductive in the republic, with
an occasional mud hut here and there, and a few half-naked peons. What a
dreary region it is! What emptiness! How bare the serrated mountains,
how inhospitable the scenery, how brown, baked, and dusty! At the
International Bridge we are about seven hundred feet above the sea. Here
we take the International Railway, and from this point to Jaral, a
distance of two hundred and fifty miles almost due south, the cars are
constantly climbing an up-grade until the great Mexican plateau is
finally reached. It should be remembered, however, that this vast
table-land, covering nearly three quarters of the republic, is by no
means level, but is interspersed with hills, valleys, gulches, canyons,
and mountains of the loftiest character, in many places duplicating our
Rocky Mountain scenery both in height and grandeur.
A stop of a few hours was made at the quaint little adobe-built
town--cabins formed of sun-dried bricks--known by the name of Castano,
situated on the trunk line of the Mexican Central road, near the city of
Monclova, which is a considerable mining centre. This small native
village is the first typical object of the sort which greets the
traveler who enters the country from the north. It lies in a nearly
level valley between the two spurs of the Sierra Madre, where beautiful
green fields delight the eye, where fruit trees are in gorgeous bloom,
and where wild flowers add a charm in the very midst of cheerless, arid
surroundings. This inviting and thrifty aspect is produced entirely by
the hoe in the hands of the simple, industrious natives, with no other
aid than that of water. The peons are most efficient though unconscious
engineers, diverting a supply of water from the distant mountain
streams with marvelous ingenuity and success. No practical operator,
with every modern appliance and the most delicate instruments, could
strike more correct levels than do these natives with the eye and the
hoe alone. Upon entering one of the adobe cabins at the ever-open
door,--there are no windows,--we found the flat roof to be slightly
slanted to throw off the rain, having four or five wooden beams upon
which a few boards and rough sticks were nailed. On the top of these a
foot or more of earth is deposited. This primitive covering Nature
enamels with moss and dainty wild flowers. But this represents the
better class of cabin, the majority having only a thatched covering
supported by small branches of trees trimmed for the purpose, over which
are placed dried banana and maguey leaves. Some of the floors had stone
tiles, but most of them consisted of the uncovered earth. These last
must be wretchedly unwholesome in the brief rainy season. Swarthy,
unclad children were as numerous and active as young chickens. In more
than one of the cabins, dark-hued native women, wearing only a cotton
cloth wound around the lower part of their bodies from the middle, and a
short cotton waist over the shoulders without sleeves, knelt upon the
ground kneading tortillas between a flat, inclined stone and a long,
narrow one, just as their ancestors had done for centuries. Indeed, all
through Mexico one is surprised to see how little change has probably
taken place in the features of the people, their manner of living, their
dress and customs, since the days of the Montezumas. The traveler is
struck with the strong resemblance of Castano to an Egyptian village.
One sees its counterpart almost anywhere between Cairo and the first
cataract on the Nile. Clouds of black, long-tailed jackdaws flew over
our heads and settled abruptly here and there. Goats and donkeys dispute
the dusty roadway with the curious stranger, while women, with babies
hanging upon their backs, half concealed their dark-brown faces in red
or light blue rebosas, and peered at us with eyes of wonderful blackness
and fire. The rebosa, the universal garment of the common class of women
in Mexico, is utilized as a carry-all for baby or bundles. It is worn
over the head and shoulders in the daytime, when not otherwise in use,
and at night is the one blanket or covering while the owner is asleep.
The donkey, or burro, as it is called, is to be seen everywhere in this
country. Poor, overburdened, beaten, patient animal! How so small a
creature can possibly carry such heavy loads is a constant puzzle. When
its full strength would seem to be taxed, the lazy owner often adds his
own weight by bestriding the animal, sitting far back upon its hips.
Before the coming of the Spaniards there were no beasts of burden in
Mexico; everything that required transportation was moved by human
muscles. It was not until the eighteenth century that the jackass was
introduced; cattle, sheep, horses, and hogs long preceded them.
Rain falls at Castano only for three weeks, or so, during the year,
about the early part of May; the dust is consequently very deep and
fills the air at the slightest atmospheric movement. The general view
is broken now and again by the Spanish bayonet tree, ten or twelve feet
in height, and by broad clusters of grotesque cactus plants, which
thrive so wonderfully in spite of drought, hanging like vines along the
base of the adobe cabins and creeping up their low sides, the leaves
edged here and there by a dainty ruffle of scentless yellow flowers.
Beside a very lowly mud cabin was a tall oleander, branches and leaves
hidden in gorgeous bloom, imparting a cheerful, joyous aspect even amid
all this squalor and poverty. Close at hand upon the adobe wall hung a
willow cage imprisoning a tropical bird of gaudy plumage; but the
feathered beauty did not seem to have any spare notes with which to
greet us. From another cabin came the pleasant sound of a guitar,
accompanied by a human voice. So this people love birds, flowers, and
music. The half-effaced image of God must be still upon their hearts!
The little town has four or five broad, unpaved streets, and is as
primitive as nature herself in all its domestic surroundings.
Except on the immediate line of the railways, one may travel thirty or
forty miles in almost any part of Mexico without seeing a
dwelling-house. The people live mostly in towns and cities, and are very
little dispersed over the country, that is, compared with our own land.
Occasional haciendas or large farmhouses, built of adobe and stone, are
seen; but isolated dwellings are not common. On these estates there is
usually less farming or raising of cereals carried on than there is of
stock raising, which seems to pay better. Large droves of cattle are
seen grazing, sheep, burros, and mules roam at large, and all seem to be
getting food from most unpromising land, such as produces in its normal
condition cactus only. It is the true climate and soil for this species
of vegetation, of which there are hundreds of varieties, flat, ribbed,
and cylindrical. No matter how dry and arid the region, the cacti
thrive, and are themselves full of moisture. Even these haciendas,
rectangular structures forming the headquarters of large landed estates,
are semi-fortifications, capable of a stout defense against roving
banditti, who have long been the dread and curse of the country and are
not yet obliterated. These structures are sometimes surrounded by a
moat, the angles being protected by turrets pierced for musketry. As in
continental Spain, the population live mostly in villages for mutual
protection, being compelled to walk long distances to work in the fields
at seed time and harvest. The owners of the large haciendas, we were
told, seldom live upon them. Like the landlords of Ireland, they are a
body of absentees, mostly wealthy men who make their homes with their
families in the city of Mexico, some even living in Europe, entrusting
the management of their large estates to well-paid superintendents.
There are not a few Americans thus employed by Mexican owners, who are
prompt to recognize good executive ability in such a position, and value
their estates only for the amount of income they can realize from them.
A hacienda ten or fifteen miles square is not considered extraordinary
as to size, and there are many twice as large. The proprietorship of
these haciendas dates back to the old Spanish times when Mexico was
under the viceroys. Little can be hoped for as to improvement in the
condition of the poor peons of the country, until these immense estates
are broken up and divided into small available farms, which may be owned
and operated by them for their sole benefit. No lesson is more clearly
or forcibly taught us by the light of experience than that the ownership
of the soil by its cultivator is the only way to insure successful and
profitable agriculture. There is nothing to induce emigration to Mexico
now. Foreigners prefer to seek a country where they can purchase the
land cheaply, and, when they have improved it, be certain that their
title is good and secure. At present there is virtually no immigration
at all into the republic, though the climate in many places is perhaps
the most desirable known to man. The Mexican government not long since
made an effort to encourage immigration, offering a bonus of fifty
dollars a head for _bona fide_ immigrants, and even partial support
until occupation was secured. Many Italians availed themselves of this
offer; but it was found that the criminal class was too largely
represented in the ranks of these immigrants, and other abuses became so
manifest that the government abandoned the purpose.
In passing through the country, one wearies of the long reaches of
brown, arid soil which would seem to be beyond the redeeming power even
of irrigation. Occasionally the scene is varied by a few yucca palms
dotting the prairies at long intervals. Now and again a small herd of
antelope dashed away from our neighborhood, and an occasional flock of
wild turkeys were flushed from the low-growing bushes. These were
exciting moments for one member of our party, who is a keen sportsman.
At long distances from each other small groups of the pear-cactus, full
of deep yellow bloom, lighted up the barren waste. Here and there a
simple wooden cross indicated a grave, the burial place of some lone
traveler who had been murdered and robbed by banditti, and over whose
body a Christian hand had reared this unpretentious emblem. As we got
further and further southward, the graceful pepper tree, with myriads of
red fruit, began to appear, and afterwards became a prominent feature of
the scenery.
Saltillo, which lies some seventy miles to the eastward of Jaral, is now
the capital of the State of Coahuila. Before the separation of Texas
from Mexico it was the capital of that State. It is situated five
thousand feet above the sea level, on the northeastern edge of the
table-land already spoken of, and has a population of about eighteen
thousand. The table-land, as it is termed, declines more or less
abruptly on the east towards the Gulf of Mexico, and on the west towards
the Pacific Ocean. Saltillo is a manufacturing town, built almost wholly
of sun-dried bricks, and is noted for the production of rebosas and
serapes. The people living south of this region and on the lower lands
make of Saltillo a summer resort. It is humorously said that people
never die here; they grow old, dry up, and disappear. The place is
certainly very healthy. It is over three hundred years old, and looks as
though it had existed in prehistoric times. It has, like all Mexican
cities, its alameda, its bull ring, and its plaza, the latter
particularly well-cared for, beautiful in flowers and charming shade
trees, together with well-trimmed shrubbery. The Calle Real is the
principal thoroughfare, over which the traveler will find his way to the
famous battlefield of Buena Vista (pronounced Wana Veesta), about eight
miles from the city proper. This was one of the fiercest battles ever
fought on Mexican soil. General Taylor had only forty-five hundred men
of all arms, while Santa Anna's army numbered twenty-two thousand! The
Americans had the most advantageous position, but were at times
overwhelmed by numbers. Notwithstanding this, at the end of the second
day, February 23, 1847, the American flag waved in triumph over the
field, and the Mexicans were utterly routed. It was of this hard-fought
battle that Santa Anna said: "We whipped the Americans half a dozen
times, and once completely surrounded them; but they would not stay
whipped." The battle of Buena Vista was fought at a great altitude,
nearly as high above the level of the sea as the summit of Mount
Washington in New England.
The baths of San Lorenzo, a league from the city, are worth visiting,
being cleanly and enjoyable.
About seventy-five miles to the eastward of Saltillo, and eight hundred
miles, more or less, from the national capital, on the line of the
Mexican International Railroad, which crosses the Rio Grande at Laredo,
is the city of Monterey,--"King Mountain,"--capital of the State of
Nuevo Leon. It is eighteen hundred feet above the sea and contains
nearly twenty thousand inhabitants. It was founded three hundred years
ago, and its history is especially blended with that of the Roman
Catholic Church during the intervening period. Here one finds quite a
large American colony; but still the place is essentially Mexican in its
manners and customs. The city stands upon very uneven ground, in the
middle of an extensive plain, with grand mountains rising to view in the
distance on all sides. The Rio de Santa Catarina flows through the town.
In coming hither from Saltillo we descend thirty-five hundred feet, or
about an average of fifty feet to the mile. It is considered to be a
healthy locality, and invalids from the Northern States of this country
have often resorted to Monterey in winter; but the public accommodations
are so poor that one should hesitate about sending an invalid there who
must necessarily leave most of the ordinary domestic comforts behind.
Mexican hotels may answer for people in vigorous health who have robust
stomachs, but not for one in delicate health. In no other part of the
country is there a greater variety of the cactus family to be seen,
illustrating its prominent peculiarity, namely, that it seems to grow
best in the poorest soil. Several of the varieties have within their
flowers a mass of edible substance, which the natives gather and bring
to market daily. The flowers of the cactus are of various colors, white
and yellow being the prevailing hues.
There is a very highly prized and remarkable water supply afforded the
citizens by an inexhaustible spring, situated in the heart of the town,
known as the Ojo de Agua. The cathedral is interesting, though it is not
nearly so old as the Church of San Francisco. It was converted into a
powder magazine during the war with this country. When General Taylor
attacked the city, its remarkably thick walls alone saved it from being
blown up, as it was repeatedly struck by shot and shell. Monterey is a
finer and better built city than Saltillo. No stranger should fail to
visit the curious Campo Santo, a burial place lying to the northwest of
the city, and reached by the way of the alameda, which latter
thoroughfare is hardly worthy of the name. The few notable buildings in
the city are the municipal palace, the state government edifice, and the
episcopal palace near the cathedral. All are situated about the Plaza
Mayor, or Plaza de Zaragoza as it is called by the people here. A
graceful fountain with spouting dolphins occupies the centre,
supplemented by two lesser fountains, all very appropriate and artistic.
Of the two confiscated convents, one is occupied for a jail, the other
as a hospital. It will be remembered that General Taylor, with less than
seven thousand men, took the city by storm in 1846, after three days of
hard fighting, it being gallantly defended by ten thousand Mexicans
under command of General Ampudia. General Worth, who on two occasions
led desperate storming parties, was pronounced the hero of the
occasion. General Grant, then only a lieutenant of infantry,
distinguished himself in the taking of what was known as the Bishop's
Palace, but which was in fact a citadel. The Americans carried the
citadel by assault, and, planting their guns in position upon its wall,
commanded the city, which was forced to surrender. The fighting lasted
four days. The Americans lost in killed one hundred and twenty-six, and
had three hundred and sixty-three wounded. The Mexicans lost five
hundred killed, but the number of wounded was not made public. In
recognition of the gallant defense made by the Mexicans, Taylor allowed
them to retain their arms and equipments, and when they evacuated the
city to salute their own colors.
Resuming our course westward by the way of Jaral, and having arrived at
Torreon Junction, a distance of about three hundred and eighty miles
from the International Bridge, connection is made with the grand trunk
line of the Mexican Central Railroad, which will take us direct to the
national capital. This important road extends from Juarez (formerly Paso
del Norte), on the Rio Grande, to the city of Mexico, a distance of over
twelve hundred miles. It is a standard-gauge road, well built and well
equipped,--the growth, in fact, of American enterprise, and really
nothing more or less than an extension of the Santa Fe Railroad system.
Track-laying began upon this road from both ends of the line in
September, 1880, that is, from the city of Mexico and from the Rio
Grande at Juarez, and upon the completion of the bridge at La
Encarnation, the north and south tracks met, March 8, 1884. The line was
formally opened on April 10 following.
From this point southward, towards the mountain city of Zacatecas, we
pass through a most uninviting country, where the mesquite bush and the
cactus mostly prevail, a region so bereft of moisture as to seem like
the desert of Sahara. Here again the cactus is seen in great abundance.
As we have intimated, there are several hundred varieties known to
botanists, most of which can be identified on Mexican soil, this being
their native climate. No matter how dry the season, they are always
juicy. It is said that when cattle can get no water to drink, they will
break down the cacti with their horns and chew the thick leaves and
stalks to quench their thirst. The variety of shapes assumed by this
peculiar growth almost exceeds belief; some seen in Mexico assumed the
form of trees from forty to fifty feet in height, while others,
vinelike, run along the ground bearing leaves as round as cannon balls.
Another variety, closely hugging the earth, twists about like a
vegetable serpent. The great marvel relating to this plant has been, how
it could keep alive and remain full of sap and moisture when other
neighboring vegetation was killed by drought. But this is easily
explained. It is protected by a thick epidermis which prevents
evaporation, so that the store of moisture which it absorbs during the
wet season is retained within its circulation. One sort of the cactus
known as the _cereus grandiflorus_ blooms only in the night; the frail
flower it bears dies at the coming of morning. The cochineal insect of
Mexico and Central America is solely nurtured by the native growth of
cacti. The yucca palm, fifteen to twenty feet in height, with its large
milk-white cluster of blossoms, resembling huge crocuses, dotted the
expanse here and there. Occasional flocks of sheep were seen striving to
gain a sufficiency of food from the unwilling soil, while tended by a
shepherd clothed in brilliant colored rags, accompanied by a dog. Now
and then scores of jack-rabbits put in an appearance among the
low-growing mesquite bushes and the thick-leaved cactus. These little
animals are called jack-rabbits because their tall, straight ears
resemble those of the burros or jackasses. The mesquite bushes, so often
seen on the Mexican plains, belong to the acacia family. They yield a
sweet edible pulp, used to some extent as food by the poorer classes of
natives and by the jack-rabbits. The burros eat the small, tender twigs.
Indeed, they will apparently eat anything but stones. We have seen them
munching plain straw with infinite relish, in which it seemed impossible
there could be any nutrition whatever. This is a far-reaching, dreary
region, almost uninhabitable for human beings, and where water is
unattainable three-quarters of the year. The broad prairie extends on
either side of the railroad as far as the eye can reach, ending at the
foothills of the Sierra Madre--"Mother Mountains." Here and there, as
already instanced, the burial place of some murdered individual is
indicated by a cross, before which the pious peon breathes a prayer and
adds a stone to the pile, so that finally quite a mound is raised to
mark the murdered man's grave. Towards the twilight hour, while we
rejoice that our lot has not been cast in such a dreary place, more than
one hawk is seen to swoop from its lofty course and fly away with a
young rabbit which it will eventually drop and thus kill before it
begins to devour the carcase. Thus animals, like human beings,
constantly prey upon each other. So prolific are these rabbits that they
will soon prove to be as great a nuisance as they are in New Zealand,
unless some active means are taken to prevent their increase. The wonder
is that the half-starved natives do not make a business of trapping and
eating them; but the poor, ignorant peons seem to be actually devoid of
all ingenuity or enterprise outside of their beaten track.