CAMPECHE AND TENOSIQUÉ.
From Progreso to Campeche—Incidents on Board—Carmen—Old
Acquaintances—Indian Guns—Frontera—The Grijalva—Tabasco
Pottery—Waiting—Carnival at Frontera—Julian’s
Success—Departure—Jonuta—Monte-Cristo—Difficulties at the
Custom House—Cabecera—Tenosiqué—Reminiscences—Monteros—The
Lacandones—Our Mules Come—The Usumacinta—Sea Fish—Setting
out for the Ruins—Route—Forest Camping—Second Day—Traces
of Monuments—A Mule and a Horse Lost—Cortez—Arroyo
Yalchilan—Provisions left Behind—Crossing the Cordillera—An
Old Montero—Traces of Lacandones—Yalchilan Pass.
Here we take our passage for Campeche on the _Asturia_, a diminutive,
small steamer, having but four Liliputian berths; luckily enough we are
the only passengers; had it been otherwise, we must have kept on deck
day and night. The sea is like an immense sheet of glass, the heavens
radiant with stars; our boat draws very little water, so that we skirt
close to the shore, and are able to follow the graceful panorama which
unfolds before us; and in the morning early we cast anchor four miles
off Campeche because of the high surf, but the outline of which is
plainly visible.
[Illustration: CAMPECHE.]
Campeche was built on the site of an Indian city, and visited by
Antonio Cordova in his first ill-fated expedition (1517). “The
natives,” says Diaz, “were friendly, and took us to extensive
buildings which had in them idols and sanctuaries. These edifices were
built of lime and sand. On the walls were enormous serpents, and near
them paintings representing their idols, round a kind of altar stained
with drops of blood still quite fresh. On one side of the idols were
painted human figures massed in the shape of a cross. We were amazed
at the sight of things so strange, as we watched numbers of natives,
men and women, come in to get a sight of us with smiling, unconcerned
countenances.”[154] But the scene soon changes; osier braziers, for
burning copal, are brought, and the priests tell the Spaniards to leave
the shore immediately under penalty of death. The Spaniards sailed
away, and did not settle at Campeche until 1541.
These ancient mounds, these temples, with their ceremonial and gory
priests, carry us back to Mexico; but it would be vain to look for
traces of such buildings along the coast, or in the proximity of
Spanish settlements. In process of time Campeche became the most
nourishing city of the peninsula, and was plundered several times by
French and English privateers. To stop these frequent devastations,
a strong wall was built around to enable its inhabitants to rest
in peace. But the wall, built for safety, seems now to oppress the
town, which has outgrown it, and is spreading outside, where wealthy
merchants have “quintas,” in whose gardens the rich tropical flora
displays its magnificence, casting a multicoloured belt about the town.
Campeche, with its tortuous suburbs, its drawbridges, its unsymmetrical
high buildings, is the least Eastern-looking place in Mexico, and
boasts no monuments worthy of mention. Our steamer stopped some hours
here, giving me the opportunity to pay a long-promised visit to Don
F. Ferrer, a charming correspondent, under whose hospitable roof I
spent one of the pleasantest days I can remember, amidst music and
pleasant talk. We returned to our steamer _en route_ for Carmen in the
afternoon, and I looked forward to having the whole boat to myself,
when a large canoe full of people rowed up alongside just as we were
settling down comfortably. “Oh dear!” I thought, “three days’ voyage
with a surplus of eighteen people, not counting half-a-dozen curs and
parrots! If the _norte_ gets up, what is to become of us?” They were
strolling actors who had long secured all the available accommodation,
so that we were given the choice of the deck, and it was with
difficulty that I obtained for Lucian, who was prostrated with a severe
attack of fever, a wee corner below. Presently his moans attracted the
attention of the women. “What is the matter with the gentleman, is
it yellow fever?” they inquired. “I shouldn’t wonder,” was my reply;
whereupon the whole band made off and left us in undisturbed possession
of our berths, where we slept the sleep of the just, and arrived at
Carmen as fresh as larks. This place is the great depôt for woods known
as Campeche, and drives a brisk trade.
I found my old friend Don Benito, who owns an island called Chinal on
the Usumacinta, having mounds, tombs, or maybe basements of temples.
Some excavations were made in them, when terra-cotta guns, 4 feet
11 inches long, with bullets likewise of terra-cotta, were brought
to light. I was presented with some bullets, which are now in the
Trocadéro. The only plausible explanation I can give for the presence
of these guns in an Indian mound, is that after the great battle
of Centla in Tabasco, in which Cortez’ artillery wrought so much
destruction, the natives tried to copy this new war-engine, but being
unacquainted either with iron or the effect of powder, they reproduced
them in the material most familiar to them, fondly imagining that the
result would be the same, and buried them later with their chief.
[Illustration: HOTEL GRIJALVA AT FRONTERA.]
The journey from Carmen to Frontera takes twelve hours, where we land
the very day twelve months after our first visit, and put up again
at the detestable fonda. We learn that smallpox and yellow-fever
have decimated and are decimating the town, but nothing daunted,
for these epidemics seem to spare foreigners, I fill up the time I
must wait here until a steamer calls, by collecting ancient pottery.
Indian idols are of frequent occurrence in Central America, but up to
the present time no one has cared to collect them, and the Mexican
Museum does not possess a single specimen. Among those I picked up are
various figures resembling more or less those of the table-land, while
their differences of style connect them with the idols at Palenque.
Our drawing shows the two best preserved, and although very rude in
make, they are not devoid of interest. The figure to the left is a
Quetzalcoatl, easily recognised from the serpent surrounding his head,
and is the facsimile of a stone idol at Capan; while the larger to the
right may have been meant for a priest or a “tecuhtli” knight.
We are in full carnival, the entire population parading the streets in
ludicrous travesties, making merry with music, jokes, and quips. The
Señoritas come to our fonda to get subscribers for the dance; we give
our names and follow the stream. The ball is kept up with much vigour,
and Julian is soon in great requisition by all the pretty Señoritas,
to the annoyance and mortification of Lucian, who ends, however, by
declaring that he can well forgive his success, for he is an obliging
fellow and such a hand at polishing his boots. These words are drowned
in the tumult and cries of the dancers pressing round a man who has
just been shot by his less favoured rival. The would-be murderer is
taken to the police station, while his victim is conveyed home by his
friends and the ball goes on more briskly than ever.
At last a steamer bound for the Usumacinta is in sight. We get on board
with alacrity, and are soon at Jonuta; but here the captain, on seeing
the low ebb of the river, declares that his ship cannot go any further.
After much parley he is persuaded to go on, but we are startled by
a tremendous bump in the middle of the night, and find that we are
stranded. We wait for the day, when, with a great deal of difficulty,
we succeed in getting her off, and push on to Monte-Cristo, where the
captain _nolens volens_ lands us, protesting that his ship cannot
go another yard. But our troubles do not end here. We are requested
to show our passes, and as Monte-Cristo is not mentioned, we are in
danger of having the whole of our property confiscated. Fortunately
I had a letter from the Home Minister, recommending me to all the
authorities of the Republic. I took it to the Mayor, who gave me full
leave to continue my journey unmolested.
[Illustration: TERRA-COTTA IDOLS OF TABASCO.]
And now we turn our thoughts how to get to Tenosiqué; we find that
it takes four or five days by water, and some twenty-four hours by
land. We procure a canoa, in which we deposit our baggage, under the
management of our faithful Julian, who will follow as quickly as
possible, while Lucian and I, with a guide, take the road through the
woods. We are soon left behind, and do not see our guide again until
six hours later, when we find him reposing by the side of a running
stream.
“Where is our lunch?” I roared out.
“What lunch?”
“Why, the parcel we put up before we started.”
“Oh! I didn’t know what it was, and I left it behind.”
Expostulations were more than vain, and we had to satisfy the cravings
of hunger with a draught of rum and water!
We press on as best we may, and some hours later we reach a rancho
where fresh eggs, poultry, and a beverage made of Indian corn, somewhat
restore our jaded frames. Here we cross the river on to the right
side, and arrive at Cabecera early in the evening, and put up at two
old dames’, who regale us with chicken broth and fried fish, which,
seasoned by hunger, we find delicious. The next day early we are at
Tenosiqué, three miles distant, where we take up our quarters in a
vacant hut, but, do what we will in the way of scraping and sweeping,
we cannot get rid of mosquitoes, garrapatas, and other insects, which
eat us alive. As to the food, an old man does his best, and I still
remember that to give us some salad he had recourse to turnip-leaves;
these naturally enough were hard to the bite, and hardly improved with
bitter orange juice by way of vinegar. But the dearth of any green food
made us gulp it down with a will to like it, and we almost succeeded.
This poor hamlet dates back to 1535, when a Spaniard, Don Gil by name,
settled here. It seems to have kept its native character to the present
day; for Don Saturnino tells me, that thirty years ago it had still a
cacique, “tropiles” (subs), and a picoté. Of late it has acquired some
importance, from its being the great _entrepôt_ of ebony wood, sought
for in the remotest parts of the State.
[Illustration: A BIT OF TENOSIQUÉ.]
We hear the most conflicting reports with regard to the ruins I wish
to explore, lying some fifty miles distant on the other side of the
Sierra, on the left bank of the Usumacinta. They were visited twelve
years ago by the mayor of this place, “_when they were still held in
high esteem by the Lacandones_. A guard was placed over the temples
and on stated days religious ceremonies were performed, but since the
fall of a favourite idol, whose head lies now among the rubbish, the
building has been abandoned.” Cheered by this piece of good news, I
direct all my energies to procure men, mules, and horses; the former
we obtain with the promise of double pay, as for the latter we have to
wait for their return from Peten. But when they arrive at last and I
see their wretched condition, and the ghastly wounds which cover them,
I feel great misgivings as to their performing the arduous journey
which is in store for them. Their owner assures me that with a week’s
rest the animals will be all right. I must needs accept his word for
it, hoping the best, for there is nothing else to be done.
To reach the ruins, a space of some five leagues of forest will have to
be cleared on the right side of the river, which will take us opposite
the ruins, but a canoe must likewise be made to ferry us across. For
this purpose I despatch some men in advance, while we fill up the weary
time of waiting by trying to catch some fish. Curiously enough, a
number of sea-fish is found here in the Usumacinta, 100 miles from its
mouth; and when swollen by rain it brings from distant Guatemala large
quantities of lobsters, together with pumice stones.
We set out on the 15th of March, 1882, and are soon in a tangle of wood
and beset with obstacles of every kind; while the mules get unloaded,
go astray, tarry in green pastures, and are altogether very troublesome.
We have left behind us the low marshy level, and are nearing the
Cordillera, bearing to the south-east on the Peten road. The forest
seems absolutely interminable with magnificent cedar and palm-trees,
over 100 feet high, the trunks of which almost disappear under
flowering lianas, while the broad-leaved Palmyra palms commingle
with Brazil wood, and form boundless domes of verdure. It would be
pleasant enough could one get used to being eaten up by mosquitoes
and garrapatas. The stations where we encamp, although not possessed
even of a hut, are carefully marked in the maps for the benefit of
muleteers; they are always on rising ground, in the vicinity of water
and ramon for the animals, their staple food on the march. Our day’s
journey has told already on them; the men disperse to cut down ramon.
Julian is putting up our camp-beds, while cook is busy with our
supper, which usually consists of a kind of Scotch broth, made of dried
meat, rice, and black beans, a round of biscuit, and a cup of coffee,
except on days when our larder has been replenished on the way by a
wild duck, a peccari, and sometimes a monkey!
In the evening the men, grouped round the fire, indulge in a social
weed, while recounting adventures more or less authentic, then we
all retire behind our mosquito curtains and rest our weary limbs on
soft green leaves. Our slumbers are often interrupted by the roar of
the wild beast, the plaintive cries of nocturnal birds, and howling
monkeys. We rise before daybreak, and what with breakfast, saddling
and loading our animals, the sun is high on the horizon before we can
continue our journey. No incident breaks the wearisome monotony of our
progress, but towards noon I notice to our right traces of buildings,
vast esplanades, the stone edges of which are still intact, whilst the
guide says that towards the valley of S. Pedro, to our left, are entire
monuments still standing—the town of Izancanac, perhaps. Indeed, the
whole country is covered with ruins, to study which a lifetime were not
too long.
The region is full of the memory of the conqueror. He must have
travelled this very road on his march to Honduras. It was in these
woods that, under pretext of a conspiracy, he caused Guatemozin to be
executed. The young Aztec prince displayed the intrepid spirit of his
better days; he reproached Cortez for his want of faith, protesting
the while his innocence. A tardy monument has just been raised to the
upholder of Indian independence in that Tenochtitlan which he defended
as long as there was stone upon stone, whilst not even a bust marks the
presence of his murderer.
The region we now traverse, covered with immense forests, was
cultivated and inhabited before the Conquest; great cities rose in
this trackless labyrinth, the vestiges of which have been noticed by
us, whilst frequent mention of them is found in various authors. On
this route Cortez saw “a great city,” with strong buildings of stone
on the summits of mounds, just as at the present day. This city, known
as “Bitza,” had been abandoned on the approach of the Spaniards, but
provisions of all kinds were left. When its inhabitants returned,
Cortez asked why they had fled.
“Because we were afraid.”
“What is the meaning of all these provisions? Why are all the crops
gathered in?”
“Because if the Lacandones, with whom we are at feud, had come and
conquered us, we would have done away with everything to starve them
out. But on the contrary had we prevailed, we would have given hot
pursuit and lived at their expense.”[155]
Next Cortez passed a town, the environs of which were peopled with deer
so tame, that the Spaniards could catch them by riding after them.[156]
The country must, therefore, have been open to allow of the Spanish
cavaliers giving chase.
Cogolludo calls the region between Yucatan, Chiapas, and Guatemala,
_Prospero_, and says: “The natives of Prospero have their ears and
nostrils bored; they wear in the latter a vanilla pod or a carved piece
of wood; their hair, of which they are vain, is worn long and adorned
with feathers; they also practise tattooing. They told father Simon
that the country round was more densely populated than Yucatan, that
they went by the name of _Locenes_, which means _apart_, and spoke the
Maya language; that the other tribes were the Mopanes, Lacandones,
Ahabes, Cihaches, Chinamitas, etc.; that the town of Locen numbered
eight hundred houses; that the inhabitants were known for their clear
complexion, their good looks; that they wore gold collars round their
necks; and, finally, that many ancient buildings with stone idols in
them, were found in the Sierra.”[157]
Meanwhile our journey becomes more and more harassing; we have been
obliged to leave one of the horses and a mule to the jaguars, and not
to overload the others, Lucian and I ride in turn the only remaining
horse. We cross the Arroyo Yalchilan[158] on the Guatemala border,
not far from Locen, and leaving the Peten road, we steer to the
south-east-south, on the path cleared by our men, and encamp on the
bank of the running stream in which we lave our dust-travelled limbs.
The next day we climb the range of hills which divide us from the upper
Usumacinta, and which are almost impassable for loaded animals. The
sharp stones destroy the leather of our boots, and cut the mules’ feet
to pieces, while we are in danger of being lost down the ravines and
precipices. The better to ease the mules’ backs, we leave here such
provisions as we shall not require, for game will not be wanting on
our way, and everything will be safe until we return. A scaffolding
supported on poles fixed to the ground is made, on which wine, biscuit,
salt meat, and beans are deposited.
Here we encamp for the night—the sixth since we left Tenosiqué—and
the next day we begin the ascent of Mirador and Aguila; the latter,
although not more than 1,300 to 1,400 feet in height, is exceedingly
steep and arduous. We meet an old montero, Don P. Mora, who left his
native village three months since, and is living in the Sierra with two
Indians, whose business is to mark mahogany trees ready for the market.
Don Pépé has built himself a hut on the Chotal river; he shoots
whatever comes within the range of his muzzle, for the support of
himself and his companions. The poor old fellow is reduced to a
deplorable state by marsh fever; he volunteers some valuable hints,
which I repay with a glass of wine and a few cigars.
[Illustration: THE USUMACINTA AT PASO YALCHILAN.]
Some hours more and we reach the broad level, and set up our tents on
the Chotal, a tributary of the Usumacinta. The forest round is teeming
with life; parrots and aras fill the air with their shrill cries,
yellow-crested hoccos[159] move silently among the higher branches,
while howling monkeys peer inquisitively at us, and herds of wild boars
rush madly past us. We are in the country of the Lacandones; here and
there traces of cultivation are still visible, and huts which have
been abandoned on the approach of timber merchants, plainly show that
they were inhabited not long ago. We raise our “camp,” _en route_ for
the Yalchilan Pass, and arrive in the evening on the right bank of the
Usumacinta.
[Illustration: DON PÉPÉ MORA.]
[Illustration: ENCAMPMENT AT PASO YALCHILAN.]