ACROSS THE CONTINENT, WESTWARD TO COBAN.
The last days of October, 1883, promised good weather for the
hill-country, and Frank and I again left Livingston in the only way one
can leave it,—by water. Our route was as before,—up the Rio Dulce; but
this time we had no comfortable but heavy “Progreso.” We had, however,
a better craft for our voyage,—a fine native canoa, cut from a single
log of a wood they called cedar (which it is not); its length was thirty
feet, and its beam five and a half. With two masts and triangular sails,
this canoa could show good speed with a fair wind; but we cared little
for her sailing qualities on the present voyage. As there were no ribs,
and the thwarts were easily removed, we made the after part, which was
floored, quite comfortable with a temporary roof, or _toldo_; our luggage
was stowed amidships, while our captain and two men had their quarters
forward when not rowing or paddling. We had our coffee-pot (as necessary
a travelling companion in Central America as an umbrella in England) and
a supply of food for a week; although we hoped our voyage might last less
than five days.
The cliffs on the Rio Dulce were as beautiful as ever. Theirs is a beauty
which never fades with the fading year; and yet the changes are very
marked. I never saw such a river,—a very Proteus, it presented a new
form every time I saw it; and Frank, who is far more familiar with its
face, tells me I have never seen it in its glory, which comes in July,
when the brilliant orchids are all aglow. Now a cereus with crimson
blossoms was prominent; so were the bromeliads, parasites on almost every
tree. But among roses I saw the thorn. Our Caribs discovered a huge
serpent asleep on a white cliff far above us. Frank, with a laudable
blindness to all that was not pleasant, could see nothing but a fallen
tree. I saw only a few feet of the head end, which had a diameter of
about six inches; and I obstinately refused to fire at the reptile,
since he was quite as near as it was desirable to have him, and should
my bullet wound but not kill him, it was quite possible that he might
wriggle down into the river below. Porpoises were common far up into the
Golfete, where they were pursuing the abundant freshwater fish. A light
sea-breeze helping us, we anchored for the night far above Cayo Paloma.
Our _mozo_, Santiago, slept on one of the thwarts, which he exactly
fitted, being slightly less in stature than the average New Englander.
Our anchor was up betimes; and before six o’clock in the morning we came
to San Felipe,—a place we both had great curiosity to see; for in the
absence of any definite account of the old Spanish fort, we allowed our
imagination to build a very imposing, picturesque, and, withal, strong
castle.
We found that Spanish castles in Guatemala were almost as unsubstantial
as _châteaux en Espagne_; and it was some time before we distinguished
the Castillo de San Felipe through the morning mist. At the outlet of
the Lago de Izabal the shores approach each other closely,—indeed, the
channel is hardly a stone’s cast broad; and on the northern point stands
the fort built in 1655 to protect the then important commerce of Izabal
from the buccaneers.[9] It is well built of round (uncut) stone, and the
waves of the lago dash against the walls, which are gradually yielding
to the insinuating roots of many plants,—even a delicate blue commelyna
joining in the attack that the seventeenth-century pirates began in
vain. The van of this vegetable scaling-party was led by a fine papaya
(_Carica papaya_), which now towered far above the walls with its head
of ornamental leaves, but which perished soon after; and we saw only the
bare stem on our return, three months later.
Passing this mediæval ruin, we came to a slight wharf of stakes, where
we had to undergo a rigid inspection by the _guarda_, who insisted on
opening our trunks, in spite of a slight shower that was wetting us. But
we submitted with better grace on reflecting how little amusement of any
sort the custom-house men could have in this sleepy looking place; and
when the nonsense was over we sent Santiago with the coffee-pot, which
he was told to have boiled over somebody’s fire. He was also told to get
all the food he could find; and this useless wretch brought back, as
the total result of his foraging, three eggs! Coconut-trees and goyavas
were abundant, but no fruit could be found. After this very frugal
breakfast,—in which we did not ask Santiago to join,—we walked to the
little Comandancia; but the officials were not visible, and we entered
the old fort, as the only other sight in the dirty little town.
[Illustration: Castillo de San Felipe.]
The plan is rather peculiar, but doubtless well suited to the defensive
warfare of those days. The doorless entrance-ports invited us to enter,
and we found a courtyard of paved and level surface occupying almost
the entire area. At the outer end, commanding the channel, the bastion
was higher than the main portion, approached by narrow and winding
steps, easily defended; and here was the most curious part of the
whole edifice,—the gun-deck. There is a law in the Guatemaltecan code
forbidding photographing in military works; but I have since wished
that I had broken that law then and there, so that my readers might see
for themselves the clumsy guns, the carriages with wooden wheels, the
magazine roofed, indeed, but doorless,—the whole business as dangerous to
the gunners as to any enemy outside. Some fine orange-trees were growing
up through the pavement, and their hard green fruit would be suitable
ammunition for the ancient guns.
There was nothing whatever to attract the most curious traveller in San
Felipe, and we sailed and paddled on with frequent calms and showers.
We were completely in the hands of our boatmen, whose knowledge of the
lago proved to be very limited; but as ours was even less, we suffered
them to coast the northern shore, when, as we afterwards learned, the
law directed our course southward to Izabal, the port of entry, where we
should have obtained a permit to proceed on our voyage inland. Our map
indicated the course we selected as the shorter to the mouth of the Rio
Polochic; but the map was, as usual, wrong.
There was not much to see, as the mist and rain hid the mountains and
hung low on the shores, driving us frequently under our rubber roof.
Whenever the mist lifted we caught glimpses of the far southern shore,
with the grand wall of the Sierra de las Minas catching the fleecy clouds
on every black pinnacle; and the clearing sky attracted us still closer
to the northern shore, where we could see a low wooded country backed by
a high range of mountains, with here and there an opening through which
some stream reached the lake. At two o’clock we landed at Sauce, on a
beach of black sand, evidently volcanic, scattered with fragments of
chalcedony and agatized wood,—a formation which puzzled me exceedingly,
as all this region is supposed to be non-volcanic. We had no time to
follow the beach to ascertain the extent of black sand, but it reached
far beyond the few comfortable huts on the shore,—as far, indeed, as we
could go into the jungle inland. In it grew luxuriantly limes, bananas,
mangoes, and other cultivated plants not recognized. Goyavas grew to a
large size, but all the fruit was ruined by worms.
[Illustration: Making Tortillas.]
Here first we saw the whole process of tortilla-making. The _maiz_ was
hulled in lime-water, washed in the lake, and ground laboriously on a
stone _metatle_ into a consistent paste, which is then skilfully patted
into cakes from four to six inches in diameter, round and thick as an
ordinary griddle-cake. These are then baked on an iron plate or _comal_,
but not browned, and should be eaten hot, and then the tortilla tastes
like parched corn. The metatles in Guatemala were all of very simple
pattern and unornamented, not so well wrought as those in Mexico and
farther southward, but serving their purpose equally well. A woman who
cannot make good tortillas is in Guatemala not deemed fit to assume the
duties of housekeeping; and yet there are few articles of food requiring
more labor in preparation than this unleavened bread. Except the Hawaiian
_poi_ (paste of the _Colocasium esculentum_ or _Kalo_), I can recall no
article of diet that demands more physical labor. The inhabitants of the
tropics in both these cases lay aside their proverbial indolence and earn
their bread by the sweat of their brows. For our men we procured meat in
long strips put on skewers and crisped over the fire, while for ourselves
we bought bananas, limes, and tortillas. After this we continued our
voyage until dark, when we anchored near shore and enjoyed a very quiet
night. At early dawn we were again under way. The showers continued, and
far away on the Santa Cruz range the rains were heavy, boding ill for our
ascent of the river. The lake water, usually quite potable, was now full
of a small green alga, and the cast skins of ephemera were so thick on
the surface that for miles we could with difficulty get a dipper of clear
water.
Twice our Caribs thought they had found the mouth of the Polochic;
and at last, at high noon, we discovered it, where we least expected,
on a marshy promontory or delta. Masses of coarse floating grass were
attached to the banks on each side, almost blocking the way; and the
rapid current, which we estimated at five miles an hour, made these grass
plots wave as if the breezes were playing over their tops. Pelicans
were abundant and tame; so were the iguanas. The air was still, and
the thermometer marked eighty-five degrees, while the water was much
cooler,—nine degrees. All the creeks in the lowland flowed from the
river, so high was the flood, and we found no comfortable landing-place.
At night we anchored in the stream, and the mosquitoes were very
troublesome; unlike those on the Chocon, these were black, and had very
long and sharp lancets. At three in the morning we could bear them no
longer; Orion was in the zenith, and we struck our toldo, the men slowly
rowing on until six, when we anchored for coffee. As we were eating, a
cayuco, covered with a neat awning of leaves, came rapidly by us on the
way down; its occupants assured us that there were many _vueltas_ (bends)
and a great current (_mucho corriente_) before we should be able to reach
Pansos.
Ten miles a day was the utmost limit of our propelling power, and in
crossing the bends to escape the current we hardly held our own, so
strong were the flood-waters. Our creeping pace gave us ample time to
see, but no time to stop for, the many curious things on either bank.
Close on the shore were red abutilons, and over them crept the long-tubed
white convolvulus (_Ipomœa bona-nox_) and the brilliant yellow allamanda;
high up on the wild fig-trees were black, long-tailed monkeys, common and
tame, their wonderfully human faces peering down at the intruders, the
mothers clasping their hairy little babies to their breasts with one arm,
and with the other scratching their heads in a puzzled manner. One of our
Caribs shot a little fellow before I could prevent him, and the creature
clung, even in death, by his tail. As I had shot an iguana through the
head with my revolver in the morning, I was called upon to cut with my
bullet the provoking tail, that the Caribs might have a _caribal_ feast.
Regard for my reputation as a marksman, and the memory of a taste of
roast monkey in India, forbade the attempt, and the poor monkey, like the
Tyburn thief, “is hanging there still.” There was foam on the water, but
we heard no water-fall,—and indeed the flat nature of the country made
falls, cascades, or even rapids, impossible.
We passed another night when the torrents of rain had no effect on the
myriads of mosquitoes and black-flies. Still all the brooks ran inland,
although, as we afterwards learned, in the dry season these banks are so
high above the water that they are hard to climb. All day long we saw
monkeys along the banks, though high above us, and the following night we
heard the howlers; but in compensation for that evil had no mosquitoes.
By Saturday (Nov. 3, 1883) we hoped to be well on our road from Pansos
to Coban, but, except the cayuco, we saw no signs of men or the work of
men’s hands; on that morning, however, we came to a little _finca_ on the
river bank, where a good sized stream from the river flowed into the
yard and through the house. The poultry had taken refuge on the roof,
and the Indian proprietors waded through the flood. Luckily the oven, or
fire-place, was raised on sticks several feet above the water, so that
the señora could make us some tortillas,—eight for a real. Eggs were the
same price. Slight as the forage was, it was very acceptable, as our food
was nearly gone, and we were already dependent on the Caribs for their
cassava-bread. The river, these persons said, was falling, so we pushed
on with new courage.
A fine spider-lily (_Crinum_) grew on the bank where we moored our
canoa. We noticed that whenever we made fast to the cane-brake, the
black-flies bothered us far more than when we had trees overhead; was
it not because the cane did not afford roosts or concealment for the
fly-catching birds and reptiles? The blossoms of the cane were very
beautiful, indeed as attractive as those we had noticed on the Chocon.
Mahogany-trees were seen here and there, and we were told that there
was much of this fine wood on the Rio Zarco, just at hand. I also saw
a goyava-tree, some eighteen inches in diameter and eighty feet high.
In the afternoon we passed willows (_Sauce_), and about five o’clock
were startled by an unusual noise behind us, when a huge three-storied
structure came sweeping up the stream, as if in pursuit; it was the
steamer “City of Belize,” a flat-bottomed stern-wheeler. As the current
was very strong and the channel narrow, we hastened to make fast to a
large fig-tree overhanging the stream. Before, however, our arrangements
were made, the steamer was upon us, and her surge, added to the current,
tore us from our mooring and swept us under the tree. Our masts caught
in a branch, and we were turned on our beam-ends. For an instant our
situation was critical. Our weather-rail was six inches under water, and
we were clinging to the other side as the water came pouring in; then the
mainmast slipped, and we righted, all hands bailing out eagerly, while
Frank held by some branches and prevented a repetition of the disaster.
If the canoa had upset, our journey would probably have ended there, as
our photographic supplies would have been ruined, and there would have
been little chance for us in that deep, rapid river, with no banks,
and no trees that offered food, even if they gave us shelter from the
alligators; and these too would have shown themselves as soon as the
disturbance caused by the steamer had abated. Our Carib captain was as
frightened as we were, and with the little English he knew, exclaimed as
we anchored for the night: “D—d good boat; wouldn’t sell her for h—ll!”
The persons on the “City of Belize” must have seen us filling, but they
did not stop to see if we drowned.
All night we had mosquitoes, but no rain; and to our wakeful excitement
was added the horrible noises of tigres, wild hogs, monkeys, alligators,
and other animals. We were getting tired of the river, and our voyage
seemed interminable. Early in the morning we passed the mouth of the Rio
Cahabon, where the steamer had anchored the night before, and soon after
I shot my first alligator. He was a large one, and my ball struck him
just behind the foreleg. He jumped clear of the water, turned over, and
fell back, tingeing the river with blood.
We thought we had counted twice the seventy-two vueltas in the fifty
miles between the mouth of the river and Pansos; but this port still
fled before us, and it was nearly dark before I smelt human habitations.
Not one of our company had ever been there before; but the Caribs were
greatly amused at my assertion, and I think Frank smiled in his sleeve at
my scent. But I certainly smelt them, and kept the men rowing, and blew
the conch-shell, as the law requires on approaching a port; and at last,
long after dark, the lights of the steamer fast at the wharf appeared,
and we were soon alongside.
We had been a week in our canoa, and five days without landing; but our
troubles were not yet ended. The stupid soldiers flatly refused to allow
us to land our traps without a permit from the comandante, and insisted
that we should go with them to the Comandancia, nearly a quarter of a
mile away. I started with Santiago, over a road worked into pasty mud by
the ox-carts from Coban. It was raining and very dark, and the almost
naked soldiers tried to light the way with splinters of fat-pine, called
here _ocote_. At last the road ended in a black pool, into which the
barelegged soldiers waded. But I declined to go farther unless they
carried me; and it almost made the night bright to see the look these
apologies for men gave each other and the stranger who weighed twenty
pounds more than their united weights. It ended as it should have begun;
and Santiago went on with one guard to explain matters, while with the
other I returned to the steamer. The officers of the steamer had kindly
invited us to sleep on board; but the soldier on guard refused to let us
pass the plank, so I pitched him into the river,—the proper place for
all such stupid military men,—and went on board unopposed. Soon word
came that we might sleep where we pleased. Mosquitoes were as bad here
as anywhere on the Polochic; and while Frank slept on the dining-table
without a net, I had a very dirty bed and a net full of mosquitoes and
other things; so in the morning we could not decide which had had the
least comfort.
With light usually comes a more cheerful feeling; and a good breakfast,
to which the officers of the steamer invited us, made us feel at peace
with all men, and I even took the trouble to ask if the soldier I had
pitched into the river was drowned. The rain having ceased, we started
for the town, ferrying ourselves over the creek in an old canoa half full
of water.
As the comandante had not recovered from his overnight debauch, we went
about the little village to do some necessary shopping and arrange for
our journey to Coban. The town was small, but neat and attractive. A
clear brook ran over a limestone bed, and in one place it fell over a
ledge into a pool where washing is done both of persons and garments.
An old Spaniard was bathing here, and, although half a dozen women were
washing clothes or soaking maiz in the same limited bath-tub, he invited
us to join him. Near by, a man was dressing an oxhide by pegging it to
the ground and then salting the inside.
At the Comandancia we found, not the chief, who was still too drunk,
but two very polite officials, with whom I had a pleasant chat; I then
wrote my name, residence, and all the titles I could ever lay claim to,
as well as those of Señor Don Francisco, my “Secretario.” The impression
was so marked that our lawless neglect of Izabal was overlooked, and we
were given a full permit to land our luggage. Once more we returned to
the river, in order to dismiss our Carib boatmen, and on the way we met
an intelligent ladino who spoke English (indeed he had been to London);
and he, acting as our interpreter, greatly assisted us in shopping and
in our preparations for the long journey before us. In his garden were
some goyava-trees (_Psidium_); but the fruit was unripe, and we found
that our new friends eat the goyava as the Chinese eat pears and other
fruits,—quite hard; salting it, however. Santiago found horses for Frank
and myself, and at the Comandancia we procured Indian mozos to carry our
luggage. This was our first experience of a system that we found very
convenient throughout the country. By an order from the Comandancia,
Indios are obliged to carry burdens, as in the present case, precisely
as their Northern brothers have to serve on a jury, and do it for three
reals (37½ cents) a day,—quite equal here to the fee the law allows
an intelligent juryman in the North. They cannot be sent beyond their
district, nor made to carry more than four _arrobas_ (100 lbs.). In many
cases they carry six arrobas without complaint, supporting their burden
by a raw-hide strap (called _mecapal_) over the forehead. The person
hiring pays to the authorities, with whom the men are registered, a real
a head. I provided four of these men to carry our luggage to La Tinta;
but Santiago cut down the number by half at the end of the first stage.
Our experience with these _mozos de cargo_ was pleasant, as they usually
kept up with our horses on the mountain-roads, and took good care of
the parcels intrusted to them. Each one carries a palm-leaf umbrella
(_suyacal_), which also serves for bed at night. I have employed dozens
of these bearers, and found only one of whom I could complain; and he was
not with me on the road, but sent with our mozo Santiago,—which might be
an excuse for him.
There is no _posada_ in Pansos; and after getting our breakfast at
noon in a little shop which was papered with pictures from “Harper’s
Weekly” and “Puck,” we decided to spend the night at Teleman. After
some difficulty in getting permission for our guide to leave town,—the
comandante being still drunk,[10]—at two o’clock, mounted tolerably,
Frank and I, with our boy Roberto, left Pansos. The pleasure of being
again on horseback after the dull inaction of our canoa voyage was so
great that I was willing to overlook any deficiencies in my mount. As
Roberto stopped a short distance from the town to make a slight addition
to his wardrobe, we went on alone for a while; the road could hardly be
missed, it is so worn by the bullock-carts used to bring coffee from
the plantations of Alta Verapaz. The beautiful vegetation, healthy and
luxuriant, drew our attention from the muddy road, which became worse as
we got farther into the forest. Many fine clear brooks crossed our path,
and as we came out of the woods the valley of the Boca-nueva lay before
us. Two piers of masonry stand on opposite banks of this river; but the
iron bridge lies on the shore at Livingston, and there seems to be no
very strong attraction between the iron and the masonry. The absence
of a bridge was no great hardship, for not only was the river shallow
and easily fordable, but there was a most curious vine-bridge, built of
vejucos, perhaps a hundred and fifty feet long, hung from two convenient
trees and approached by ladders. It was old, and one side was broken
down; so it required care and courage to cross it. It was very similar
in construction to modern wire suspension-bridges, but wholly vegetable,
there being not a particle of metal about it.
A few miles farther brought us out of the wooded to the cleared land,
where is the hamlet of Teleman, famed for its delicious oranges. Although
nearly sundown, and cloudy, the thermometer stood at seventy-eight
degrees. We found lodging at the house of Don Pablo, a fine-looking old
man with a heavy gray beard. His little home was in the midst of orange
and coffee trees close on the road, and only a light rail kept the too
familiar cattle out of the house. We had no long time to look around
before dark; but our comida was good, and the coffee grown there was very
fine. The hospitable Don Pablo pointed to a pile of oranges on the floor
and told us to help ourselves, which we did freely. Another Spaniard came
in soon after we were settled, and I had the best chance I had ever had
to exercise my “book Spanish.” I surprised Frank, and myself as well,
obtaining from these two agreeable men a great deal of information about
our road and the country generally. The room was certainly as strange
a one as I had ever slept in,—a table in one corner, with a mahogany
bench fifteen inches wide before it (on this bench a small child slept
all night, without pillow or covering); two hammocks; a bedstead with
mosquito-netting; piles of coffee, oranges, and other small matters; a
shrine of tinsel containing two images, before whose dingy holiness a
sardine-box lamp burned luridly; meat in strips hung from the roof. The
chickens had all gone under the bed for the night; and when it was time
for the featherless bipeds to roost also, our host and his women retired
into the dark inner room, after assigning me the bed and Frank one of
the hammocks, while the stranger took the other and soon settled himself
comfortably. The bed certainly was not luxurious, and the pillow had seen
better days; but I rigged up a cleaner head-rest with a towel, and was
comfortable enough. Not so Frank, who was unused to hammocks; and before
I was quite asleep I heard his whisper, asking if there was room to take
him in; and as the bed was large, his hammock was deserted.
We were up at four; and as it was still quite dark, the sardine-box lamp
was again lighted, and we drank the delicious coffee grown in Don Pablo’s
garden, while a little _muchacha_ drove out her chickens from under the
bed. The clouds promised rain; but we had none all day, in spite of the
predictions of both host and guide.
We crossed two _aguas calientes_. One of them was steaming in the cool
morning air; but their temperature was very little above that of the
atmosphere at midday. Cacao-trees were very common, though we saw none
cultivated. Here we first saw in abundance some of the convolvulus
blossoms for which the country is noted. One was of a pale rose, another
a deep blue, with hispid calyx and a corolla five inches across, while
a third was of flesh-color and satiny texture, covering the trees near
La Tinta. We arrived in that village about noon, and after some delay
found a house where they would cook us an almuerzo. Our _menu_ comprised
good white rolls, broiled meat, fried plantains, frijoles, fried eggs,
and good coffee,—all which we relished exceedingly; and we were not less
satisfied with the price,—two reals each. The house contained only one
room, a stone cooking-bench[11] at one end, and a row of box-like beds
along one side. Under these several hens were sitting, and two or three
dogs tried hard to get into a bed, while a colt kept putting his head
into a window, and finally upset the corn-box. There was not much to the
town, certainly. The school had thirteen pupils,—some bright enough; but
the church was an insignificant shed. Pasturage was good, and we noticed
a very large proportion of bulls by the roadside; these were quite as
gentle as the cows.
In the afternoon we crossed, on an iron truss-bridge covered with a
thatched roof, the Polochic, now a shallow but still wide stream. I
wished for my camera here,—as I had several times since I left Pansos;
but we were effectually parted until our mozos should overtake us at
Coban. We had been assured by the blind ladinos that there was no
interesting scenery on the road. We were now constantly ascending, and
we passed many Indios of the Poconchi tribe,—clean, good-looking, and
dressed in white, with fanciful designs of darker colors sewed on.
We arrived at Chamiquin early in the afternoon, and found the hamlet
consisted, as far as we could see, of two very inferior houses and as
many sheds. A fine grove of mango-trees, but no fruit; a hen-house
built in the second story only, and accessible by ladder; palms, with
the withered leaves still clinging to the stem (cultivated for the
nuts, but dreary looking); limestone cropping out on the neighboring
hills,—comprised the distinctive features of the place. Our room was
new and clean, lined with banana-leaves, and the hard earth floor was
of course uncarpeted. The furniture was simply a table and a bench; but
frugal as the furnishing was, our dinner surpassed it,—a few tortillas,
four eggs, and some nasty coffee for two hungry men! We had our own
candles, or we might not have seen how little it was. Perhaps our hostess
did as well as she could, for the twenty-five dogs that besieged our room
while we ate were evidently half starved.
All through the country the dogs are very ill conditioned, and I several
times remonstrated with their owners for what seemed to me cruel
treatment; for although I detest this unclean brute, I do not like to
see him suffer. But I was always assured that the dogs were underfed,
not on account of cruelty, but to make them good hunters and scavengers.
It certainly made them useless for the only purpose besides hunting that
dogs seem to have been created for,—human food. Guatemala canines are
certainly a contrast to the juicy little _poi_ dogs of the Hawaiians
(which are fed only on _poi_, sweet potato, and milk), or the excellent
dogs always hanging in the butcher-shops in China.
Here let me speak of the atrocious coffee that we found in this place and
elsewhere as we went on. The berry, which is of fine quality, is burned,
not roasted, and when pulverized, boiled for hours, and then bottled.
This nasty mess they call _esencia de café_, and mix it with boiling
water at the table. It was generally served to us in patent-medicine
bottles, with a corn-cob or a roll of paper for a stopper. It had not
the slightest taste of coffee, but reminded one of the smell of a
newly-printed newspaper.
We were on our way next morning at half-past five, and found the road
much washed by the severe rains of the night before. On our right, across
the valley, was a fine cascade spattering over the limestone rocks, and
now we came for the first time to home-like pine-trees. Begonias of two
species grew in the clefts of the roadside rocks, and in a house-yard
was a fine _Euphorbia Poinsettii_. As my horse had hurt his foot at
Teleman, I walked much of the way, so our progress up the hills was not
very rapid; and we were by no means expecting it when a turn in the road
between two hills brought us abruptly into San Miguel Tucurú.
This interesting town, of some three hundred inhabitants, had no posada;
but we found a capital _casa de hospedaje_, kept by a señora of African
descent married to an invisible ladino. The house was of fair size, built
of adobe, and well plastered. A black Saint Benedict hung in effigy on
the wall,—the forerunner of a host of black saints and holy people whom
we saw both in sculpture and painting as we advanced through this ancient
domain of the Spanish missionaries. Our señora had a _calentura_,—the
national excuse for not doing anything or going anywhere; but for all
that she got us a good breakfast. Our horses were used up, and our boy
could get no others. An appeal to the alcalde brought one poor horse;
but all our further efforts were answered by _mañana_ (to-morrow),—that
word so hateful to an active man, but universal here. As we had a very
comfortable house to pass the night in, we made ourselves easy, and
started to explore the town. On our way in I had seen an attractive
spring a short distance from the road, and I went alone to explore it,
taking a calabash I had just purchased for a drinking-vessel. A well-worn
path led across a meadow, and a sudden turn brought me upon a party of
women in exceedingly slight apparel, bathing and washing in a little pool
into which the spring emptied through a spout. These naiads were most
of them young; but one old woman, a foul-visaged hag, scowled savagely
upon me, while the others giggled as I quietly handed my calabash to the
prettiest, and asked her to give me a drink of water, which she caught
from the high spout with skill and without hesitation, although the
action exhibited her form in all its beauty. How I wanted my camera!
Stuck in the muddy road was a train of ox-carts, and the oxen from seven
or eight were yoked to the head cart; and when that was dragged out of
the slough to a camping-place, the next and all the rest were treated the
same way. We wandered about town between the showers, saw lime-kilns, a
lead-mine, and several potteries, and at last came to the church,—a more
considerable building than we had yet seen in Central America. The door
was tied with a leather shoestring, and there was no resident priest.
The images seemed, to our unaccustomed eyes, most horrible; but they
must have appeared in holier form to the poor worshippers, for marigolds
and amaranths were strewed before them, and votive candles burned on
the floor. The ancient name of this town was Tucurúb (meaning “town of
owls”); but the Spaniards re-christened it by one of the saints called
Michael,—which I do not know, but apparently not that one whose churches
in western Europe are usually perched on some almost inaccessible
pinnacle, as at Le Puy in France, St. Michael’s Mount in Cornwall, etc.
Only one man in the town could speak English, and he could give us very
little information about our road. Indeed, all the way we were in that
delightful condition of travelling without knowing exactly what is
coming, and constantly meeting the unexpected. The rain at last came down
in earnest, and drove us within doors. A Boston boy who has a fine coffee
estate in the neighborhood came in as we were at dinner and initiated
us into the mystery of _tortillas tostadas_. Certainly by toasting, the
tough, clammy, cold tortilla is made even better than new.
At four in the morning our boy Roberto lighted the candle and waked us
up. We had settled our score the night before, and so did not disturb
the family, but completed our toilet on the doorstep, as we saw to the
saddling of our horses, by the light of the solitary candle. It was so
dark as we rode away that we could not see the road, and blindly followed
our guide’s white horse. A gate across the road gave us some trouble, as
we could only feel it. By daylight the scenery must be fine; but as the
noise of rushing waters, and a blacker streak by the road-side, alone
indicated the torrents and _barrancas_ at hand, we were troubled rather
than pleased by these picturesque properties. We came to an ox-train
camped in the middle of the road; and but for the glowing embers of their
camp-fires we should have had great difficulty in passing.
As the gray dawn brightened over the mountains, the numerous white
cascades attracted enough attention to keep us from the drowsiness we
were both falling into from the darkness, cold, and dampness, and the
slow gait of our horses. Fire-flies were still sparkling when it was
light enough to see the road.
It was quite early when we came to Tamahù; and as we entered the little
town (1,517 inhabitants), which is twelve leagues from Coban, we saw
a shrine with images as horrible as any of the idols of the ancient
Polynesians. Most of the houses had tiled roofs, and looked neat and
comfortable. At one of the best we stopped for coffee; and while the
preparations for our meal were going on, Frank and I went up to the
church hard by. The door was tied with a rope, and we found little of
interest within, except images closely resembling East Indian idols, and
around all a flavor of mild decay. Our hostess—for always it was the
señora who managed the hospitalities and took the pay therefor—gave us
rolls and fried plantains with our good coffee, and the table and bench
were of some choice wood, darker and harder than mahogany. Fine roses
blossomed in the yard (it was November), and cotton-dyeing and weaving,
the principal industries of the town, were carried on in nearly every
house. Lime-burning and tile-making also employ a goodly number of the
people.
As we rode into the country, we passed many clumps of a fine arborescent
composite some twenty feet high,—one of the giants of this great and
widely spread family. Crimson lobelias (like cardinal-flowers) with red
stems, crenulate leaves, and a very unpleasant odor, were common. The
road was badly gullied, and the nightly rains had made the Polochic,
which still kept at our side, an angry looking torrent quite unfordable.
The grades of the road were good, and showed engineering skill and
constant care; but for all this my horse broke down before noon, as I
had expected, and our boy, after some consultation with the drivers of a
mule-train we passed, captured a stray mule for me and turned the horse
loose. All the horses here seem so feeble, and many of the mules so sore,
that I seriously thought of capturing one of the powerful bulls feeding
peaceably by the path, and riding him in true African style; but Frank
earnestly dissuaded me, so we had to walk half the time to save our
wretched hacks.
Through the mud we rode into Tactic, four leagues farther on, at
half-past one o’clock. The barometer recorded 4,650 feet; but this was
not high enough to insure dry roads at this season. The town, of some
thirteen hundred inhabitants, seemed prosperous; the houses were of a
better class than any we had yet seen, and the gardens were full of
fruit-trees and vegetables. Tree-abutilons, both pink and crimson, were
covered with blossoms, and peach-trees bore both blossoms and unripe
fruit. The roads were quite too muddy for foot-travel, except in native
undress. The corridors of the houses generally had carved posts and
lintels, and the central tile of the ridge was usually fashioned into a
cross, with two lambs or doves as supporters. The _casa municipal_ was a
noteworthy building. In gardens we saw fine coffee-trees, and were told
that here there are three blossomings in May, and as many harvestings in
December; the first and third are small, while the second is large. Roses
were even finer than at Tamahù; and a little girl gave me a bunch of a
kind much like the old-fashioned cabbage-rose. Most of the inhabitants
are Indios of the Poconchi tribe.
[Illustration: Roof Tile.]
The façade of the church is ornamented with dumpy statues of saints,
and the main altar is elaborately carved. We noticed a picture of three
men in the flames of Sheol,—whether Hell or Purgatory we could not
tell; one wore a tiara, another a mitre, while the third had on a plain
four-cornered canonical cap. In front of the church we bought twenty
_jocotes_ (_Spondias sp._) for a medio. There are several varieties of
this plum-like fruit, and the red is larger and better than the yellow.
When quite ripe, the rather tender skin contains a juicy yellow pulp
around a rough stone. From the fermented juice _chicha_ is made,—much
used as a mild intoxicant, not unlike thin cider.
As we rode out of town we saw that the suburban gardens were much overrun
by squash and bean vines. Maiz stood fifteen feet high; far up on the
hills we saw cornfields (_milpas_), having in their midst dwelling-houses
almost in the clouds, and seemingly built like swallows’ nests against
the steep hillside. The _campo santo_, or cemetery, was surrounded by
adobe walls, and seemed utterly neglected. We had seen in the church, and
now found by the roadside, a fine red and yellow orchid, and another
pure white one, as well as the cardinal-flower. All day there had been
showers; and when we arrived at Santa Cruz, long after dark, we were wet,
in spite of our _ponchos_ and the water would run into our boots.
There was no posada, so our boy declared, and we had to try the _cabildo_
for the first time. The _Escuela por Niños_, or “school for ninnies,” as
Frank persisted in calling it, was placed at our disposal; but the floor
was bare, hard concrete, and we had no mats, while there was no chance to
hang our hammocks. It was not inviting; but one of the attendants kindly
brought two mahogany settees from the court-room, and this was so hard
a couch that one might be pardoned for going to bed with boots on,—and
mine were so wet that I feared I should not get them on in the morning if
they once came off. We needed food quite as much as a bed, and at last
found rolls and coffee at a little shop near at hand. At four o’clock in
the morning there was an earthquake, which did not wake Frank, though it
jarred my bed as though some one had run against it in the dark. This
shock was felt, as we afterwards found, at Coban, San Cristobal, and for
miles around. Slight earthquakes are said to be common enough here, but
we saw no evidence of severe ones.
In the morning at half-past five, while Roberto was saddling the horses,
we visited the church and found many curiously carved and gilded
altar-pieces. After performing our ablutions in a puddle in the road,
left by the last night’s rain, we got our coffee and hastened on our way,
as it was Friday, and we still had twelve miles to ride to Coban.
This city, although at an elevation of 4,500 feet, is surrounded by much
higher hills; and from the pass over which the road winds, the view of
the surrounding coffee-region is very fine. The streams were in flood,
and some of the lower plantations were under water. Near the town we
saw the method of raising coffee-plants under frames covered with dried
ferns. Crossing a good bridge, we came up a paved street, and soon after
ten o’clock rode into the Hotel Aleman, where we had a very comfortable
room and two beds with sheets and pillow-cases,—the first we had seen
since we left Livingston; and we were not now compelled to sleep in
our clothes. Our breakfast was the best we had found since we had been
in the country, and consisted of soup, sausages, _frijoles negras_,
wheaten rolls, fried plantains, _tortillas tostadas_, tomato salad, fried
potatoes, and good coffee. The potatoes here are native, seldom larger
than an English walnut, and very mealy. In the patio of the hotel bloomed
roses and violets.
[Illustration: In Hotel Aleman.]
[Illustration: Plan of the Hotel Aleman.]
As this Hotel Aleman was the first house of solid masonry we had entered
since our arrival in Guatemala, we examined it with some curiosity.
Externally it was very plain,—white with stucco, of one story, and roofed
with red tile. Windows were few, and the large door of two valves was
generally closed in a rather inhospitable manner to an outsider. Once
within the portal, however, the scene changed wonderfully. Before us was
a courtyard (_patio_), into which the house opened. Directly in front was
a plain building, used as kitchen (_cocina_) and stable; on the left was
the garden (_huerto_); on the right, the corridor, on which opened the
_sala_, or parlor, an apartment or two, and the dining-room (_comedor_).
In the corner was a large concrete tank to catch rain-water. Our own
apartment was at the left of the entrance, and was quite large, with
tiled floor and separate corridor. A curtain was suspended between two
of the pillars to shade the dining-room, and hammocks could be swung in
every direction when needed. Birds hung in cages, and flowers in baskets;
and the _négligé_ air of everything, except the neat little Indian women
who did the household work, added to the comfortable feeling the place
inspired.
[Illustration: The Cabildo of Coban.]
We walked up a paved street an eighth of a mile to the casa municipal,
and, passing an arched gateway in the clock-tower, entered a spacious
plaza, with the cabildo on our left and the foundations of the new palace
on the brow of the hill opposite. Directly before us was the church and
connected buildings,—once a college of priests, since confiscated by
the Government, and now used as a music-school, blacksmith’s shop, and
for other purposes. The main part of the Plaza was paved; and here were
congregated several hundred Indios, mostly of the Quekchi tribe, buying,
selling, and bartering. We bought twenty-five fine granadillas (fruit of
the passion-flower) for a medio, and as many jocotes for the same price.
Delicate straw hats, woven in two colors, were three reals and a medio;
cotton napkins (_servilletas_) of native weaving, two reals; palm-leaf
umbrellas (_suyacales_), such as every _mozo de cargo_ carries, one real.
There was a fair supply of raw cotton, cacao, brown sugar, tallow, soap,
and blankets.
[Illustration: Interior of the Church at Coban.]
[Illustration: COBAN CHURCH AND PLAZA.]
The church was very large and interesting; but the front was disfigured
by two distinct main entrances, and the bell-tower was too low for the
church. Within, there was the simplest architecture imaginable,—plain
timber posts, square, with a slight chamfer, with pillow-block capitals
and stucco bases; an uneven tiled floor; and side altars of poor design,
sometimes painted to imitate marble. On one of these altars a famished
cur was eating candle-ends; on another were the three crucifixes of
Calvary,—the repentant thief being a young man of personable form and
features, while the other was a bald-headed, bearded villain; a very
impressive object-lesson we afterwards saw in many churches. A fair St.
Sebastian was the only picture of tolerable merit.
[Illustration: Pattern of Cloth.]
We called on the excellent Jefe politico, Don Luis Molina, who received
us very politely, although our call must have been a great bore to
him, as he spoke no English, and my Spanish was very lame. The Indian
women in the streets all dress alike,—in a skirt of indigo-blue cotton,
generally figured in the loom; and their long and abundant black hair
is carefully bound in red bandages (_listones_) reaching nearly to the
ground. Their stature is below medium; they seem modest and good-natured.
The blue cloth is woven in rude looms, several of which we inspected,
and the thread is dyed in vats of masonry in the house-yard. The threads
are dressed in the loom and dried by a few coals in a potsherd placed
beneath the warp. A border is woven at each edge, and also in the woof,
at intervals, to mark the length of a dress-pattern. A common design
is given on the previous page,—the lines being light blue on dark. The
lines of light filling are carried outside the selvage, and of course
are easily broken; otherwise the cloth is coarse and strong, in widths
of a _vara_, or thirty-three inches. The weavers were very obliging, and
pleased to have us inspect their work.
The soil here is a rich red loam, and coffee grows better than elsewhere
in the country. Coffee-trees, well-trimmed and loaded with crimson
berries, were in every garden, and violets and strawberries were in
blossom.
The domestic architecture was certainly not imposing, but it was
substantial, and perfectly suited to the climate. Houses were generally
but one story in height, built of masonry and covered with stucco, around
a patio towards which the tiled roof inclined, covering a wide veranda
as well as the house. The windows on the street projected slightly, and
were protected by strong iron grills. Many of the streets were paved,
and drains and culverts provided to remove the rain-water. As there is
no aqueduct, water is brought from springs or caught from the roofs
during the frequent rains. We were told it had rained incessantly for
the last ten days, and the wet clouds still rested on the surrounding
hills, giving a slightly gloomy aspect to the otherwise fine views in all
directions. The meat-market was outside the Plaza, and a single glance
was enough; but the general market was so attractive that, after a quiet
night’s rest (we were of course far more wearied by sight-seeing than
by any day’s travel), we turned our steps thither in the early morning.
In our search for mules we came to the blacksmith in the cloisters. He
was an American (_del Norte_); and it was said that when he was drunk
he could shoe a mule better than others could in their soberest moments.
He had been drinking when we found him; but he gave us some information,
took us to his den hard by, where his family consisted of a native wife
and a black monkey, and gave Frank the skin of a quetzal (_Pharomacrus
mocino_). This skin was so beautiful that it put us on the search, and we
found a señora who had a moderately large collection of these and other
bird-skins, which are brought in by the Indios from the mountains of Alta
Verapaz.
[Illustration: Quetzal.]
The quetzal (pronounced _kezàl_) is the national emblem, and is decidedly
a bird of freedom, as it never survives captivity, even when taken in
earliest life. In ancient days none but the royal family could wear
the beautiful plumes. At present the Indios bring the skins from the
mountains in considerable numbers, their value depending on the length
of the tail-plumes, which sometimes exceeds three feet. As the female
is very plain, without the beautiful tail of the male, she escapes the
hunters, and consequently preserves the species. The wing-coverts and
tail-feathers of the male are of a superb peacock-green, changing to
indigo, the inner breast scarlet, and the wings very dark.
We went to the campo santo, on a hill westward of the town, which is
reached by a flight of a hundred and sixty concrete steps; the whole was
built at the cost of one pious man. Several shrines on the way up made
convenient resting-places for those who used those steps,—like the Golden
Stairs at Rome for knee-worship and penance. In one of these shrines was
a lamp of native make, in form of a bird with many necks. The chapel on
the top was small, and the doorway so low that I struck my head violently
in coming from the dark interior.
Except the noble pine-trees on the top, there was nothing attractive in
this last resting-place. Some grave-diggers were making merry over a
small and shallow grave they had just finished, and we gladly turned from
the _calvario_ to the fine views townward. At night the regimental band
gave us some agreeable music (perhaps national airs, certainly unfamiliar
tunes); and as the music died away in the distant streets we fell asleep,
to be awakened at day-break by the drums and fifes calling the men of
military age to the regular Sunday inspection. We were present at the
roll-call in the Plaza; and of all absurd military sights, this was the
chief! Soldiers in every costume and of all sizes stood in line, much as
they arrived at the rendezvous, and solemnly answered to their names.
Would that I could present a photograph of this “Falstaff’s Regiment” to
my readers!
After coffee Frank and I went to church. The Indian women were all
kneeling on the tiled floor, and formed the bulk of the worshippers.
A few men stood or knelt, with striped blankets thrown gracefully
over their shoulders. Mahogany benches between the side altars gave
us an opportunity to sit comfortably and study the interesting scene
before us while we listened to the very fine orchestra (consisting
mostly of Germans), which occupied benches in the midst of the nave.
Far away in the loft, over the door, a bass drum and fife, and still
farther out of doors rockets and explosions, accompanied or emphasized
the music. The sacrament of the communion was being administered to
worshippers,—apparently in both kinds; the wine in a sort of sop, while
the wafer was carried by an attendant. All through the long service the
women remained devoutly kneeling on the tiled floor.
[Illustration: Indio of Coban.]
After church the market was more active than usual, and we spent the
time before almuerzo in lounging through it. In the afternoon we were
made happy by the arrival of Santiago and our mozos, with our luggage in
perfect order; and not long after the Jefe Don Luis called, and assured
us that we should have all the mozos we needed to carry our luggage
onward. We had decided to take the unusual road to Quiché, about which
even the Jefe could give us little information, and we found no one else
who knew more; so we decided to send our heavier luggage direct by Salamà
to Guatemala City, while we took with us only one mozo to carry those
things we needed by the way.
In the evening we turned again to the church to hear the vesper service.
The spacious edifice was dimly lighted by the candles on the altars and
pillars, and men and women knelt all over the rough floor. A choir of
female voices was singing as we entered, and soon the officiating priest
was conducted by candle-bearing acolytes to the altar. The responses by
the choir and orchestra (organ, violin, flute, and violoncello) were very
impressive, the musicians often joining their voices to the music of
their instruments. The Indian drum, made of hides rudely stretched over
the hollow trunk of a tree, boomed from the remote part of the church,
and bombs and rockets exploded outside in a most effective manner. A
black-robed young priest entered a confessional near where I was sitting,
and a veiled female at once knelt at the side, while others in the
immediate neighborhood moved quietly out of earshot. The whole service
was very solemn; and the clouds of incense from the swinging censers of
the Indian boys partly concealed the tinsel and tarnished gilding of the
uncouth altar, and even cast a glamour over the huge doll, which, most
gaudily dressed, represented the Queen of Heaven. The decaying church,
so painfully out of repair by daylight, was covered with respectability,
even with sanctity, by the shadows of night. One cannot but feel with
sadness that the offices of a religion held so sacred here in centuries
gone by should be so lightly regarded, and that the church buildings
reared by so much labor and often unselfish devotion should now be cared
so little for, even in this State of Verapaz, where the Church gained
an ascendency over the Indios which the iron-clad and iron-hearted
Conquistadores had never done.
Monday was spent in photographing views in the neighborhood and hunting
for mules. Of these we agreed to take three for our use all through the
country at a charge of $150; but when we unsaddled them at our hotel we
found they all had sore backs, and accordingly sent them home. In the
evening I went with the postmaster (a Kentuckian) to an examination at
the Colegio de Libertad. Three ladino lads did most of the reciting in
arithmetic, botany, zoology, and history; and a certain doctor took the
_rôle_ of chief examiner,—evidently quite as much bent on displaying his
own knowledge as that of his pupils. I had to ask a few questions, which
were understood and promptly answered.
In the morning we visited the Government storehouse for _aguardiente_.
The inspector wanted us to taste the fire-water, which was so strong that
it seemed to blister the tongue. The sale of this liquor is a Government
monopoly, yielding a very considerable revenue.[12] A distiller at this
place has a license, for which he pays four hundred dollars per month;
and he must furnish a minimum of sixty-five bottles _per diem_, paying
twenty-five cents a bottle for all over this amount. All the product is
brought to the public store, where it is tested at 50°; and the retailers
send in their written orders for the number of bottles they require. The
_estancas_ (or drink-shops) pay forty dollars per month. The unfortunates
who drink take a small tumblerful at a time.
I bought a mare—_yegua colorada_—for sixty dollars; and as all bills
of sale and receipts must be in Spanish, we, with the help of the
postmaster, composed the following simple affair on stamped paper:—
COBAN, 13 de Novr. de 1883.
_Saben_:
[Illustration]
Que yo Miguel Reyes vicino de Coban, Alta Verapaz, he vendido y
vendo a Don Guillermo T. Brigham una yegua colorada con el hierro
del margen en la suma de sesenta pesas en efectivo. En constancia
firmo yo el vendidor.
[Illustration: Miguel Reyes]
The paper is not only stamped, but also water-marked, and is for sale
at the principal shops. As the stamps are changed every two years, the
Government has to redeem all stamped paper on hand at the end of each
biennial period.
[Illustration: Cuartillo of Guatemala (enlarged three times).]