MOUNTAIN EXPLORATION.
Travelling Companions—S. Lazarus Station—S.
Anita—Ayotla—Tlalmanalco—Tenango del Aire—Amecameca—A Badly
Lighted Town—Rateros—Monte-Sacro—Volcaneros.
On my first visit to the country, three-and-twenty years before, I
had gone to the Sierra for the purpose of making a collection of
photographs of Popocatepetl and the hills surrounding it. As my
men were getting my camera ready I amused myself in scratching the
ground with my stick, when, to my great surprise, I discovered a
bit of pottery and presently a whole vase; I next tried the ground
with my dagger and unearthed more vases, side by side with human
remains. At that time, however, I was so absorbed by my photography,
so ill prepared for gauging the importance of monuments and objects
of antiquity regarding the country I was visiting, that I did not
follow up my discovery; but now, deeply conscious of their interest,
I returned to Popocatepetl, in the hope of finding the place as I had
left it, and to be able to bring to light its hidden treasures.
Before going any further I wish to make the reader acquainted with my
travelling companions. First in rank and importance stands Don Perez
Castro, a Colonel of the Artillery, appointed by the Mexican Government
to watch and share my labours and discoveries. Colonel Castro has
taken part in all the battles and combats of his country during the
Franco-Austrian empire of Maximilian; he is used to every climate,
always ready to make the best of everything, blessed, moreover, with
a perfect temper, a thorough good fellow, a caballero of the old
school, with whom it is impossible not to get on. Next comes my private
secretary, young Albert Lemaire, a promising topographer, a good
draughtsman, who accepts cheerfully the hardships, privations, nay,
the occasional perils of the expedition. Our servant, Julian Diaz,
completes the list. He is a good specimen of a Calino, sweet-tempered,
obliging, devoted, and indefatigable, and as simple and guileless
as a child; he is never seen without his faithful dog d’Artagnan, a
fine-looking animal, far too lazy to be any good against thieves or in
the pursuit of game.
S. Lazarus is the station of a new line connecting Mexico with Morelos
and Amecameca; here travellers must beware of the “cargadores,” who
swoop down on the luggage like birds of prey, and if they are not more
than quick in protecting their traps they will, in all probability,
never see them again. Poor Julian learnt it to his cost, for in spite
of all our vigilance, our fighting, our rushing madly after our
porters not to lose sight of our things, when we reached the platform
Julian’s trunk was gone. I was indignant, but he took his mischance
quite philosophically, as though it did not concern him, lighting
his cigar and taking his seat without a word of reproach against his
unscrupulous countrymen.
The guard gives the signal, the whistle is heard, and we steam out
of this squalid station, following the road by which Cortez entered
Mexico. In the time of the Aztecs it was planted with beautiful trees,
a glowing vegetation and pleasant groves clad the borders of the lake,
over which glided a thousand light skiffs and floating chinampas; but
now the waters which penetrated the city everywhere have receded so
far as to be hardly visible, and the bright towns and hamlets, once
washed by them, have been removed miles inland, leaving a barren strip
of land with incrustations of salt on the surface. It is refreshing
to abandon this unhealthy, horrible swamp to skirt S. Anita’s Canal,
with its grassy banks, great trees, pretty villas, and blooming gardens
overlooking the water. We perceive a few Indians among the reeds of
the muddy waters casting their small nets to get a white fish to be
found here. We pass Peñon with its sulphureous springs, stop at Santa
Marta, once the culminating point of the road, and we shall soon leave
behind the basin of the lake once so animated, so full of life, but now
mournful and desolate beyond redemption.
The inhabitants, with amazing stupidity, even since my first visit,
have laid low the forests of sombre pines and ilexes which shrouded the
slopes of the volcanic hills occupying the valley, and imparting to it
so unique a character; and now torrential rains carry away the soil no
longer held by roots, leaving the rocks bare, so that nothing grows
excepting the prickly pear or the funereal opuntiums.
It is not very difficult to see where this state of things will end.
We can approximately calculate the time when the requirements of the
railway will attack the rare forests as yet crowning the higher hills,
and their summits be denuded also!
[Illustration: SANTA ANITA CANAL.]
After Ayotla the landscape somewhat improves. We begin to see a few
gardens, a few olive-trees, immense plantations of aloe, affording
at once drink and raiment, yellow maize ready to be gathered before
the impending rains. We are approaching the mountains and have passed
Compañia and Lake Chalco on our right, and go through Rio Frio, once a
favourite station for brigands. On my first journey I fell a prey to
them with a diligence full of people, when like a flock of sheep we
all stood to be plundered by two wretched-looking fellows one could
have brought down at one blow. At that time, however, it was deemed
wise to offer no resistance, for fear of unseen companions lurking
close by. Now Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl, bearing to heaven their
snowy peaks, become more and more distinct; here is Tematla, and a few
minutes more bring us to Tenango del Aire, “windy,” where violent winds
generally prevail. The line here leaves the old road which used to pass
Tlalmanal, and for my part I regret it, as I miss seeing the remains
of a convent built in the first years of the Conquest, which was never
finished.
The ruins are composed of fragments of walls with a portico formed by
five arches, supported by slender columns as finely sculptured as a
Chinese ivory casket. Indian artists executed this beautiful carving
after designs furnished by the Catholic Spaniards. I am told by the
guard that when this line was open, hundreds of vases, statuettes,
pottery of every shape and size were unearthed, none of which found
their way to the Museum, the officials having shared the spoil among
themselves. It is grievous to think that so many precious objects are
lost to science, when it would be so easy for the Mexican Government to
introduce a clause by which the contractors bound themselves to give up
to the authorities any antiquities they happened to bring to light.
It was seven o’clock when we entered the station of Amecameca, having
been four hours in performing a journey of some sixty-four miles. It
was now pitch dark, so that our luggage was piled into the cart without
our examining it, and it was not until we were in the house which was
to take us in, there being no hotel in the place, that I perceived both
locks of my portmanteau had been broken and £20 out of £60 taken. I
naturally complained to the authorities, but as I could not say where
the theft had taken place (though it must have been accomplished either
at the station in Mexico or in the train) I obtained no redress, and I
comforted myself with the thought that it would have been much worse
had they taken the whole.
[Illustration: AMECAMECA.]
Amecameca is situated at an altitude of 626 feet above Mexico, at
the foot of Monte-Sacro, planted with beautiful trees; the air is
cool even in summer and the climate good. This circumstance has made
it a favourite resort for the rich Mexicans eager to escape from the
excessive heat of the plain. But even in this favoured climate storms,
rain, and winds prevail during several months of the year; hence
perpendicular roofs have replaced azoteas, giving it the aspect of an
Alpine village. No more enchanting scenery can well be imagined: to the
south-east, great Popocatepetl rises to the enormous height of 17,852
feet above the level of the sea; fronting it to the east Iztaccihuatl,
15,208 feet, spreading its mantle of snow over its broad surface; and
if yielding in bulk and height to its gigantic neighbour it is far more
picturesque, surrounded by a belt of hills, with a thousand fantastic
forms, broken peaks, massive rocks, and deep ravines, presenting
a variety and richness of colouring unsurpassed anywhere. In the
morning the plain is covered with a slight white mist, like a bridal
veil, through which show the tapering stalks of Indian corn and the
gloomy masses of trees. In this light the lower hills are of a tender
peacock-green, deepening to the darkest blue in the barrancas, whilst
the crests are tinged with a faint blush; but when storms, at this
season very frequent, burst upon the gigantic and broken surface of
these mountains, when clouds sweep across their slopes clashing against
each other, and the lightning illumines the whole sky, when the thunder
is re-echoed from all these peaks, from all these pinnacles, to die
in the distant ravines, one understands how a primitive race peopled
Popocatepetl with giants and evil spirits, whose agonies in their
prison-house found expression in these convulsions of nature. But if at
this season we have a succession of thunderstorms and torrential rains,
if the sky is overcast at night and white exhalations rise from the
plain, the mornings are bright and wonderfully calm.
The Municipality took measures some time since to have Amecameca,
which numbers 1,500 inhabitants, lighted with petroleum, their finances
precluding gas; but, alas! they had counted without the _rateros_, who
on the very first night spread over the city, put out simultaneously
all the lamps and carried them off. But I hear some one ask, what
is a _ratero_? A ratero is ubiquitous and essentially an American
institution. His strength as a thief lies in being a member of a
very “long firm.” He is always to be found in crowds, whether in the
market-place, church, or theatre; he penetrates ill-closed houses,
whence he takes anything valuable; he strips railway carriages of their
fixtures, and railways of their wooden rails—the largest beams are
not safe from his grasp; horses and cattle are frequently driven from
one district to be sold in another by the ratero. Rateros hardly ever
miss a party crossing the Cordilleras, and they take care to be in
sufficient numbers to ensure victory. It was a ratero who carried off
Julian’s box, and a ratero had eased me of £20.
[Illustration: HACIENDA OF TOMACOCO.]
The immediate attraction of Amecameca is Monte-Sacro, a volcanic hill,
fire-rent, rising from the centre of the town to a height of 325 feet.
There is a grotto which was turned into a hermitage at the time of
the Conquest. The place soon acquired great celebrity for holiness on
account of miracles which were performed thereat; chapels, churches,
and a good road with the twelve stations of the Cross, were erected by
the piety and for the accommodation of devotees who came hither from
all parts, and who, not satisfied with visiting the Monte-Sacro during
their lifetime, often desired to be buried in the cemetery fronting the
church, so that it is over-crowded.
The tombs are covered with cement and perfectly flat, with rude
drawings made by the friends of the dead, who scratch with their hands
and bare feet certain figures whilst the plaster is soft; but although
I inquired of several people, I could obtain no satisfactory answer
regarding the origin of this peculiar custom. The branches of the
surrounding trees, as indeed those on the road up to the Cross, are
hung with ex-votos of the oddest description: small crosses, bits of
thread, coloured stuff, dead flowers, tangled hair, reminding one of
offerings around Japanese temples. The view from the top of the hill
is very fine and extensive, and the ascent has been made both easy and
pleasant by a winding road planted with cypress trees to the north, and
to the south side with ilexes of enormous size.
We were detained here by the weather, which was simply abominable, and
also by the difficulty of procuring saddle-horses, mules to carry our
baggage, and men inured by long experience to live and work in this
rarefied atmosphere.
It was not without a feeling of deep satisfaction that we saw our
last mule and our last man loaded ready to start. Our two best men
are brothers, both of whom have been employed in the sulphur-mines
of Popocatepetl, one as foreman for the last eight-and-twenty years,
and the other even longer. The five remaining Indians are also
“volcaneros,” accustomed to live at an altitude of 13,000 to 17,550
feet above the level of the sea.
At last every man is at his post, and we begin slowly the ascent of the
mountain.
[Illustration: VOLCANEROS (MINERS).]
[Illustration: BURIAL-GROUND, TENENEPANCO.]