FROM COBAN TO QUEZALTENANGO.
By Wednesday we had captured two mules; and these, in addition to our
mare,—all being well shod,—enabled us to leave Coban accompanied by a
capital mozo de cargo, who carried my photographic outfit. Santiago rode
one mule, I the other; and Frank had the mare, who was a little wild at
first, but soon became very tame and attached to us by kind treatment.
After trying to get away for three days, we started early in the morning,
and nearly forgot to look at the barometer, which was my constant
companion; but after we were in the saddle the little dial was consulted,
and the needle indicated an elevation of forty-four hundred feet. No
barometer was needed to mark the elevation of our spirits on getting on
the road again. As far as Santa Cruz we retraced our steps. Our mozo
kept up with us, carrying our photographic and cooking utensils easily.
And now this little town, in the early morning, was far more attractive
than when, wet and hungry, we came to it before. On this visit there was
more to eat, and from a tree by the wayside we bought twenty-five oranges
for three cents, and also some good bananas. Our breakfast was very
satisfactory, although eaten in a dirty house full of filthy children. At
two we started on a good road for San Cristobal, where we arrived in an
hour and a half. This little town, of some four thousand inhabitants, is
surrounded by hills of great beauty; but the Laguna is an insignificant
body of water. As there is no posada, we rode into the Plaza, and had a
capital room assigned us in what was once a monastery,—now confiscated
to public uses. Our comida was obtained at the house of an aged señora
to whom the polite comandante conducted us. We found that Thursday and
Sunday were the principal market-days, that the town-clock chimed the
quarters, that there were unworked mines of silver and lead close at
hand, and that the maguey grew abundantly there. We also watched the
process by which the rotted leaves are macerated and washed in the brook
which flows through the town, and we saw the resulting _pita_ spun into
cords for hammock-weaving.
[Illustration]
The priests’ kitchen was roofless; but the great cooking-range was
intact, being built of brick, with perhaps a dozen pot-holes of graduated
sizes,—the largest being cut from the corners of four tiles, the smaller
ones from the edges of two. Besides this range, which occupied the middle
of the kitchen, there were two large cooking-benches.
The road to our next stopping-place was remarkably good, and the scenery
very fine,—the road winding along the side of a mountain and overlooking
deep valleys in which the night-clouds still lingered. By the wayside we
saw a cascade of calcareous water, which petrified twigs and leaves in
its reach. By eleven o’clock we rode into a sugar-plantation belonging
to President Barrios, now in the charge of an old schoolmate of his,
Juan Prado. There both sugar and coffee were cultivated, and much fine
imported stock kept. It was but one of the many fincas belonging to
the President, where he has endeavored to improve the agricultural
standard of his country and the native stock as well. The cane was of the
ribbon variety, and of fair quality; but the mill was simply a vertical
twenty-inch iron roll-mill turned by four oxen. There was but one open
kettle, with no clarifier; and the inspissated syrup was run into wooden
moulds and cooled into very dark hemispherical blocks (_panela_),—a form
of sugar much in demand among the Indios.
Señor Prado received us most hospitably, and set before us bananas,
anonas, and limas, or sweet lemons; then brought us large glasses of a
warm liquid made from rice and sugar,—not at all to our taste, although a
favorite drink of the mozos. The buildings at the President’s finca were
neither pleasant nor convenient; but a large roof, substantially framed,
was being walled in with hewn pine-planks three inches thick, each plank
representing an entire tree. In this building men were grating off the
juicy pulp of the coffee-berry in rude machines; after this pulping the
berries are washed, and spread in the sun to dry.
We here learned that we could not cross the Chixoy (pronounced _chisoy_)
River that afternoon, as the wire suspension-bridge had been swept away
the last year, and the man whose duty it was to haul travellers across
on ropes would not be there so late in the day; we were consequently
obliged to yield to the importunities of our host and stay over night
at Primavera. To entertain us, in the afternoon Señor Prado took us
to a mound which the new roadway had just grazed; and together we dug
out fragments of fine pottery and bits of human bones much decayed,—the
lower third of a left femur and a fragment of a pelvis being the most
distinctly human. Some earthen vessels had been found here and sent
to the Museo Nacional in Guatemala City. The bones were mingled with
charcoal and ochre, and often cemented together like lime concretions or
fulgurites.
We each had a tumbler of warm milk as a “stirrup-cup” when we said our
_adios_ to our kind host in the morning, and soon after six we were
on the road again. Here, as so often again in the republic, we found
that the road-bed was undergoing active repair. The primitive method of
removing large rocks and ledges greatly interested us. Fires are kept
up on and around these obstructions; when thoroughly heated, these are
left to cool, or the cooling is hastened by water. In either case the
hammerers have easy work.
[Illustration: Rope Bridge over the Chixoy.]
The narrower road led among pine-forests, where many of the trees had
been girdled and were slowly decaying,—the _comajen_ being unknown at
this elevation. Men were cutting timber for the President’s house and
for a new bridge. A mortise is cut in the end of each log, to which the
drag-ropes are fastened. We passed a pleasant village in the valley below
us on our left, and after about nine miles of poor road we came to a
rapid descent of twenty-two hundred feet, so steep that we were obliged
to lead our mules almost to the bank of the Chixoy, where the pier on the
side nearest us had been undermined in the last flood. The path ended on
a narrow rock shelf, where was fastened a rude timber frame, from which
two small and well-worn ropes stretched nearly two hundred feet to the
remaining pier on the farther bank. A hundred feet below was the Chixoy,
foaming over its rocky bed. This we might see to the best advantage;
for one by one we sat in a sling hung from a rickety traveller, and,
launching from the cliff, slid rapidly down the slack ropes, and after
sliding back at the middle, were hauled up on to the remaining pier.
From this structure we descended a rough ladder to the shore, which
was sandy and strewed with bowlders and other remains of the action of
higher waters. Dizzy as our own passage was, it was safe enough compared
to the crossing of our animals. By the help of Indios, we stretched a
rope across, and finally swam all our mules safely. Santiago and the
bridge-keeper swam splendidly in the rapid current, and the latter was
a fine muscular, lean specimen of manhood. Frank and I swam in as far
as we dared, and landed the soaked and frightened animals. The bath was
cool, and for the first time we had no thought of alligators. While I
photographed the bridge, Frank went to the hamlet of Jocote to get eggs
and tortillas, and Santiago boiled our coffee. Beautiful butterflies were
hovering over the rounded pumice-stones strewed along the banks; and on
a rock were fine Achimenes, the Dorstenia (which resembles botanically a
fig turned inside out), and a wild Martynia.
[Illustration: FRANK AND HIS MARE MABEL.]
Starting again in the early afternoon, we found the way led up and down
through the valley, until we were seven hundred feet above the river,
which in one place quite disappeared beneath the limestone ledges, to
reappear some distance beyond. On either side the steep slopes were
covered with coarse grass; and there were many small, compact aloes, with
broad leaves and dried flower-stems here and there. Among the rocks were
maguey-plants and a few palms,—these last seemed quite out of place in
this high, dry country. Under the pine-trees the sod was green, and in
the small lateral valleys clear brooks improved the pasturage; and here
at the head of each larger gulch we found the deserted camps of the mozos
de cargo.
[Illustration: TWO VIEWS AT CHICAMAN.]
After many turns we came at six o’clock to the village of Chicaman, just
as the rain began to fall. This hamlet is on the north side of broken
hills, and overlooks the Chixoy valley,—here of great depth, but narrow
and winding. We found a picturesque little house, where we slung our
hammocks in the best room, eating our _huevos_ and tortillas on a shrine
sacred to the black “Lord of Esquipulas.” This shrine is usual in houses
far from any church; and here it was embowered in leaves, flowers, and
fruit,—among the latter citrons of a large size and the showy yellow
fruit of a solanum. We were nearly four thousand feet above the sea, and
the night was cool,—a comfortable ending to a day altogether too short to
hold properly all the fine weather, beautiful and changing scenery, and
delightful journeying crowded into its twelve bright hours.
Before the sun had melted the clouds in the valley below us, we were on
our horses and slowly climbing a steep ascent of eight hundred feet.
I had photographed the house, and, turning the camera on its pivot,
obtained a view of the cloudy valley below: these views are before
the reader now. A league brought us to another Santa Cruz,—a village
pleasantly situated, and about the size of Chicaman, consisting of
perhaps ten houses. There we saw by the roadside some fine oranges; but
when Frank rode up to the house with his “¡Buenos dias, señora! ¿Tiene
usted naranjas?” he was met by “No háy” (there are none). That phrase we
heard altogether too frequently on our journey. In this case it simply
meant that the señora had no oranges in the house; but she added that we
might for a medio pick as many as we wanted! We tried the several trees,
and filled a pillow-case with the fine fruit,—half a bushel for five
cents!
We had little need of guides, for the _camino real_ had few branches
between towns; but soon after leaving Santa Cruz we found a branch on
our left which puzzled us a little, as our map gave no indication of its
existence. But we kept on almost a league, riding through a pine-forest
on a nearly level road,—which proved to be the right one, although the
choice was guess-work. Grass grew beneath these noble trees, and herds
pastured in this park-like region. It was most interesting to see the
acorns inserted by the birds in the pine-bark, precisely as I had often
seen them in the forests of Nevada and California; but with all my
watching I could not catch the birds at work. The acorns that I dug out,
although frequently dry and apparently abandoned, were free from worms.
The common species of pine (_Pinus macrophylla_) had “needles” fifteen
and a half inches long; and the Indios were gathering them to strew the
floors of the churches,—a more fragrant carpet than the rushes of our
ancestors. We frequently came across artificial mounds, which, according
to Santiago, “were where houses had been.” At ten o’clock we halted at
a little village which we were told was Uspantán (our wretched mozo
Santiago, who pretended to be guide, but knew no more than we about the
road, led us into this mistake); so we unsaddled and waited for almuerzo,
with little to amuse us except two turkey-cocks, one white, the other
dark, inseparable companions, who followed us wherever we went, and at
last were driven nearly wild by their attempts to converse with us. Not
until two o’clock did we arrive at the true Uspantán, and then very
unexpectedly; for seeing some women at a spring washing, in a wild place
where no houses were visible, we turned a low ridge, and found ourselves
in the midst of a considerable Indian town. The church, which we did not
enter, had huge buttresses at the apse,—doubtless a precaution against
earthquakes. We saw a great deal of pottery, and anona-trees were on all
sides; but the full-grown fruit was not ripe. We felt so provoked at our
waste of time at the first village (whose true name we never learned)
that we did not care to stop here, but rode out of the town through
a deep artificial ravine. San Miguel Uspantán has some nine hundred
inhabitants, who weave cotton from the lowlands and wool from their
numerous flocks; and it is from the mines near by that all the silver was
obtained for the vessels of the church,—so says tradition. Ruined walls
and broken aqueducts attest the former importance of the place under the
Quiché rule.
The road became a mere trail until we came to Pericon,—a village of
two hundred inhabitants, whose only industry is wool-dyeing; and from
this we climbed the pine-clad hills to a height of over seven thousand
feet, where we came suddenly upon a fine view of Cunen, directly west,
but several leagues away, across a valley twelve hundred feet deep. I
wanted a photograph; but the sun was in our faces, we could not spare the
time, the day was almost done, and we had a difficult descent before us.
Although we did not delay, it was long after dark when we rode into Cunen
and found the Plaza, where we were assigned a good room in a confiscated
monastery or church building. We had a mahogany bench fifteen feet long
and sixteen inches wide for our bed, and a good table and several chairs
abundantly furnished our apartment. We had our own candles and coffee;
but no other food was to be had except some ears of green corn which we
had picked by the way for our animals, but which we were fain to eat
ourselves when Santiago had scorched them by the embers of the mozos’
fires in the Plaza. Although the corridor was full of mozos who were to
pass the night here, there was no noise whatever. We closed our door at
six; and as soon as our notes were made, fell asleep. The poor Indios had
no politics to quarrel over, and we had the satisfaction of a day well
spent; so there was peace and harmony beneath our roof of tiles.
Every day the vegetation changed, and we might have constructed an
itinerary of floral landmarks; to-day it was a fine pink dahlia far
surpassing in vigor of growth and blossom any of the cultivated
varieties. In such a climate, however, this plant did not provide for
hibernation in its tuberous roots, of which it had none. Acres of
fragrant Stevia perfumed the air, while Bouvardias and bright Compositæ
brushed against us on either side of the narrow pathway.
Twelve hours of solid rest were not too much; and while in the early dawn
our _bestias_ were being saddled, I strolled into the church, which is
much smaller than its ruined predecessor at its side. In Central America
the roofless walls of ancient churches usually, if not always, enclose
a campo santo, and here the early Cunenans slept their last sleep among
the crumbling relics of their work. In the modern church were two large
mermaids of the genuine Japanese type, carved as supporters to the altar.
In the cold, misty morning we started without coffee, and at once began
to climb a long ascent; for Cunen seems to be built on a platform on the
mountain side. On our left was the finest waterfall we had yet seen,
and on the banks were red violets. The summit of this pass was nearly
seven thousand feet, and a sudden turn on a sharp ridge brought us to
another region and a different climate. The transition was astonishing,
for only a few rods behind we had left the rainy season. Before us was
a vast valley bounded by forest-clad mountains and grassy buttresses;
but near and far no sign of human habitation. The path we were on was
the only token of man’s presence, and that looked more like the dry
bed of a mountain torrent than a public road. Broad-leaved agaves were
very common, some crowned with golden blossoms on immense stems, some
dead after flowering, still others wantonly hacked by the passer-by,—so
we thought, in our ignorance, until the too-frequent mutilation of the
tough stems showed a labor that could not be purposeless; and then we
remembered that these “century plants” flower but once, after years
of growth exhausting their entire substance in that supreme effort,
and leaving a withered stem and shrivelled leaves, to be swept down
the hillside by the next storm. Foiled in its attempt to flower by the
decapitating machete of the mozo, the plant lives on for a longer period,
furnishing fibre and drink from its leaves. Anona-trees grew at the
very summit of the pass, although we were assured that frosts sometimes
occurred. Oaks of two species were abundant, and laurels were in blossom.
A rancho built by the roadside, a sad travesty of the Dâk Bungalows of
India, gave us at least a chance to boil our coffee.
A long and rough descent brought us to a pine-forest, whence at an
elevation of six thousand feet we again looked down upon the valley of
the Chixoy. Among the pines and oaks I photographed the view. The little
white-housed town of Sacapulas on the hillside above the right bank of
the light-green river which did not half fill its bed; the cultivated
fields around; far in the distance the volcanic cone of Tajumulco,—the
first we had seen, a token that we had left the limestone mountains of
the Atlantic, and were looking on the fire-fountains of the Pacific
coast,—all these and so much more in this grand view before us. We hardly
noted the contour, the lines, the masses,—all that we could trust to
the ivory plate that should carry it away; but the vivid colors in that
clear atmosphere, the marvellous tints of forest, sky, and river, no
photographic art could carry away, and we must enjoy it now by ourselves.
The town was five miles away, and three thousand feet below us; and the
descent was very difficult, owing to the sharp bits of quartz in the
path. In the valley we came upon the huge cylindrical cacti (_Cereus_)
used in fencing. Jocote-trees were abundant, but the small yellow fruit
decidedly inferior. Sugar-cane grew to some extent in gardens, but fruits
and vegetables were scarce. On the trees and fences hung a light-blue
convolvulus,—the most attractive color I ever saw; and this with a
smaller white one brought the number of the “morning-glories” we had
found so far to ten species.
Women were bathing in a spring near the road; the men seem never to
bathe in public. Over the river was a bridge of six piers with simple
hewn logs laid between them, no plank or rail of any kind, although the
bridge was high and the current, even in ordinary stages of the water,
very strong. As our bestias did not hesitate, we of course crossed with
them. A short distance up stream were two brick and stone arches of a
more ancient bridge extending from the town side. Several piers of the
bridge we were crossing had fallen; but the masonry was good, and they
generally held well together, forming bowlder-like masses, on which new
piers had been built: in one case this process had been repeated. No
doubt the bridge will soon break down again; and two wire cables are
stretched from cliff to cliff to provide transit in case of accident. We
went up a steep paved street to the Plaza, where Señor Placido Estada,
the comandante, assigned us quarters in the cabildo, and exerted himself
to find us a boarding-place. Whether the climate was favorable, I know
not; but we were always very hungry when we were where food could be got:
where it was wanting we did not care for it. Here we did full justice to
the señora’s cinnamon-flavored chocolate whipped to a froth.
[Illustration: SACAPULAS AND THE CHIXOY VALLEY.]
The church was small, and, like that of Cunen, built at the right of
an older and much more extensive edifice now shattered by earthquakes
and used only as a burial-place. We climbed the bell-tower and found
one bell with the date 1683, another with that of 1773; all were bound
to the supporting crossbeams by raw-hide thongs. The chief ornament of
the Plaza was an ancient Ceiba-tree (_Eriodendron_) of immense size and
traditionary antiquity. Below the terrace of the Plaza was a court, in
which a fountain of odd design furnished water for the town. Animals were
fed here over the gravestones that paved the court, and Frank remarked
that in an earthquake country people chose _stable_ ground for their
graves. Our photographing attracted such a crowd that we walked away
to the ruined bridge. Originally this was nine feet wide and about two
hundred and fifty feet long. Its age we could not learn; but a large
sand-box tree (_Hura crepitans_) seven and a half feet in circumference
had grown up in the very midst of the paved approach, tearing up the
stone floor with its slow, irresistible power, and another large tree
of the fig family was persistently fingering the cracks in the ancient
wall. The tiles used in the arches were thin like those in old Roman
structures, and the mortar was generally harder than the terra-cotta.
Frank sketched the bridge, and we followed in thought the river until it
became the Rio de la Pasion, then as the Usumacinta (the ancient Rio de
los Lacandones) flowing through the richest land and most genial climate,
by the ruins of the ancient cities of the earliest men, and among the
villages of the unconquered tribes to the shores of that Bay of Campeachy
where Votan gave his laws to the children of the forest.
Even in this retired spot we became an attraction to the unemployed on
this Sunday afternoon; and we slowly sauntered back to the cabildo,
measuring on our way the trunk of a dead ceiba-tree forty feet in
circumference above the buttresses. A game of ball was going on under the
tree in the Plaza. Wooden balls five inches in diameter, not very round,
were shoved about with paddles. In the evening two young men, at the
request of the comandante, played on the flute and guitar for us a number
of Spanish airs.
In all these towns the _carcél_, or prison, is simply a room in the
cabildo with grated windows and door, and separate rooms are often, but
not always, provided for women. We saw but few occupants in the prisons
of the towns we passed through.
We made exceedingly comfortable beds of the public documents in
the register’s office, and I must confess to reading one of these
marriage-records, which, as usual, was entered with great particularity,
filling a folio page. Comfortable as this “marriage bed” was, we were
in the saddle the next morning at five o’clock; and leaving our adios
for the kind comandante, followed the river bank for some distance in
the mist. Not half a league from the town we came to a ruined church
of considerable size, evidently shattered by earthquakes. Our path led
directly through a campo santo, and even over the graves, which were
usually covered with tiles crossed and edged with white paint.
We crossed the dry bed of a river,—certainly at some seasons difficult
to ford,—and came upon a good level path extending along the river side
for a mile; and then by a sudden turn we climbed out of the valley up
a steep hill of decomposing rock, coming to a grassy plain on the top.
There we met Indios loaded with pottery,—some with huge _cántaras_ of
red clay so large that two made a load; others with twelve fifteen-inch
spherical pots, all of good workmanship.[13] The water by the roadside
was all whitish, and not inviting. The highest part of the pass was 6,250
feet; only a few hundred feet below it we found a beautiful liliaceous
plant, and some of the mozos we passed carried superb clusters of a
purple orchid which we afterwards found parasitic on trees. Another
valley and another steep gravelly slope to nearly eight thousand feet,
and then we had a view over a vast extent of mountainous country. No lake
or river relieved the thirsty landscape, though rain-clouds hung on the
horizon and dropped their showers in the far west. Corn was in tassel;
and where we rested at noon on a high plateau, 7,825 feet, we found
it in milk. There we saw the maguey used as a hedge-plant,—and a very
impervious fence it made. From this high land there was a gradual descent
towards the south. Far away to the left we saw the church of San Pedro,
surrounded by its little adobe village, and soon we caught a glimpse of
the still-distant Santa Cruz del Quiché, high enough, but seemingly in a
valley, for mountains like the hills about Jerusalem guarded it on every
side. The soil near the road was very thin, and covered what seemed to be
indurated tufa. Deep pools of water were formed in this hard substance.
As we came at last, after a hard day’s ride, into the uninteresting town,
we found the streets all carefully named, as _Avenida de Barrios, salida
por Mejico_ (Barrios Street, the way to Mexico),—which was as useful as
it would be to put a sign on the corner of Broadway, “Cortland Street,
the way to Philadelphia.” All the inhabitants seemed to be in the Plaza,
listening to a band and watching some fair acrobats who tumbled on mats
and swung on a horizontal bar. After waiting some time before the locked
doors of the Hotel del Centro, the proprietor came home and let us in.
Tough meat, frijoles, bread, and tolerable chocolate were all we could
get; and the vile dogs were even more troublesome than usual. Our beds
were made up in the dining-room, and we had pillows and sheets again,—the
only good things this posada afforded.
[Illustration: THE PLAZA OF SACAPULAS.]
The morning was overcast; but Frank and I walked to the campo santo,
nearly a mile from town. High walls of adobe surrounded it, and a
locked gate kept us out; but we peered in over the heaps of white
lilies (_Lilium candidum_) and marigolds offered at the entrance, and
saw masonry tombs of very bizarre forms, some painted white, others red
and blue, or blue and white, in checks. The meadows all around were
intersected by wide ditches which we had no little trouble in crossing,
the bare legs of the natives rendering bridges quite unnecessary. When
one was beyond our jump we threw in the washing-stones on the bank
until we had enough for stepping-stones. Returning to town, we paid our
respects to the Jefe politico, Don Antonio Rivera, who is a young man
exceedingly polite and obliging, and we found practice made it much
easier to converse than when we met the Governor of Coban. Don Antonio
showed us fine specimens of the woods of his neighborhood which had been
prepared for an exhibition in Guatemala City; but he could not tell us
the names, and sent for an old Indio who was better informed. This Indio
also served to show us what the Jefe evidently considered a very amusing
garment,—his trousers, which were in the usual black woollen _jerga_, cut
up in front as high as mid thigh, so that they can be rolled up behind
when the wearer girds up his loins to work. Cloths of various kinds were
brought in for our inspection, and the prices given. These seemed high,
for the material is only a _vara_ (thirty-three inches) wide, and is sold
in _vara_ lengths. Not satisfied with showing us all that the market
afforded, the kind Jefe furnished us with a guide to the ancient city of
Utatlan, or Gumarcaah, and a mozo to carry my photographic kit.
A walk of three long miles westward brought us to a great disappointment.
It is human to like what one has not got; Americans have an extreme
respect for ruins, and we were no exception to the mass of our countrymen.
Stephens has described the remains of this powerful city of the Quiché
kings, and has figured the very sacrificial altar of Tohil down whose
steep sides were hurled the quivering bodies of the human victims. Three
centuries and a half is a long period for people of a new country to look
back over; but that time has passed since the Conquistadores destroyed
the citadel and moved the inhabitants to the site of the present Santa
Cruz del Quiché. Forty years ago the towers, faced with cut stone, the
altar, some houses, and even the outer walls, were in good preservation;
but all these have since been torn down, and the neatly cut stone removed
to repair a miserable mud church in the town. These blocks of travertine
were generally of uniform size, 18 × 12 × 4 inches; and mingled with them
were blocks of pumice cut to one third of this size. The Plaza was still
paved with a smooth layer of cement exactly an inch thick, not unlike
the _chunam_ of the East Indies, and entire, except where the modern
vandals had cut through it in search of foundation-stones which they are
too stupid to cut from the quarries much nearer the town. Five towers
are plainly visible still, though now but insecure piles of rubbish, the
casing having disappeared. In several there are small cavities not large
enough for rooms, but sufficient to serve as ladder wells, and under one
our guide assured us was the entrance to a long tunnel extending to the
distant hills; but when we insisted upon his pointing out the place, he
utterly failed. Not an arrow-head could we find, although plain pottery
in fragments was abundant.
The whole fortress was built on a promontory surrounded, except at one
narrow neck, by steep barrancas several hundred feet deep; and to the
rivers at the bottom there were probably tunnels from the summit, as the
ancient Indios were very expert in underground work. It is from these
tunnels, most likely, that much of the pumice-stone was obtained. Across
the barranca towards the town are the remains of three fine watch-towers,
from which a good view of the entire fortress, as well as of the
surrounding country, may be obtained. Remains of other similar towers
were seen far up the mountain slopes on either side, and from these the
warders signalled with fire or smoke the approach of hostile visitors.
At the beginning of the present century the palace of the Quiché kings
was in such a state of preservation that its plan could be easily
traced, even to the garden. But unfortunately a small gold image was
discovered in the ruins; and this determined the Government to search for
treasure, which tradition has always located in the ruins of Utatlan. In
this search the palace was utterly destroyed; and hardly a wall would
have been left standing had not the Indios, indignant at the wanton
destruction of their once famous capital, become so turbulent that
explorations were no longer safe. In 1834 a commission from the capital
made a full and careful report on the condition of the ruins, and on this
report Stephens largely rests in his interesting account of Quiché. Even
in 1840, at the time of his visit, he found many traces which are now
gone, especially the Sacrificatorio, which was a quadrilateral pyramid,
with a base of sixty-six feet on the side, and a height, in that ruined
condition, of thirty-three feet. One side of this awful relic of human
misery was plain, though bearing traces of painted figures of animals;
but the other three sides were supplied with steps in the middle, as may
be seen in the illustration, taken from Catherwood’s sketch. These steps
were only eight inches wide on the tread, while the risers were seventeen
inches,—a proportion that must have made the descent very awkward for the
priests if they were as corpulent as the more modern monks.
[Illustration: Quiché Altar of Tohil (Sacrificatorio).]
We met on our return a _marimba_, carried by two men, while the three
players followed, beating out clear and agreeable notes. A frame between
seven and eight feet long and twenty-nine inches high, supports on cords
thirty strips of hard wood, beneath each of which is a wooden resonator
duly proportioned for tones. The music was always attractive, and just
now it drew a long procession in honor of the gymnasts of the day before,
who followed the marimba on horseback.
[Illustration: Marimba.]
In the Plaza we bought _jicaras_, or calabash[14] chocolate-cups,—three
for a medio. Other interesting things for sale were small crabs dried on
spits, dried shrimps of large size, raw cotton white and brown, floss
silk, cloths both cotton and woollen, fresh and preserved squash, bread,
sugar-candy, and _eau sucré_ colored pink, tin-ware, pottery, ropes and
bags of pita, leather sandals, sugar-cane, coconuts, baskets, and cheap
foreign wares. In this town of six thousand inhabitants there are very
few manufactures. We saw a woman boldly eating the game she caught in
a little girl’s hair. I had before seen aged Hawaiian women engaged in
this fascinating pursuit; but they always seemed ashamed to be seen by
strangers. Not so the Quiché woman; the wretch even held her hand out for
us!
[Illustration: Jicara.]
To the fountain in the midst of the Plaza men and women came for water.
The latter all carried their water-jars on their heads, while the men
always slung them on their backs. Convicts were at work on the streets,
or carrying stone for the church. They were chained in pairs, having
shackles about the waist and ankles. The cabildo was the most important
building in the town, as the parish church had so decayed that the walls
of the entire nave had had to be removed. The new construction of adobe,
with trimmings of stone taken from the ruins, will not last many years.
The whole town looks dingy, and even dirty, owing to the universal use
of adobe. The roof-tiles are not so well made, nor so carefully kept
in place, as in some of the smaller towns; but, on the other hand,
some of the streets are paved, there are some side-walks, subterranean
street-drains, and street-lamps or candles.
The Quiché Indios of the present day are not so good-looking as the
Mayas. The women are badly dressed, and not neat; the men wear slashed
trousers, loose jackets, closed in front and put on like a shirt, and
in cold weather a narrow blanket, or poncho, with fringed ends. Some
of these ponchos are figured, and most of them have a border, more or
less elaborate, woven at each end. These Indios are small of stature and
light limbed, with scanty but common beards, round faces, and small hands
and feet; they are by no means as modest as those of Alta Verapaz, and
evidently unused to seeing strange white men. Women carry their babies
on the back while washing clothes at the fountains or by the streams. At
home hammocks serve well for cradles.
Vegetation is not free from pests here, for we saw black warts on the
oaks, and smut (_Ustilago serjetum_) on the corn. The corn-stalks are of
the size and appearance of our field-corn; but the juice is much sweeter,
and Frank considered it quite as good as that of the withered sugar-cane
brought up here from the coast. Everywhere marigolds (_calendula_) scent
the air, and bunches of them are wilting at every altar in every church.
The _fiesta_ is in commemoration of the Conquest,—so we were told; and it
was rather curious to see the degenerate Indios decorating their houses
and holding high holiday far from the memory of the horrible tortures
inflicted on their ancestors in this same conquest. Red flags hung from
every door and window,—fit emblems of the bloody event!
The excellent mozo Ramón Ghisli, who had come with us from Coban, was
now ready to return. We would gladly have engaged this capital fellow to
go with us all the way, but it was impossible; so I gave him extra pay,
and with his _carcaste_[15] full of onions he started back on his long
journey. Our mules were not very good, so we decided to send them back
and get others here. Ramón had kept well up with the animals, had helped
bravely in crossing the Chixoy, and had yielded implicit obedience to
Santiago, who persisted in ordering about a man worth three of himself.
Ramón got safely home, and delivered the mules all right.
A little alcalde in green spectacles exerted himself to find animals for
us, as we were anxious to get away, since the hotel was full of dirty
children and even dirtier dogs, and the food far worse than anything we
had hitherto found. We had rain that night and the next day; but our
new horses were brought in fair season. When we came to settle the bill
we found the wretched landlord had charged seven dollars, given the bill
to his wife, and hidden himself. Finding expostulation with the señora
of no effect, I despatched Frank to lay the case before the Jefe, while
I tried abuse; this had the desired effect of bringing the landlord from
his hiding-place. I called him a _ladron_ (robber), and, to the intense
amusement of the many bystanders, described the meat he had set before
us as _mula solamente_ (nothing but mule). The boys caught the phrase,
and we heard it shouted at the poor man until we departed. The Jefe sent
the comandante and two soldiers to bring the “robber” to reason, and mine
host thereupon told us to pay what we pleased. The comandante suggested
three dollars as the proper price; but we gave him four, and soon after
nine o’clock we scraped the mud of this town from our feet.
The road led down immense barrancas, where we saw deposits of pumice
some eight hundred feet thick. Mingled with this layer were large blocks
of lava, seemingly ejected from some crater eruption; but where was the
crater? We passed a little hamlet marked San Sebastian de Lemoa on the
map; but all the people had gone a fishing on a lake near by, whose
borders were swarming with ducks. Four leagues from Quiché we came to
Santo Tomas Chichicastenango. This is a neat, attractive little village,
hardly as large as its name is long, with clean streets, a fountain and
eucalyptus-trees in the Plaza, and an ancient church. Close at hand
are the ruins of an older town, which we, to our regret, had no time
to visit. At the cabildo we were politely received, and our beasts of
burden, both biped and quadruped, unloaded. The Jefe had telegraphed
to Santo Tomas for horses and a mozo, and we were assured that after
almuerzo these would be ready. In this faith we strolled about the town.
The church, as usual, attracted our attention; and here for the first
time we saw the Indios burning incense, which seemed to be gum copal,
or precisely the same material their ancestors used in idol worship.
Marigolds were strewed all over the floor, and the odor was oppressive,
even without the incense and innumerable candles. The altar was covered
with plates of beaten silver of no very good workmanship. An image of
a man on horseback, with a beggar by his side, excited our curiosity,
which was not destined to be satisfied, although our mozo declared it was
Santiago (Saint James). We pushed our explorations outside the church,
and climbed by an external staircase to the organ-loft, which was floored
with hewn boards not otherwise smoothed. An ancient organ, hardly larger
than an ordinary davenport, stood in the midst, wholly apart from the
bellows, which were worked by a suspended lever much as an ordinary
forge-bellows. The keys were deeply worn by long use, horny fingers, or
both, and they covered two octaves and a half; the stops were simply
strips of hard wood projecting from the side of the case, and beyond the
reach of the organist.[16] The locks on all the doors were of wood, and
most primitive in design. All the worshipping Indios seemed very devout,
chanting their prayers in their native tongue to the bare wall or a
door-post, and they paid no attention to us as we passed them, although
outside they generally bowed respectfully.
In a little shop at a street corner we found our almuerzo (there is no
posada); and a very good one it was. Our hostess was a very respectable
woman, whose house was well furnished (sewing-machine and rocking-chairs
among other comforts), being quite a different person from the one who
in our own country would occupy her position,—a rumseller. While we
were waiting, two half-tipsy Indios came in, drank a small tumbler of
_aguardiente_, and soon settled themselves quietly on the sidewalk for a
drunken sleep, undisturbed by the passer-by.
Our way from Chichicastenango[17] led out over a narrow ridge or series
of ridges, with deep barrancas on either side. The road was good, and
hedged part of the way; but our animals were of the poorest kind. My
little horse went slowly, and at last his legs seemed to collapse, and he
came to the ground, leaving me standing over him. He was not worn out,
he was a “trick horse.” For miles Frank and I walked on, leading our
bestias. It grew very dark and misty; lightning flashed in the distance,
and the trees were dripping with dew. With every desire to get on to
Sololà, we agreed that in the darkness it was unwise to travel, and we
looked anxiously for a camping-place, although the muddy ground, dripping
bushes, and threatening sky gave no hope of a comfortable night. Twice we
were misled by the gleam of fireflies, whose glow is so steady that we
mistook it for light in a distant house. As we could find no safe place
for a camp, a high bank on one side and a seemingly deep ravine on the
other bordering the narrow cart-road, we walked on in the utter darkness
until we almost ran into two ox-carts with a squad of white-coated
soldiers, who told us we had lost our path in the dark, and were on the
road to Totonicapan, and a long league beyond Encuentros. We returned
with them to the latter place, where we found comfortable lodgings in the
house prepared for the expected visit of the President. We occupied his
room, which was temporarily furnished with plenty of Vienna bent-wood
furniture, and decorated with a full-length, life-size painting of
President Barrios and a small portrait of his wife. Two bedsteads of
the box variety were quite bare, as His Excellency always carries his
bedding, and we did not. After some excellent chocolate, but no other
food, we spread our blankets and slept.
How cold that Thursday morning was when we started at daybreak! The
thermometer marked 46° at half-past six o’clock, and we were at an
elevation of eight thousand feet. We had a fine carriage-road for our
travel to-day, on which I used Frank’s mare, while he tried his luck with
my “trick horse.” For a while all went well, and Frank made the little
beast go ahead, while I stopped to pick up some lava fragments in one of
the cuttings; and so when Frank’s turn came I could see perfectly how
odd it looked to have a horse collapse under his rider. Along the road
were elder-trees (_Sambucus_) pollarded like our willows; as, however,
they were not shady, but in the way of fine views, we voted them a
nuisance. It was down hill all the way, and as we approached Sololà
the view of the Lago de Atitlan and the volcano was disappointing. We
had surfeited, perhaps, on the glories of landscape, and had expected
something finer, with an immense lake, several volcanoes of more than
average size, and a town whose white houses and red-tiled roofs were
almost concealed in trees and flowers. However critical we might be, we
were glad enough to see the town, and not less to find a posada, where we
had a room to serve as store-room and bedchamber. We at once sent back
our miserable horses; and after reporting to the comandante, as in duty
bound,[18] we strolled through the Plaza, sending Santiago in search of
bestias for our next stage. Here we first found the ripe fruit of the
sapote (_Lucuma mammosa_), and did not like it. The outside was brown,
rough, and leathery; the meat reddish, surrounding a smooth nut, and the
whole flavored with cinnamon. Some sapotes were as large as a coconut,
but generally they were not half that size.[19] The Plaza was full of
people buying and selling. Mule-trains came in and went out, and it
seems that this is the great wheat-market. This grain (_trigo_) is small
and round, and the Government officials weighed each bag, which should
contain six arrobas, or one hundred and fifty pounds. Fat-pine (_ocote_)
is also an important article of commerce here, as it is the principal
source of candle-light among the Indios.
[Illustration: Sololà and Atitlan.]
The church is large, but of no architectural pretensions; and among
its contents we noticed several strange things. A figure of Christ,
with glass eyes and long human hair, wore a crown cocked over his left
eye like a drunken man. On the wall of the nave was a water-color
drawing passably done, representing a young man falling headlong over a
precipice, while through a sort of Lutheran window, or peep-hole, in the
sky a rather young female is trying to catch him with a long vine. The
legend states at length that the youth, in passing along the edge of the
terrible precipice above the Lago one dark night (when he had been to
his club), mistook the gleam of the water for the path, and forced his
horse over. As he fell, he breathed a prayer to the “Mother of God,”
and she opened her window and jerked him up again with a grape-vine. In
testimony whereof he offers this tablet, etc. Near the main entrance was
a large altar-piece, with a deeply sunken cruciform panel containing a
very realistic crucifix,—glass eyes, sweat, long hair, and blood-drops,
indeed, everything that could make it disgusting to a civilized being;
while from the five wounds proceeded skeins of crimson thread,—that from
the side being much thicker,—and all these knotted together in a mass,
black with the kisses of the worshippers of the blood of Christ. On one
side of this panel were painted, life-size, Roman soldiers mocking the
suffering Saviour; while on the other was a Guatemaltecan general, in
full uniform, weeping at the sad sight, and using such an embroidered
handkerchief as the nuns make at the present day. Just behind him was
an attendant who had caught off his wig on the point of his lance. This
last feature Frank interprets differently, and thinks the bald head is a
shining casque, while what I call a wig is a flowing plume. With all due
deference to his younger and brighter eyes, I submit that such a helmet
was never a part of the Guatemaltecan uniform; and even if made of such
close-fitting shape, would not have been painted flesh-color. Unluckily I
did not take a photograph, to settle, if possible, this important dispute.
Frank was busily asking every one he met about mules; and we had not
found any when, late in the afternoon, he met a gentleman walking alone
in the public garden near the Plaza. He asked the oft-repeated question
in Spanish, when, to his surprise, the person asked him if he spoke
English. This proved to be the Jefe, Don J. M. Galero; and when told
who we were and what we wanted, asked us to come to the Jefaturia in
the evening. As Señor Galero was high in favor with the Government and
beloved by his people, our very agreeable visit was interrupted by a
serenade to his Excellency; and after he had promised to send us his own
mules that very night for our journey to Totonicapan, we took our leave.
The public garden especially interested me, since all the flowers (except
an orange-tree) were such as I might find at home;[20] but times and
seasons were sadly mixed. Pinks and gladioli, sunflower and white lily,
all blossomed together. The fountain was painted blue and white,—the
national colors,—and sadly disfigured the garden, which otherwise was not
laid out with any taste.
Our apartment in this only hotel in Sololà was completely fire-proof;
walls, roof, and floor were brick or tile, and several of the floor-tiles
were deeply impressed with dog-tracks (made, of course, before the
kiln),—much resembling the fossil footprints in the red sandstone of
the Connecticut valley. A low table, one chair, a hardwood table called
a bedstead, furnished this room; and there was one door and a single
window,—the latter, with its iron grating, suggesting a prison-cell. It
was clean and quiet, and good enough. It does not require long travel in
the tropics to teach one that the less unnecessary furniture in a house,
the fewer lurking-places for cockroaches, centipedes, scorpions, snakes,
and other disagreeable tenants; and comparative emptiness decidedly
reduces the temperature of a room. During the night my hammock broke
down; and the sympathy Frank expressed as he was half-awakened by the
noise, would have been very soothing had he not fallen asleep again
in the midst of it, leaving me sitting on the floor. He continued his
sympathy in the morning, when the dreadful jar was almost forgotten.
Early next morning we were on our way, mounted better than we had been;
for we left Frank’s mare with Santiago to rest for a week, and with
the Jefe’s mules we rode briskly on to Argueta,—a small hamlet with a
deserted convent or monastery, in front of which flowed a clear cool
brook, and near by was an _ingenio_ moved by water-power. We got our
almuerzo here, early as it was, for we were warned that we should find
nothing to eat until night. From Argueta the road was very hilly, and we
climbed until my barometer said 10,450 feet. Wheat abounded everywhere,
and there were fenced threshing-floors of beaten earth. The mozos we met
carried packs of woollen blankets and _redes_ (nets) of pottery; several
had pine-boards hewn smooth, three feet wide by eight long. In the trees
were flocks of bright-green parrots. So many little streams had to be
crossed that we often wondered if they were not, many of them, parts
of one rivulet winding in devious way among the foothills. Except in
the ravines, where we had to zigzag down and up while the toiling mozos
patiently climbed the banks too steep for horses, the road was generally
over a good country for road-building. In one place, however, we had to
climb a stairway paved with stone set on edge and walled with masonry.
In places earthen pots were built into the walls to collect water for
the wayfarer, and tiles were used to cap the masonry. This extended more
than a mile, and took us up just a thousand feet by the barometer. We
could not learn its age nor the builders; but it is old, and some of the
mozos attributed it to the Jesuit Fathers. It is much out of repair, and
I fancy that most of the travel over it is on foot. The views were fine
all the way; but we knew our journey was long, and the daylight all too
short to permit us to wait for our mozos to come up with the camera.
Indeed, I hardly cared to reduce to black and white the glorious colors
the light was painting on every side. The greens of the forest faded into
the blues of the sky as in the turquoise, gold and silver glittered from
the streams, and the very gray of the rocks seemed to be richer and more
varied than usual.
On the hill-sides were ancient potato-fields only cultivated by digging
the tubers; and this process has gone on for years,—the Indios digging
at the bottom of the slope as potatoes are wanted, leaving enough for
seed, and arriving at the top by the time the rains begin. As the small
stems were quite dead and dried up, we could not ascertain the species
of this aboriginal potato; but it was certainly not the common potato of
cultivation (_Solanum tuberosum_). The Indios declared the potatoes had
never been planted, but their ancestors had dug them from the remotest
time,—_en todo tiempo, señor_.
Around us on the mountain-top were spruce-trees of immense size, four
feet in diameter, and pines two feet larger; and beneath these giants of
the forest flocks of black sheep were feeding, watched by shepherdesses
not many shades lighter. As black cloth is much worn by the Indios, they
cultivate the black sheep rather than pay the dyer. Cactus on pine-trees,
crimson sage, and a minute violet not an inch high, were novelties by the
roadside. Not a few of the pine-trees had been hacked with machetes until
a considerable niche was formed in the stem; and the pitch dripping into
this receptacle was then fired to light a camp. We found no villages on
this road, but we were seldom out of sight of some herdsman’s hovel. Late
in the afternoon we came to the brow of the cliff that bounds the immense
valley of Totonicapan on the east. The sun was low on the horizon before
us, but I was absorbed in the beauty of this grand view. On our left a
waterfall dashed over the rocks; below us were the white walls of the
Indian City we had so greatly wished to see; roads and streams traversed
the valley; and the whole surface, as well as the slopes far up the
hills, was cut into numerous fields of wheat and maiz of many shades of
green and brown. Far in the distance smoke rose over Quezaltenango, and
the broad highway between was plainly visible for many miles. My mozo was
close at hand, and in ten minutes I had two photographs caught in my box;
after which we began the very steep descent.
We found lodging at the Hotel de la Concordia. Our little room contained
three board bedsteads and one wash-stand. Usually we had no wash-stand,
but either performed our ablutions at the courtyard fountain, or else had
our valet Santiago pour water over us from a calabash.
As we had a letter to the Jefe, David Carney, I went at once to present
it, in order to get our animals for the next stage as soon as possible.
We found his house,—a fine one, the best in the town, with beautiful
roses in the neat courtyard; but the Jefe himself was a dumpy little
Indio, stupid and fat, who could say little else than “Si, Señor.” After
some delay he promised us two mules in the morning. In his parlor I
noticed a fine piano, evidently in use; and there was a decided air of
comfort about the house,—probably due to the lady rather than the lord.
That night was very cold, and in the morning at seven o’clock the
thermometer told forty-five degrees, and the barometer stood at 8,860
feet. As usual, we went to church; this was the largest and cleanest
we had yet seen, but the images, including an Indio-colored Christ,
were perhaps more hideous than ever. The church has now the old Plaza
(north of the new one) all to itself, and in addition a very large paved
courtyard, with square chapels in the outer corners. In this courtyard
we found a troop of Indian women conducting some mummery which required
veils and candles, both of great size. Some of the poor women were
so tipsy that they could hardly care for their candles, which were
perilously near to setting their neighbors’ clothes on fire. After
various marches and counter-marches, songs and responses, the performance
ended in a loud explosion. Of all the Indian towns, Totonicapan is
supposed to be the most Indian, and the people are thorough idolaters
still, with hardly the dimmest idea of the Christian religion. They
moreover dislike foreigners, as we found to our cost. The fountain and
sun-dial in the old Plaza were both much out of repair, and in the Plaza
Nueva the fountain supported a traditional Indian fresh from the shield
of Massachusetts. Made originally, as other men are, without clothes, he
had been girt with stucco,—doubtless because of the cool weather and his
damp station.
[Illustration: THE VALLEY OF TOTONICAPAN.]
Generally the streets were paved, and drained in the middle. They
intersected at right angles; and as the houses had few outside windows
and the courtyard gates were almost always closed, the town had a very
dull, deserted look. We did peep into some doors and windows, in a way
I should hardly tolerate in any other barbarian; and by one of these
window-peeps we discovered a weaver at work, who invited us to enter.
The loom had two harnesses worked by the foot of the weaver, and twelve
more pulled by a boy at the side; the bobbins were wound on bits of small
bambu. It was a long way back in the series of the evolution of a modern
carpet-loom, and yet it did its work exceedingly well, if slowly. This
art of weaving has been practised in this city from most ancient times,
and the Indios declare that the same utensils have been used, without
essential modification. All the looms we saw were on one pattern, and
they could hardly have been simpler. I bought for four dollars a large
woollen bed-cover woven in elaborate design, which kept us warm while we
were in these highlands.
We called on the Jefe again as he was marrying several couples, and he
repeated his promise to procure mules for us before one o’clock; so we
left him for a while and strolled about town and found a potter at work.
He used both white and dark clay, and his wheel and kiln were similar to
those in use with us. At two the mules had not arrived, and we declared
the Jefe a liar. Frank must have called on him twenty times, besides the
visits of ceremony we made together three times a day. After a while two
alcaldes came to our room and begged us to go to the cabildo and inspect
the mules they had captured for us. Another failure; for there was not
one fit to carry our burden. Then they brought two to the hotel,—one a
pack-mule that refused to be saddled; then a mozo came quite drunk, and
wanted a dollar to carry our baggage to Quezaltenango. We told him to go
to the _diablo_, and he went; and so the day wore away.
On Sunday morning we went to the Plaza, captured a mozo without the
intervention of the authorities, and started on foot for Quezaltenango.
The weather was clear and cool, like a fine October day in New England;
and there was white frost on the lowlands. At first we dropped rapidly
down, and then came to a fine carriage-road, in some places a hundred
feet wide. Except the steep descent at the city limits, and an equally
steep ascent about half a league beyond, the road was level, and bordered
with agaves, some now in bud.
Just before we came to Salcaja we had a fine view of the plain where
Alvarado fought so desperately, was wounded, and finally conquered the
brave mountaineers. Though conquered then, they certainly need another
Alvarado now. A pale mist covered the distant city, but above it towered
the volcano Santa Maria,—a cone as regular as those of Sololà. Northward
we saw San Cristobal and San Francisco,—two pleasantly situated towns.
We crossed a river which flows into the Pacific at San Luis; so the
backbone of the continent was passed, and we were on the slopes of
the setting sun. We ordered our almuerzo in a little shop, and as we
waited for it we watched the customers,—among them mozos, mostly for
aguardiente, women for eggs, spices, chillis, and cord. Beggars came
also, and among them an idiot girl (the only one of this class we had
seen in the republic); one received a drink, another a handful of red
peppers, and others food.
Before one o’clock we were in Quezaltenango, having walked six leagues in
four hours and a half, excluding stops. The Hotel de Europe proved very
comfortable, and the table was good. The Cerro Quemado (Burned Mountain),
just overhanging the city, was a more attractive volcano than the loftier
Santa Maria; and I longed for time to climb to the broken crater from
whose blackened sides the huge lava-stream had descended towards the city
(the ancient Exancul), turned suddenly when almost upon the outer walls,
and then stopped forever.
The market-place was very attractive; for besides the bustle of the
builders, who were piling up the cut and sculptured stone of the
most imposing public edifice I have seen in Guatemala, the many
cloth-merchants exhibited their brilliantly colored merchandise to great
advantage. This is the centre of the trade in native cloths; and many
beautiful and durable fabrics are woven here and in the neighborhood
from cotton and wool. The stone generally used in building comes from
the volcanoes back of the town, and is a light-brown lava. The Plaza
is double,—one half bounded by the church of San Juan de Dios, the
stone penitentiary, and shops; and its space is occupied by a garden
surrounded by a wall of carved stone and provided with stone seats. A
pond in the midst has a pavilion, or band-stand, on an island. The other
half of the Plaza is paved, and used as a market-place; here are the new
buildings for the Government.
Near by the hotel I saw a sign, of which I made a note, thinking to
profit thereby; but Frank saw it more clearly than I did, and knocked all
the romance out of it. To my first glance it read, “Collection of Young
Ladies,”
COLEGIO NAL. DE SEÑORITAS
but to the critical eye of my _fidus Achates_ it was simply a National
Seminary of Young Ladies; so we did not venture to explore it.
The church of San Juan de Dios was large, and the façade ornate,—worthy
the principal church in a city of twenty-five thousand inhabitants.
The old organ, of four octaves, had been recently painted; and in the
two towers hung seven bells,—three bound to the beams with rawhide, as
usual, the others on yokes. The cloisters adjoining this church[21] were
interesting, from the multitude of curious paintings they contained,
mostly of Scriptural histories; and in them Christ was always represented
as a shaven monk, with the girdle of the Cordeliers. In the old
lumber-room of the church were the remains of an ancient organ, and
heads, bodies, and arms of saints,—not relics, but the _membra disjecta_
of the dolls that are put together and dressed up on holy-days. We had
often seen similar places, which Frank called “property-rooms;” in one
we found boxes of wigs and beards, and in another a figure of Christ with
permanently bent legs, and staples in his ankles to strap him on to the
mule on Palm Sunday! It was both amusing and pitiful to see the trash
used for religious purposes.
[Illustration: Church at Quezaltenango.]
We went to the National Institute and saw very good dormitories for
the young men who study here. In preparation for an expected visit
of the President, lanterns were hung along the colonnades, and blue
and white (the national colors) met the eye on every side. There was
something homelike in the narrow, crooked streets,—so different from the
tasteless rectangles of most other Guatemaltecan cities. Then, too, they
were clean, well paved, and provided with sidewalks,—in some places,
where they were very steep, with bridges over the gutters, which in
rainy weather must be torrents. Street-lamps and letter-boxes, plenty
of fountains (and the water is cold and excellent), gave an air of
civilized comfort very agreeable to us. The houses were well built, and
usually had the window and door-jambs of sculptured stone. There were
plenty of windows, and the gates were often ajar, revealing flowers and
fountains in many courtyards. Peach-trees were in blossom, and also bore
half-ripe fruit. In the suburb Cienega is a picturesque washing-place, or
_lavadero_, where an artist has many a chance for sketching the Indias.
We saw more tokens of Sunday observance than we had yet seen in
Guatemala. Towards sunset the military band, of twenty-five instruments,
played for some time in the garden; but it was more amusing to me to
see the people with their obsolete European costumes and Sunday manners
than to listen to the music, which Frank said was good. Especially
effeminate boys wore very high heels, to give them a standing in society
they could never attain otherwise. The garden was not so good as that at
Sololà, but contained, in addition to the list of that place, oleander,
daisy, wall-flower, pink-catchfly, bachelor’s-buttons, flax, and
Canterbury-bells.
[Illustration: Manuel Lisandro Barillas.]
A city of nearly twenty-five thousand inhabitants—the majority Indios—has
grown up gradually on the ruins of the ancient Xelahu, until it is only
second in importance to Guatemala City. Its port is Champerico, from
which a railroad extends some distance into the interior (to Retalhuleu,
1884), and will one day enter the city. Abundant water-supply, schools
of various grades,—including a night-school for artisans,—a good
hospital, female orphan asylum, convenient public buildings and a
suitable penitentiary, a bank, public lavatories, and the hot springs of
Almolonga, are but some of the attractions of what was once the capital
of the province of Los Altos.
We had letters to the Jefe politico General Manuel Lisandro Barillas; but
he was so occupied in preparation for the visit of the President that we
thought it best not to add to his occupations by calling on him. On the
death of President Barrios, General Barillas succeeded to the Presidency;
and so satisfactory was his administration that at the next election he
became President by popular vote.
[Illustration: Four Alcaldes of Quezaltenango.]
Monday morning was quite cold and misty; but we photographed the church,
with the kind co-operation of the resident curate, Padre Felipe Sora,
who lowered curtains, opened doors, and did all he could to help us.
When we took the exterior we attracted a great deal of attention; and
fortunately the chief alcalde, who had assured us that we could get no
mozos that day, as it was a _fiesta_, in honor of the President, noticed
our performances, and, being a personable man, was seized with a strong
desire to have his _ritrato_. He offered to get us our mozo if I would
only photograph him; so I bade him to the hotel, explaining to him that
the portraits could not be seen until I returned to the North, and that
I should charge him a dollar for each picture. Honest soul! he agreed to
all this; and on his way he joined to himself three of his colleagues.
I sent them the result months after, and in due time the silver dollars
were scrupulously returned. In the mean time our alcalde Florencio Cortez
provided our mozo, and we started to walk back soon after two o’clock. We
both hoped to see this pleasant city again.
[Illustration: Cuatro Reales of Honduras.]