The City of Vera Cruz.--Defective Harbor.--The Dreaded and also Welcome
Norther.--San Juan d'Ulloa.--Landing of Cortez.--His Expedition
Piratical.--View of the City from the Sea.--Cortez's Destruction of
his Ships.--Anecdote of Charles V.--A Sickly Capital.--Street Scenes.
--Trade.--The Mantilla.--Plaza de la Constitucion.--Typical
Characters.--Brilliant Fireflies.--Well-To-Do Beggars.--Principal
Edifices.--The Campo Santo.--City Dwelling-Houses.--The Dark-Plumed
Buzzards.--A City Fountain.--A Varied History.--Medillin.--State of
Vera Cruz.
Vera Cruz, which is at present the principal seaport of the republic,
and which has heretofore been considered as the gateway of Mexico, is
without a harbor worthy of the name, being situated on an open roadstead
and affording no safe anchorage among its shoals, coral reefs, and surf.
It is not safe, in fact, for vessels to moor within half a mile of the
shore. A cluster of dangerous, merciless-looking reefs, together with
the island of San Juan d'Ulloa, form a slight protection from the open
Gulf. A sea-wall shelters the street facing upon the water, and there is
a serviceable mole where boats land from the shipping when a "norther"
is not blowing; but when that prevails no one attempts to land from
vessels in the roadstead. No wonder that underwriters charge double to
insure vessels bound to so inhospitable a shore. Even in ordinary
weather a surf-drenching has sometimes to be endured in landing at the
mole. This is a serious objection to the port where every ton of freight
must be transferred between ship and shore by lighters. Nevertheless,
this difficulty might be easily overcome by the construction of a
substantial breakwater, such as has lately been successfully built at
Colombo, Ceylon, or that which has robbed the roadstead of Madras,
India, of its former terrors. To be sure, such a plan requires
enterprise and the liberal expenditure of money. Unless the citizens
open their purses and pay for the needed improvement, which would
promptly turn their exposed shore into a safe harbor, they will have to
submit to seeing the present commerce of the port diverted to Tampico,
where suitable engineering is about to secure an excellent harbor.
Improvements are of slow growth in this country. The railway between
this city and the national capital was over thirty years in building,
and cost fully forty million dollars.
The captain of a freighting steamer sailing out of New York told the
writer that he had more than once been obliged, at certain seasons of
the year, to sail from Vera Cruz carrying back to his port of departure
a portion of his cargo, as there was no time while the ship remained
here that he dared to risk the landing of valuable goods liable to be
spoiled by exposure to a high-running sea.
When a norther comes on to blow at Vera Cruz, all the vessels remaining
near the city let go an extra anchor and batten down the hatches; or,
wiser still, they let go their ground tackle and hasten to make an
offing. The natives promptly haul their light boats well on shore; the
citizens securely close their doors and windows; while the sky becomes
darkened by clouds of sand driven by fierce gusts of wind. It is a fact
that passengers have been obliged to remain for a whole week upon a
European steamer, unable to land during a protracted norther. These
storms are terrific in violence. It is not a straight out-and-out gale,
an honest tempest, such as one sometimes meets at sea, and with which an
experienced mariner knows how to cope. A norther is an erratic
succession of furious squalls with whirlwinds of sand, the wind blowing
from several points at the same time. When a norther blows, work is
suspended in the city, and the streets are deserted until the fury of
the blast has subsided. This wind, however, like most other serious
annoyances in life, has its bright side. Very true is the saying: "It's
an ill wind that blows nobody good." The norther drives away that fatal
enemy of the city, the yellow fever; and when it fairly sets in to blow,
that surely ends the disease for the season; its germs are swept away as
if by magic. The insect plague is only second to that of the vomito as
regards the danger and discomfort to be encountered in this "City of the
True Cross." But even mosquitoes succumb to the northers. The muslin
bars which surround the beds of the Hotel Diligencia, fronting the
plaza, are effectual, so that one can generally sleep during the two or
three nights that he is likely to stay in the city. A longer sojourn is
simply inviting disease, besides which there is no possible attraction
to keep one here any longer.
The only good harbor in the Gulf of Mexico within a hundred miles of
this point is that of Anton Lizardo, about fifteen miles to the
southward of Vera Cruz, which, in fact, should have been made the
commercial port. This position is now, doubtless to be filled by
Tampico, in connection with the Mexican Central Railroad branch running
from the main trunk of that road to the Gulf, by way of San Luis Potosi.
We heard of another element operating very seriously against the
interests of Vera Cruz. It seems that the sand of the Gulf shore, moved
by various currents, is gradually depositing itself in the shallow
roadstead in such quantities as to seriously imperil navigation. It is
admitted that should this continue for a few years it would close the
port to commerce. The railroad management are already talking of
extending the line southward to Anton Lizardo.
On an island, less than one mile off the shore of Vera Cruz, stands the
grim old fortress of San Juan d'Ulloa, a most conspicuous object with
its blackened and crumbling walls. It has often been declared to be
impregnable, and yet, curious to say, it has never been attacked by a
foe without being compelled to surrender. Here Cortez landed on Mexican
soil, April 21, 1519. He disembarked on a Friday, a day which the Romish
church has set apart for the adoration of the cross; he therefore called
the place Vera Cruz (The True Cross). The mere handful of followers
which he brought with him to conquer and possess a nation consisted of
four hundred and fifteen men at arms, sixteen horses, and seven cannon!
These last were mere howitzers. Was ever a more daring and reckless
scheme conceived of? Fully realizing the peculiar nature of the venture,
and fearing that when his followers should awaken to the extravagant
folly of the invasion, they would mutiny, forcibly seize the ships which
had brought them, and return in them to Cuba, he deliberately destroyed
all the galleys save one, and thus cut off the means of retreat. This
was quite in accordance with the desperate nature of the enterprise and
the reckless spirit of its leader, who had boldly taken upon himself
unauthorized responsibility. In bringing about the destruction of his
vessels, Cortez resorted to a subterfuge so as to deceive the people
about him. He did not "burn" his ships, as has been so commonly
reported, but ordered a marine survey upon them, employing an officer
who had his secret instructions, and when the report was made public it
was to the effect that the galleys were unseaworthy, leaky, and not fit
or safe for service. A certain sea worm had reduced the hulls to mere
shells! So the stores and armament were carried on shore, and the
vessels sunk or wrecked. "His followers murmured at the loss of the
ships," says Chevalier, "but were quieted by Cortez, who promised them
salvation in the next world and fortunes in this." This is one version
of the famous episode which has come down to us, and which we believe to
be the true one. It is certainly the most in accordance with all the
known facts in the case.
There are important circumstances connected with this often repeated
episode which are not always considered in forming an estimate of the
whole affair. The departure of the expedition from Cuba was nothing less
than open rebellion on the part of Cortez. Had it eventuated in failure,
its leader would have been pronounced a pirate and filibuster. It was
Talleyrand who declared that nothing succeeds so well as success. Thus
it is that history makes of the fortunate adventurer a hero, never
pausing to consider the means by which his success was attained. "Cortez
and his companions," says Chevalier, "had incurred the necessity of
signalizing themselves by some great exploit. They had committed a fault
which the laws of all states treated as crime, and one that the leaders
must expiate on the gibbet and their followers at the galleys, unless
atoned for by brilliant deeds. Their departure from Cuba was an act of
flagrant rebellion." In his great haste to get away from Cuba he
embarked in nine small vessels, the largest not over one hundred tons
and some were even undecked boats. Velasquez, the governor of the island
of Cuba, had for some time previously contemplated sending an expedition
to Mexico, and having got it about ready for departure, he was
over-persuaded to give Cortez the command; but after due consideration,
repenting of his decision, he took steps to replace him by a more
trusted officer. Cortez learned of this, and hastily got as many of the
people together who had enlisted for the purpose as he could, and
putting the munitions on board, sailed without taking leave! He had
already been once pardoned out of prison by Velasquez, where he was
confined for gross insubordination, and for the baseness of his private
life, which, though he was thirty-four years of age, exhibited all the
faults of earliest manhood. R. A. Wilson pronounces the expedition to
have been "purely piratical, whose leader could have no hope of royal
pardon but in complete success." Cortez knew that it would not answer
for him to return to Cuba, therefore he unhesitatingly destroyed the
means by which even his comrades could do so. These facts rob the act
which has been so lauded by historians of all heroism. Depend upon it,
all our heroes have feet of clay. He had just made a rough campaign with
the natives of Tabasco, in Yucatan, where he learned that farther up the
Gulf, where he finally landed, there was "a people who had much gold."
That was what he sought. It was not God but gold that drew him onward
from Vera Cruz to Montezuma's capital. He was not seeking to
christianize the natives; that was a plausible subterfuge. His aim was
to enrich himself with native spoils and to acquire empire, nor did he
pause until he had consummated the ruin of a kingdom and his own
aggrandizement.
The traveler should not fail to take a boat across the bay to the
castle, and there visit the dark and dismal dungeons built below the
surrounding waters of the Gulf, like those in the castle of Chillon
beneath the surface of the lake of Geneva. One may obtain an admirable
view of the city and its neighborhood from the cupola of the lofty
lighthouse, which is of the first class, and rises grandly to ninety
feet above the sea. The fortress is now only partially manned, being
used mostly as a place of confinement for political prisoners. As this
island was the first landing-place of the Spaniards, so it was their
last foothold in Mexico. There is a familiar anecdote, which is always
retailed by the guides to the strangers whom they initiate into the
mysteries of the fortress upon which Cortez is said to have expended
uselessly many millions of dollars. Charles V., being asked for more
funds wherewith to add to the defenses of San Juan d'Ulloa, called for a
spyglass, and, seeking a window, pointed it to the west, seeming to gaze
through the glass long and earnestly. When he was asked what he was
looking for, he replied: "San Juan d'Ulloa. I have spent so much money
upon the structure that it seems to me I ought to see it standing on the
western horizon."
The low-lying town--nearly eight thousand feet below the city of
Mexico--is, perhaps, one of the most unhealthy spots on this continent,
where the yellow fever, or _vomito_ as it is called, prevails for six or
seven months of the year, claiming myriads of victims annually, while a
malarial scourge, known as the stranger's fever, lingers about the place
more or less fatally all the year round, according to the number of
persons who are liable to be attacked. The yellow fever, which makes its
appearance in May, is generally at its worst in August and September, at
which periods it is apt to creep upwards towards the higher lands as far
as Jalapa and Orizaba, though it has never been known to exist to any
great extent in either of these places. The dangerous miasma which
prevails seems to be quite harmless to the natives of the locality, or
at least they are rarely attacked by it. When a person has once
contracted yellow fever and recovered from it, as a rule he is presumed
to be exempt from a second attack, but this is not a rule without an
exception. In summer the streets of Vera Cruz are deserted except by the
buzzards and the stray dogs. These quarrel with each other for scraps of
food. The latter by no means always get the best of it. Even the
Mexicans at such times call the place _Una ciudad de los muertos_ (a
city of the dead).
A large share of the business of Vera Cruz is carried on by French or
German residents who have become acclimated, or by those born here of
parents belonging to those nationalities. Many of the merchants of the
city keep up a permanent residence at Jalapa for sanitary reasons. It is
singular that the climate of this port on the Gulf side of the peninsula
should be so fatal to human life, while the Pacific side, in the same
latitude and quite near at hand, is perfectly salubrious. When the
French army landed here in 1863-64, the ranks were decimated by the
epidemic, and the graveyard where the bodies of between three and four
thousand French victims lie buried near the city has been named by their
countrymen, with grim humor, "Le Jardin d'Acclimatation"!
On viewing the town from the castle of San Juan d'Ulloa, one is struck
by the oriental aspect which it presents. Everything is seen through a
lurid atmosphere. The glare of sunshine reflected by the porcelain
domes and the intense blue of the sky are Egyptian. Groups of mottled
church towers surmounted by glittering crosses; square, flat-roofed
houses; rough fortifications; a long reach of hot sandy plain on either
side relieved by a few palm-trees; and scattered groups of low-growing
cactus,--these make up the picture of the flat, miasmatic shore. There
are no suburbs; the dreary, monotonous sand creeps close up to the city.
But if the near foreground thus exhibits a certain repulsive nakedness,
there looms grandly on the far-away horizon the Sierra Madre range of
mountains, the culminating point of which is the bold, aspiring peak of
Orizaba. It must be clear weather, however, to enable the visitor to see
this remarkable elevation, with its hoary crown, to reach whose base
twenty-seven leagues must be traversed.
The long, straight, narrow streets are laid out with great uniformity, a
characteristic of all Mexican cities, and cross each other at right
angles, the monotony being broken by green blinds opening on to the
little balconies which are shaded by awnings. The streets have a sort of
sun-baked hue, though the principal thoroughfares show a fair degree of
life and activity considering that the population is so largely made up
of Mexicans. The area covered by the city cannot much exceed sixty
acres, the town being built in a very compact manner, a bird's-eye view
of which makes it resemble the outspread human hand. The port has seen
its most prosperous days, if we may judge by present appearances. The
aggregate of the imports and exports amounted to about thirty million
dollars annually before the completion of the railroads to the national
capital and thence to El Paso, but, as was anticipated, this new
facility for transportation has diverted a large portion of this amount
northward through the United States. The streets of Vera Cruz are still
crowded in business hours with mule carts, porters, half-naked
water-carriers, Indians, and a few negroes, military officers, and
active civilians. Speaking of negroes, there are a less number in all
Mexico than in any one State of this Union. In the plaza pretty
flower-girls with tempting bouquets mingle with fruit venders,
lottery-ticket sellers, and dashing young Mexican dudes, wearing broad
sombreros heavy with cords of silver braid. Occasionally there passes
some dignified senora, whose head and shoulders are covered with a black
lace mantilla, imparting infinite grace to her handsome figure. How
vastly superior is that soft, drooping veil to the tall hats and absurd
bonnets of northern civilization! Broad contrasts present themselves on
all hands, in groups of men, women, and children, half clad in rags,
perhaps, but gay with brilliant colors, sharing the way with some
sober-clad Europeans, or rollicking, half tipsy seamen on shore-leave
from the shipping at anchor in the roadstead.
The Plaza de la Constitucion is small in extent, about two hundred feet
square, but it is very attractive. It is skillfully arranged, having a
handsome bronze fountain in its centre, the gift of Carlotta, the
unfortunate, energetic wife of Maximilian. In the evening the place is
rendered brilliant by a system of electric lights. The flower plots and
marble walks are ornamented with many lovely tropical flowers, cocoanut
palms, and fragrant roses nodding languidly in the hot summer atmosphere
under a sky intensely blue, and nine tenths of the time perfectly
cloudless. The Australian gum-tree and the Chinese laurel were
conspicuous among other exotic varieties. As the twilight approaches, it
is amusing to watch the _habitues_, consisting of both sexes, especially
in shady corners where there is obviously much love-making on the sly,
but not the legitimate article of the Romeo and Juliet sort which has
already been described. Here and there strolls a dude,--a Mexican dude,
with his dark face shaded by his sombrero, his tight trousers flaring at
the bottom and profusely ornamented at the side with silver buttons. He
is jostled by a fellow-countryman, who gathers his serape across his
left shoulder and breast so adroitly as to partially conceal his shabby
attire, while he puffs his cigarette with assumed nonchalance,
exchanging a careless word in the mean time with the gypsy-like woman
who offers bananas and zapotas for sale. Dainty senoritas trip across
the way in red-heeled slippers of Cinderella-like proportions, while
noisy, laughing, happy children, girls and boys, romp with pet dogs,
trundle ribbon-decked hoops, or spin gaudy humming tops. Flaring posters
catch the eye, heralding the cruel bull-fight or a performance at the
theatre. On Sundays a military band performs here forenoons and
evenings. Under the starlight you may look not only among the low
growing foliage to see the fireflies, which float there like clouds of
phosphorescence, but now and again one will glow, diamond-like, in the
black hair of the fair senoritas, where they are ingeniously fastened to
produce this effect. It is strictly a Spanish idea, which the author has
often seen in Havana. So brilliant are these tropical fireflies that
with three or four placed under an inverted wineglass one can see to
read fine printed matter in the nighttime. It is the common people
mostly who use these insects as evening ornaments on their persons,
though sometimes the most refined ladies wear them. The firefly has a
hook-like integument on its body by which it is easily fastened to the
hair or dress without any harm to itself. It seems as though nature had
anticipated this peculiar use of the "lightning-bug," and so provided
the necessary means for the purpose. The country people bring them to
market in little wicker baskets or cages, and it is curious to see with
what avidity they will consume sugar. As you gaze with interest at the
picture of tropical life, you are quietly asked for a few pennies by a
man so well dressed, and apparently so well to do, that it seems more
like a joke than like real begging. Just so the author has been accosted
in the streets of Granada, in continental Spain, with a request for a
trifling sum of money, by well-dressed people. Comparatively few beggars
importune one in the large cities of Mexico, being deterred by the
watchful police; but in the environs of any large settlement the
poverty-stricken people are sure to descend upon the stranger like an
army with banners.
The architecture of Vera Cruz is of the old Spanish style, with a dash
of Moorish flavor in it, recalling Tangier and other cities of Morocco.
The governor's palace is a building of some pretension, two stories in
height, with a veranda on each, and a tall square tower at one end of
the edifice. Having visited the plaza, the alameda, with its fine array
of cocoa-palms, the municipal palace, the custom-house, the public
library, and the large church fronting the plaza, one has about
exhausted the main features of interest. This latter structure is an
imposing building, but it will in no respect compare with the cathedrals
of the other cities which we have described. There are a fair number of
public schools in the town, two well-endowed hospitals, public baths,
and a few other institutions worthy of a progressive people. A
thoroughfare, called the Street of Christ, leads out to the Campo Santo,
half a mile away. This burial-place is an area surrounded by high walls,
built very thick of rubble-stones and adobe, in which the tombs are made
to receive the bodies instead of placing them in the ground. This
neglected city of the dead has been taken in hand by Nature herself, and
wild flowers are seen amid the sombre and dreary surroundings, rivaling
in beauty and fragrance many cultivated favorites.
The city houses are built of coral limestone, stuccoed. The roofs, when
pitched, are covered with tiles of a dull red color, but they are nearly
all flat. The interior arrangements are like those elsewhere described.
Each house of the better class has its square inner court, or patio,
round which the dwelling is constructed, and this is ornamented more or
less prettily, according to the owner's taste, potted plants always
forming a prominent feature, together with an array of caged singing
birds. The long windows are guarded by significant iron bars, like the
dwelling-houses throughout this country and in Havana. Sometimes on the
better class of houses this iron work is rendered quite ornamental. The
narrow streets are kept scrupulously clean, and are paved with
cobble-stones which we were told were brought by ships from the coast of
New England, and have a gutter running down the middle. There is an
abundance of active, keen-eyed scavengers waddling about, always on the
alert to pick up and devour domestic refuse or garbage of any sort which
is found in the streets. These are the dark-plumed, funereal-looking
buzzard, or vulture, a bird which is protected by law, and depended on
to act in the capacity we have described. They are two feet and over in
length of body, and measure six feet from tip to tip of the wings, or
about the size of a large Rhode Island turkey. Employing these birds for
the removal of refuse is a remedy almost as bad as the disease, since
the habits of the huge, ungainly, ill-omened creatures are extremely
disgusting. Clouds of them roost upon the eaves of the houses, the
church belfries, and all exposed balconies, and would invade the patios
of the dwellings were they not vigorously driven away and thus taught
better manners. The cathedral facade on the plaza is sometimes black
with them, the rays of the bright tropical sun being reflected from
their glossy feathers as from a mirror. It seems there is one mystery
which appertains to these unpleasant birds; namely, as to their breeding
places. No one knows where they go to build their nests and to raise
their young. The imaginative stranger is perhaps inclined to regard them
as tokens of danger to the newcomer. All things considered, many a
northern city has a less efficient street-cleaning department.
For a striking picture of strong local color, we commend the stranger to
watch for a short half-hour the picturesque old fountain at the head of
the Calle Centrale. Here he will find at almost any time of the day
scores of weary burros slaking their thirst; busy water-carriers filling
their red earthen jars; the street gamin wetting his thirsty lips; the
itinerant fruit peddler seeking for customers; the gay caballero pausing
to water the handsome animal he bestrides; while the tramway mules seek
their share of the refreshing liquid. Dark-hued women are coming and
going with earthen jars poised upon their heads, wonderfully like their
Eastern sisters at the fountains of oriental Cairo. Here are men with
curiously trimmed fighting birds in their arms, wending their way to the
cruel cockpit. On the edge of the sidewalk close at hand, women are
cooking dough-cakes of corn-meal over charcoal in tiny earthen
braziers,--the universal tortillas. A sand-covered muleteer, just
arrived, is testing their quality while his burros are drinking at the
fountain.
Though Vera Cruz has suffered more than any other capital with which we
are acquainted from bombardments, change of rulers, ravages of
buccaneers, hurricanes, fevers, and other plagues, yet it is still a
prosperous city, always spoken of with a certain degree of pride by the
people of the republic as Villa Rica de Vera Cruz, that is, "the rich
city of the true cross." A brief glance at its past history shows us
that, in 1568, it was in the hands of pirates, and that it was again
sacked by buccaneers in 1683, having been in the interim, during the
year 1618, swept by a devastating conflagration which nearly obliterated
the place. In 1822-23, it was bombarded by the Spaniards, who still held
the castle of San Juan d'Ulloa. In 1838, it was attacked by a French
fleet, and in 1847, was cannonaded and captured by the American forces.
In 1856, it was nearly destroyed by a hurricane. In 1859, civil war
decimated the fortress and the town. The French and Imperialists took
and held it from 1861 until 1867, when the cause of national
independence triumphed. Since this latter date Vera Cruz has enjoyed a
period of quiet and a large share of commercial prosperity.
About ten or twelve miles southward from the city is the little town of
Medillin, a sort of popular watering-place, the Saratoga of this
neighborhood. It is made up of a few decent houses of brick and wood,
and many very poor ones, having plenty of drinking, dancing, and
gambling saloons. The trip thither is most enjoyable to a stranger, for
the glimpse it gives him of the tropical character and the rank
fertility of this region. On the way one passes through a floral
paradise, where flowers of every hue and teeming with fragrance line the
way. Almond-trees, yielding grateful shade, and the _Ponciana regia_,
blazing with gorgeous flowers, are in strong contrast to each other. The
productive breadfruit-tree and the grapefruit with its yellow product
abound. Here one sees the scarlet hibiscus beside the _galan de noche_
(garland of night), which grows like a young palm to nearly ten feet in
height, throwing out from the centre of its tufted top a group of brown
blossoms daintily tipped with white, the mass of bloom shaped like a
rich cluster of ripe grapes. Truly, the trees and flowers to be seen on
the way to Medillin are a revelation.
The State of Vera Cruz borders the Gulf for a distance of five hundred
miles, averaging in width about seventy-five miles. No other section of
the country is so remarkable for its extreme temperature and for the
fertility of the soil. The variety of its productions is simply
marvelous. The intense heat is tempered by the northers, which usually
occur about the first of December, and from time to time until the first
of April, during which period any part of the state is comparatively
healthy. A list of the native products would surprise one. Among them we
find tobacco, coffee, sugar, cotton, wheat, barley, vanilla, pineapples,
oranges, lemons, bananas, pomegranates, peaches, plums, apricots,
tamarinds, watermelons, citrons, pears, and many other fruits and
vegetables. The natives push a stick into the ground, drop in a kernel
or two of corn, cover them with the soil by a mere brush of their feet,
and ninety days after they pluck the ripe ears. There is no other labor,
no fertilizer is used, nor is there any occasion for consulting the
season, for the seed will ripen and yield its fruit each month of the
year, if planted at suitable intervals.