A Glimpse of the Pacific from the High Sierra--A Visionary
Idyl--The Coras Do Not Know Fear--An Un-Indian Indian--Pueblo of
Jesus Maria--A Nice Old Cora Shaman--A Padre Denounces Me as a
Protestant Missionary--Trouble Ensuing from His Mistake--Scorpions.
After a fortnight's stay I said good-bye to Santa Teresa. The alcalde,
who had become quite friendly, accompanied me over the llano on
which his pueblo lies, extending, interspersed with pine forests,
for about three miles west. He begged me not to forget the Coras
when I came to the Governor of the Territory of Tepic, and to ask
the Mexican Government to let them keep their old customs, which
he had heard they were going to prohibit. This fear, I think, was
unfounded. He also wanted me to use my influence toward preventing
the whites from settling in the vicinity, since they were eager to
get at the big forests.
I had found a friend in a Cora called Nuberto, a kind-hearted and
frank fellow, sixty years old, who became our guide. The trail leads
along the western side of the Sierra Madre, sometimes only a few yards
from where the mountains suddenly give way to the deep and low-lying
valleys and foot-hills. As we approached the end of the day's journey,
a perfectly open view presented itself of the Tierra Caliente below,
as far as the Pacific Ocean, which by mules is a week's journey
distant. The wide expanse before us unfolded a panorama of hills that
sank lower and lower toward the west, where the salt lagoons of the
coast could be clearly discerned as silver streaks in the reddish-grey
mist of the evening. Acaponeta was right in line with the setting
sun. Here, 8,000 feet above the level of the sea, everything was calm
and mild; not a breath of air was stirring. A _prunus_ was in flower,
and oak-trees were growing on the brink of the ridge toward the sea. In
every other direction were to be seen the immense silent pine forests
that shelter the Coras, but no trace of human life. Everything seemed
undisturbed, peaceful, quieting, nerve-resting.
Would it not be delightful to settle down here! Life would be so
easy! The Indians would help me to make a hut. I would marry one of
those beautiful Cora girls, who would be sure to have a cow or two to
supply me the civilised drink of milk. None of the strife and turmoil
of the outer world could penetrate into my retreat. One day would
pass as peacefully as its predecessor; never would she disturb the
tranquillity of my life, for she is like the lagoon, without ever a
ripple on its surface. Once in a while the spirit of the feasts might
inspire her to utter an angry word, but she would not mean much by
it, and would soon resume her usual placid role, moving along in the
even tenor of her daily life. What a splendid chance for studying the
people, for knowing them thoroughly, and for familiarising myself with
all their ancient beliefs and thoughts! Perhaps I might solve some
of the mysteries that shroud the workings of the human mind. But--I
should have to buy my fame at the price of living on tortillas and
pinole and beans!
"We may live without poetry, music, and art;
We may live without conscience and live without heart;
We may live without friends, we may live without books,
But civilised man cannot live without cooks."
Concluding that the eminent authority cited was right, I came back
to realities and continued my journey.
By and by I arrived at a fertile little slope partly covered with corn
stubble. At the farther end of it was a large Cora ranch called La
Cienega, and in front of it grew two or three magnificent oak-trees
with light-green stems and equally light-coloured leaves. The people
here were well disposed and sold me some necessary supplies, so I
stopped with them for a day.
While descending to the famous pueblo Mesa del Nayarit, one gets a
magnificent view of the high mountains which form the western border
of the Huichol country and stretch themselves out on the opposite
side of the canon of Jesus Maria like a towering wall of a hazy
blue colour. The pueblo lies on a plain less than a mile in extent
in either direction, on the slope of the sierra, with an open view
only toward the east. There is an idol of the setting sun standing on
the mesa above the village, "looking toward Mexico," as the Indians
express it. This mesa is the one called Tonati by the chroniclers,
while by the Coras it is called Nayariti, and the whole sierra derived
its name from it. The same name is given to a cave in that locality,
where the Coras, as well as the Huichols, deposit ceremonial objects
and other offerings. The setting-sun god is worshipped equally by the
two tribes. The Indians jealously guard this cave, which is never
shown to outsiders. This is practically the terminus of the Sierra
del Nayarit. The sierra from now on is lower and gradually falls down
to Rio de Alica, or Rio Grande de Santiago, where Sierra Madre del
Norte ends.
The people here, though friendly, were less sympathetic and much
more reserved than those of Santa Teresa, and I could find no one
who would divulge tribal secrets. They had received a message from
their sister pueblo telling them they had nothing to fear from me,
but the Coras are not easily scared, anyhow. A stranger may enter
a house without any further ceremony than the customary salutation,
"Axu!" One day when I approached a dwelling, a nice-looking little
girl, scarcely three years of age, came running out with a big knife
in her little fist, her mother following after her to catch her. The
small children curiously approach you, rather than run away. My two
dogs intruded into a house and met in the doorway a little girl,
about four years old, who was just coming out. The family dog was
inside and began at once to bark at the new-comers, ready to fight,
but the little one continued her walk without in the least changing
the quiet expression of her face.
Although the Coras here maintain their traditions and customs more
completely than in other places, I did not see any of the adults
wearing the national dress, buckskin trousers and a very short tunic
reaching only below the breast and made of home-woven woollen material
dyed with native indigo-blue. Only one of the boys was seen with this
costume, and his father was said to have it also. Yet the Coras do
not want to be confounded with the "neighbours." When the principal
men submitted to be photographed, I wanted a picture to show their
physique, and therefore asked them to take off their shirts, which
they refused to do. But when I remarked, "You will then look like
neighbours," the shirts came off like a flash.
The gobernador here was an original and peculiar character. First he
wanted me to camp in La Comunidad, to which I objected; but he was
bent upon having me as closely under his supervision as possible,
and I had to agree to establish my camp only half the distance that
I had intended from the village. As soon as my tent had been put up,
he came, accompanied by one of his friends. He had a passion for
talking, which he indulged in for two hours, interrupting himself
about every twenty seconds to spit. His companion wrapped himself in
his blanket and began to nod, and whenever the gobernador stopped
for expectoration, the other one would utter an assenting "hay"
("yes"). The Cora language is guttural, but quite musical, and when
I heard it at a distance it reminded me in its cadence of one of the
dialects of central Norway. However, the gobernador's monologue soon
became very tiresome, and finally I made my bed and lay down. After
a while they retired, but every evening as long as I stayed in the
place, his Honour came to bore me with his talk. I generally took
him out to my men, who entertained him as long as they were able
to keep awake. He wanted to hear about other countries, about the
bears we had met, and the great war, because he thought there must
always be war somewhere. When everybody was asleep after midnight,
he would retire. He was a widower, and he was the most un-Indian
Indian I ever met.
About five miles east of Mesa del Nayarit the descent toward the
pueblo of Jesus Maria begins. The valley appears broad and hilly,
and the vegetation assumes the aspect of the Hot Country. Specially
noticeable were the usual thickets of thorny, dry, and scraggy trees,
seen even on the edge of the mesa. They are called _guisachi_,
and in the vernacular of the common man the word has been utilised
to designate a sharper. A man who "hooks on," as, for instance, a
tricky lawyer, is called a _guisachero_. It is the counterpart of the
"lawyer palm" among the shrubs of tropical Australia.
Jesus Maria looks at a distance quite a town, on a little plain above
the river-bank. A fine, grand-looking old church, in Moorish style, a
large churchyard surrounding it, and the usual big buildings connected
with the churches of Spanish times, make all extraordinary impression
among the pithaya-covered hills. The rest of the houses look humble
enough. I went a little beyond the pueblo to the junction of arroyo
Fraile with the river of Jesus Maria. As a violent wind, caused by the
cooling off of the hot air of the barranca, blows every afternoon,
I did not put up my tent, but had my men build an open shed. The
wind lasts until midnight, and the mornings are delightfully calm
and cool. The Coras consider this wind beneficial to the growth of
the corn, and sacrifice a tamal of ashes, two feet long, to keep it
in the valley.
The Cora of the canon, and probably of the entire Tierra Caliente,
is of a milder disposition than his brother of the sierra, but he
looks after his own advantage as closely as the rest of them.
The houses of the village are built of stone with thatched roofs,
and, having no means of ventilation, become dreadfully overheated. I
frequently noticed people lying on the floor in these hovels, suffering
from colds. In the summer there is also prevalent in the valley a
disease of the eyes which makes them red and swollen. Although the
country is malarial, the Indians attain to remarkable longevity,
and their women are wonderfully well preserved. All Indian women
age very late in life, a trait many of their white sisters might be
pardonably envious of.
There are twenty Mexicans living here, counting the children; they
are poor, and have no house or lands of their own, but live in the
Convento and rent lands from the Indians. The Coras, of course,
are all nominally Christians, and the padre from San Juan Peyotan
attends to their religious needs. I was told that as recently as forty
years ago they had to be driven to church with scourges. Some families
still put their dead away in caves difficult of access, closing up the
entrance, without interring the bodies, and they still dance mitote,
although more or less secretly.
The Indians catch crayfish, and other small fish, with a kind of
hand-net of cotton thread, which they hold wide open with their elbows
while crawling in the water between the stones. Where the river is
deep they will even dive with the net held in this way.
The day after my arrival I was requested to come to. La Comunidad,
that the people might hear my letters read. This over, I explained
that I wanted them to sell me some corn and beans, a blue tunic of
native make, and other objects of interest to me, that I also wanted
them to furnish me two reliable men to go to the city of Tepic for
mail and money; that I wished to photograph them and to be shown
their burial-caves, and to have a real, good old shaman visit me,
and some men to interpret. The messengers were duly appointed, but it
took them two days to prepare the tortillas they had to take along as
provisions. My desire to see the burial-caves was looked upon with
ill-favour. The old shaman, however, was promptly sent for. He soon
arrived at the council-house, and without having seen me he told the
Indian authorities that "it was all right to tell this man about their
ancient beliefs, that the Government might know everything." When he
came to see me he took my hand to kiss, as if I were a padre, and I
had a most interesting interview with the truthful, dear old man, who
told me much about the Cora myths, traditions, and history. I gathered
from what he said that he could not be far from a hundred years old,
and he had not a grey hair in his head. His faculties were intact,
except his hearing, and while I was interviewing him he was making
a fish-net.
I had him with me one day and a part of the next, but by that time
he was a good deal fatigued mentally, and I had to let him go.
There was an Indian here, Canuto, who could read and write, and,
as he took a great interest in church affairs, he acted as a kind of
padre. I was told that he ascended the pulpit and delivered sermons
in Cora, and that he aspired even to bless water, but this the padre
had forbidden him. He was very suspicious and intolerant and quite
an ardent Catholic, the first Indian I had met who had entirely
relinquished his native belief. He actually did not like mitote
dancing, and the other Indians did not take kindly to him. All the
time I was here he worked against me, because the priest of San Juan
Peyotan, as I learned, had denounced me before the people.
Two traders from that town, who had been visiting Santa Teresa while
I was there, had reported to the padre the presence of a mysterious
gringo (American), who had a fine outfit of boxes and pack-mules,
and who gave the Coras "precious jewellery" to buy their souls,
and visited their dances. The padre, without having ever seen me,
concluded that I was a travelling Protestant missionary, and one
day after mass he warned the people against the bad Protestant who
was on his way to corrupt their hearts and to disturb this valley in
which there had always been peace. "Do not accept anything from him,
not even his money; do not allow him to enter the church, and do not
give him anything, not even a glass of water," he said. This padre,
so I was told by reliable authority, made the judges at San Juan and
at San Lucas punish men and women for offences that did not come under
their jurisdiction. The men were put into prison, while the women had
fastened to their ankles a heavy round board, which they had to drag
wherever they went for a week or two. It caused them great difficulty
in walking, and they could not kneel down at the metate with it.
His speeches about me made a deep impression upon the illiterate
Mexicans in that remote part of the world, who in consequence of it
looked upon me with suspicion and shunned me. Not knowing anything
better, they invented all kinds of wild charges against me: I was
surveying the lands for Porfirio Diaz, who wanted to sell the Cora
country to the Americans; I appealed only to the Indians because
they were more confiding and could be more easily led astray, my
alleged aim being to make Freemasons out of them. A Freemason is
the one thing of which these people have a superstitious dread and
horror. Even my letters of recommendation were doubted and considered
spurious. However, one old man, whose wife I had cured, told me that
Protestants are also Christians, and in his opinion I was even better
than a Protestant. Fortunately, the Indians were less impressionable,
and as their brethren in the sierra had not reported to them anything
bad about me, they could see no harm in a man who did not cheat anyone
and took an interest in their ancient customs and beliefs, while the
padres had always made short work of their sacred ceremonial things,
breaking and burning them.
When at last my messengers returned, after an absence of twelve days, I
was surprised to note that they were accompanied by two gendarmes. The
Commandant-General of the Territory of Tepic had not only been kind
enough to cash my check for about $200, but had deemed it wise to
send me the money under the protection of an escort, a precaution
which I duly appreciated. As the return of the men was the only thing
I had been waiting for, I now prepared to move up the river to the
near-by pueblo of San Francisco, where the population is freer from
Mexican influence.
When my hut was broken up, I found among my effects ten scorpions. The
canon is noted for its multitude of scorpions, and I was told that a
piece of land above San Juan Peyotan had to be abandoned on account
of these creatures. The scorpion's sting is the most common complaint
hereabout, and children frequently die from it, though not all kinds
of scorpions are dangerous. The consensus of opinion is that the
small whitish-yellow variety is the one most to be dreaded. The Cura
of Santa Magdalena, State of Jalisco, assured me that he had known
the sting of such scorpions to cause the death of full-grown people
within two hours.
The scorpions of Mexico seem to have an unaccountable preference for
certain localities, where they may be found in great numbers. In
the city of Durango the hotels advertise, as an attraction, that
there are no scorpions ill them. For a number of years, according
to the municipal records, something like 60,000 scorpions have been
annually killed, the city paying one centavo for each. Some persons
earn a dollar a night by this means. Yet some forty victims, mostly
children, die every year there from scorpion-stings.
The cura quoted above thinks that there is a zone of scorpions
extending from the mining-place of Bramador, near Talpa, Territory
of Tepic, as far north as the city of Durango, though he could not
outline its lateral extent. At Santa Magdalena the scorpions are not
very dangerous.