THE CITY OF THE DAWN
Diego Velasquez, Governor of Cuba, needed slaves to work the mines of
that island. He commissioned Francisco Hernandez de Cordoba to go and
get them from the islands called the Guanajos (now the Bay Islands of
Honduras), which had been discovered by Columbus on his fourth and last
voyage in 1502. (Roatan, the home of Captain Gough, is one of these
islands.)
Hernandez de Cordoba sailed from Santiago de Cuba on February 8, 1517.
The Spanish historian, Gomara, tells how he reached not his destination
but
“a country hitherto unknown and unseen by our people, where he found
salt-pits, at a point which he named _Las Mugeres_ (Women), because
he there discovered stone towers and chapels, covered with wood and
straw, in which were arranged in order several idols resembling
women. The Spaniards were astonished, for the first time to see
strong edifices, which had not as yet been discovered, and also to
perceive that the inhabitants were so richly and tastefully clothed.
They wore shirts and cloaks of white and colored cotton, their head
dress consisted of feathers, their ears were enriched with ear-drops
and jewels of gold and silver. The women had their faces and breasts
concealed. Hernandez did not stop there, but ... a little further
on they (the Spaniards) found other men, of whom they inquired the
name of the large town close by. They answered, ‘Tectatan, Tectatan,’
which means ‘I do not understand’; from this the Spaniards thought
that this was the name of the town, and, corrupting the word have
ever since called it ‘Yucatan.’”
Not the town only, whose identity has long been lost, but that whole
land has ever since been called Yucatan. And, it is worth remembering
that for some time after Cordoba’s cruise the Spaniards thought of
Yucatan as an island, around which they hoped to find a passage to the
rich Indies they were always seeking.
Lust for gold was the motive which led to all the Spanish discoveries.
The dissemination of Christianity was always a later and secondary
interest.
The earrings and other trinkets which Cordoba saw encouraged the
avaricious hopes of the Spaniards. A year later Juan de Grijalva sailed
his four ships from Cuba to Cozumel Island, off the east coast of
Yucatan. How the imagination strains to conjure up a picture of these
first meetings between the mechanical, warlike civilization of Europe
and the religious and artistic culture of ancient America!
To modern eyes such vessels as Grijalva had would seem absurdly high
for their length and dangerously clumsy. No wonder the current which
races northward between Cozumel and the mainland hampered navigation in
such unwieldy craft!
Grijalva managed at last to reach the south end of the island, where
he anchored. Landing, he fell on his knees and thanked God for giving
this island to Spain. He then performed the usual solemn annexation
ceremonies, while the Indians looked on in amazement. Not realizing
that he was being robbed of his homeland the Indian _Cacique_ presented
Grijalva with a jar of honey. The natives crowded around the Europeans,
respectfully touching their bright weapons, and marveling at their
thick beards.
The Spaniards were afraid to eat the food which the Indians gave them,
whereupon the generous natives produced cotton shirts and jewels.
Cotton, one of the New World’s most valuable gifts to the Old, was
apparently unappreciated at first. And had the Europeans realized
that these jewels had been brought in Maya trading canoes from richer
lands to the south and north they might have left this country in
peace a few years longer. As it was they blustered along the coast,
“impressed,” as Prescott says, “with the evidences of a higher
civilization, especially in the architecture,” and yet arrogantly
breaking the native idols or pitching them into the sea until the whole
country rose against the intruders. As American Indians went, the Mayas
seem to have been a rather peaceful people. But no nation with any
self-respect would long tolerate this sort of bullying.
It was largely because Europe had gone ahead of America in mechanics
that the Spaniards were able to win the bloody struggle which followed.
Scientists believe that the Mayas had scarcely any metal tools. They
had no beasts of burden, and the limestone blocks of “the very large
houses, well built of stone and plaster,” which the sailing master of
Grijalva reported, had been cut with stone tools and put in place by
man-power alone. It was because this power was almost unlimited and
directed by intelligent rulers under a sort of feudal system that the
Mayas had been able to build the great white cities which astounded the
Spaniards.
But the Indians had nothing so deadly in battle as the guns of the
Europeans. The bullets from these pierced the tortoise-shell shields of
the natives, while the flint-headed arrows and spears of the Indians
were turned by the steel mail of the Castillians.
Victory breeds in the victor contempt for the vanquished. Years passed
after the first conquest before Europeans began to realize that the
already crumbling civilization which had been given its death blow
by the soldiers of Spain had possessed certain cultural achievements
which put the savants of Europe to the blush, such as the intricate and
accurate calendar which the Maya priests had made by long vigils in
which the naked eye had no mechanical aids.
Before the Conquest had been begun, however, on May 7, 1518, to be
exact, the four ships of Juan de Grijalva sailed to the mainland
opposite Cozumel Island and turned southward exploring the coast. Juan
Diaz, their sailing master, described their passing
“three large towns separated from each other by about 2 miles. There
were many houses of stone, very tall towers, and buildings covered
with straw.... We followed the shore day and night, and the next day
towards sunset we perceived a city or town so large, that Seville
would not have seemed more considerable nor better; one saw there a
very large tower; on the shore was a great throng of Indians, who
bore two standards which they raised and lowered to signal us to
approach them; the commander did not wish it. The same day we came
to a beach near which was the highest tower we had seen and one
discerned a very considerable town; the country was watered by many
rivers; we discovered a bay so large that a fleet might enter. It was
lined with wooden buildings set up by fishermen.”
The day the Spaniards reached this bay was May 13, which happened to
be Ascension Day that year. So the bay was named Ascension Bay. The
Spaniards were mistaken about the “many rivers.” They may have sent
a small boat far enough in to see the stream leading to Muyil, but
that is the only river we have seen along this coast. No doubt many of
the salt lagoons and sluggish backwaters of bays were mistaken by the
discoverers for rivers.
Modern archæologists are inclined to agree that the city compared
to Seville was probably what is now the conspicuous group of ruins
called Tulum (or Tuloom or Tuluum, according to various archæologists.
The second spelling most accurately indicates the pronunciation to
an American, but I have accepted the first, for reasons which I need
not go into here). What of the “three large towns separated from each
other by about 2 miles”? Were any of them Xkaret, Paalmul, Chakalal or
Acomal, where Indians report to us ruins still standing which have not
been visited by archæologists?
There must be something left of these “large towns” we told each
other, as our schooner retraced the course of Grijalva’s caravels and
approached Tulum from the south.
I was in the hold reading John Lloyd Stephens’ account of the
_Castillo_ at Tulum:
“It rises on the brink of a high, broken, precipitous cliff,
commanding a magnificent ocean view, and a picturesque line of coast,
being itself visible from a great distance at sea.”
“Come up,” called Griscom, “we can see Tulum.”
We were only an hour and a half out of Boca de Paila, and I hardly
believed him. Much as I have read about the conspicuous location
of these ruins I did not realize how the square high center of the
_Castillo_, that “very large tower” of Juan Diaz, stands out as a mark
to distant ships. We must have been ten or twelve miles from it at this
time, but could see it plainly with the naked eye.
The gentle north wind which brought a bright day and high visibility
also produced a calm sea under the cliff which made landing easy for
us. Morley and Lothrop told us that we should have to jump overboard
a few feet from shore and be “spewed up to the beach by the sea,” as
was their experience. But this day was made to order. Our two boats
were able to land on a thin strip of white beach just south of the
_Castillo_. From here a steep gulley ran to the top of the forty-foot
limestone cliff, which in many other places is impossible to climb.
Most of the eastern coast of Yucatan is a low, monotonous sandy shelf
covered with scrub palms. Tulum is placed on the highest piece of land
between Cape Catoche and Chetumal Bay. For location few cities, ancient
or modern, can surpass it. The name means “Fortress.” The ancient
name Zama means “City of the Dawn.” Both appellations are fitting,
although perhaps the present one is the best. This old Maya metropolis
does not face the dawn, but turns her back on the east. The builders
deliberately chose to face away from the finest ocean view on the
whole coast. It was probably for purposes of defense that they made
the back of the two wings and the central tower of the _Castillo_ of
solid masonry and placed all their doors on the other side facing an
extensive ceremonial plaza crowded with buildings of religious purpose.
For the same reason they built a wall fifteen to twenty feet high and
almost as thick about the three sides of the city not protected by the
jagged and pitted limestone cliff.
[Illustration: The chief temple of Tulum turns its back on the finest
view on the whole coast of Yucatan to face a ceremonial plaza]
In the archives of Spanish history no one has found any account of
the subjugation of Tulum, although the conquest swept down this
whole coast. After the account of Diaz the world heard nothing of “the
City of the Dawn” until 1840 when one Juan Pio Perez mentioned it as
having been seen by a traveler named Galvez. The place was first given
something like the reputation it deserves by the writings of Stephens
and the drawings of his companion Catherwood, made in 1842. Then the
Indian wars of 1848-50 plunged Tulum back into its former isolation.
In 1895 the Allison V. Armour Expedition was prevented from landing
by fear of the hostile Indians but the yacht of that party approached
close enough for Mr. W. H. Holmes to make two excellent sketches.
Danger from the same source obliged Messrs. Howe and Parmelee to leave
after a two-day visit in 1911. Morley and Nusbaum made a daring visit
in a tiny dory in 1913 and after being “spewed onto the beach” in the
usual manner spent a few hours in a vain search for fragments of a
stela found by Stephens and buried in the sand by Howe and Parmelee
for safekeeping. In 1916 Morley and Gann managed to find some of these
fragments and re-buried them. In 1918 Morley, Gann and John Held, Jr.,
recovered these pieces of stone and found some additional pieces of the
original stela.
If these stones could speak what a story could they tell! Indeed,
a very readable romance might be woven about their history since
Stephens found them, the bare bones of which I have given above. The
date on this stela is unquestionably an early one and the reading of
it has been the subject of a very pretty archæological controversy.
Stephens lived before any of the glyphs had been deciphered. Howe read
the date on the front of the stone as corresponding to 304 A.D. of
the Christian count. Gann and Morley read this date as 305 A.D., but
they decided it referred to some event previous to the erection of the
monument. They were influenced to this decision, explains Gann, by the
fact that “we know from a number of historical sources that Tuluum and
Chichen Itza were not founded till towards the end of the sixth century
of our era by Maya from Bacalal (Bacalar), led by their Priest-Chief
Itzamna.” The contemporaneous date of the stela Gann and Morley place
at 699 A.D.
Lothrop, who studied Tulum for the Carnegie Institution and who is now
attached to the Museum of the American Indian in New York, thinks that
Morley and Gann are wrong, both in their reading of the date and in
their interpretation of Maya history. He says,
“The most probable date ... is 442 A.D. (Professor H. M. Tozzer
and Dr. H. J. Spinden agree with the writer on this point). This
is given additional weight because it so closely accords with the
traditional date of the colonization of the east coast as recorded in
the books of Chilam Balam.”
The Books of Chilam Balam are records dating from after the Spanish
Conquest written by natives in the Maya tongue but in Spanish
characters.
This archæological debate is especially interesting because it concerns
the age of Tulum. I must say that Lothrop’s argument--which I have
barely sketched--seems convincing to me and that Gann seems to display
unwarranted assurance when he says he “knows” that Tulum was not
founded until “towards the end of the sixth century.” _Quien sabe?_
Sickness and rum have decimated the Indians who repelled previous
expeditions to the Seville of the Caribbean. Yet the last survivors
of the tribe which may virtually disappear within a few decades still
watch the secret shrines of their forefathers, and still worship there.
On entering the _Castillo_ we found the ashes of recently burned copal
(gum incense). And we had hardly made this discovery when we saw an
Indian running down a path toward us. He was a wizened little fellow,
and there was a sort of unearthly obscenity in the grin with which he
eyed us. Indeed he might have been a messenger of one of the lesser
demons of the old religion. He said little, and that we could not
understand, but it was obvious that he was watching to see that we
committed no acts of vandalism.
A few minutes later appeared two more Indians, a dirty young man and
a dried up ancient with a flowered blouse such as an American woman
might wear, and a great gold earring in his left ear. We saw similar
decorations in the ears of the priests at Santa Cruz de Bravo. The old
man was “General” Paulino Kamaal, chief of the Tulum Indians, a branch
of the people governed by General May. The youth was his son, the heir
apparent to the Tulum throne. They lived in thatched huts some distance
from the ruins.
They invited themselves to lunch with us on the schooner. When we
boarded the ship there was a dramatic meeting between this old rogue,
Kamaal, and Juan Vega. For a few minutes the air was thick with
Maya ejaculations. At length Kamaal and Vega accepted our rum and
cigarets and Vega explained the meaning of the pow-wow. It seems that
thirty-five years ago a boat containing Vega, his father, and several
other Mexicans reached Tulum from Cozumel. It was attacked by the
Indians, who killed everyone in the boat but Vega, then a small
boy. He was adopted as I have already related. But what interested us
and Vega is that he recognized Kamaal as a member of the party which
had killed his father. The old Tulum chief admitted his part in the
massacre without the slightest embarrassment, indeed with obvious
pride. His manner was of one who might be saying, “Yes, I remember how
I walloped you at tennis thirty-five years ago.”
[Illustration: The ear-ringed chief of the Tulum Indians, “General”
Paulino Caamal. His son (at left) coveted Whiting’s spectacles]
McClurg does not seem to appreciate the importance of cultivating
the good-will of these local _jefes_, rascals and cut-throats as
many of them doubtless are. His frank disgust each time we bring a
tatterdemalion “General” aboard is amusing to watch. I was afraid
there might be trouble when he ignored the dirty hand which old Kamaal
insisted on offering him, but the tactful Gough pushed a plate of beans
into the old Indian’s paw and a delicate situation was averted.
Kamaal’s eyes glow like old embers. When he had finished his meal
he thanked us briefly, but warmly. Then he rattled off a string of
gutturals with a mischievous side glance at Vega.
“What did he say?” I asked that genial fellow.
“He says that thirty or even fifteen years ago you could not have
landed here. You would have been surrounded by his people, all strong
young warriors. He says those good days have gone, but he is glad to
meet you, even under these conditions.”
I started one of the Johnsons and took ashore the “heir apparent” and
his father, looking like an old woman with his flowered shirt, his
great earring, and his wide straw hat pulled down to his shrewd, vital
eyes. Before they took the trail north toward the ruins of Tancah they
asked in the sign language for more cigarets. I gave them the only
package in my pocket, and a small bottle of Woolworth perfume. This
last gift delighted the old man. He directed his son to empty at my
feet a cloth sling containing about a dozen oranges.
Someone aboard the schooner had told this potentate that we should be
returning to Tulum in about ten days. As we parted he mustered his only
Spanish, or the only Spanish he had uttered to us:
“_Diez dias--con licor._”
By the way he rubbed his stomach I took this to be the expression of a
gentle command that we should return in ten days, with plenty of rum.
Tulum has perhaps more wall paintings than any Maya city known. After
lunch Spinden was copying some of these in the Temple of the Frescoes
and I was admiring the outline of that small but lovely building
when two young Mexicans approached. One was José Sauri, Agent of
the Department of Anthropology of the Mexican Ministry of Public
Education. By order of the Government he had come here from Cozumel to
meet us, and to see that we committed no injury upon the ruins.
Sauri asked us to take him and his father’s sloop back to Cozumel.
So now we are towing the sloop, steered by an old sailor friend of
Sauri’s who does not seem to mind the gaseous fumes which pour upon his
grizzled head from the _Albert’s_ twin exhausts. And Sauri sits in our
midst with our other two “deck passengers,” Juan Vega and his silent,
moustached retainer.
This has been a day to remember. Tulum is one of the wonders of
the world. It has not quite the varied splendor, the architectural
richness of Uxmal and Chichen Itza, the two best known ruined cities
in Yucatan. But frowning from its desolate and formidable cliff it
leaves an impression of stern majesty which those riper centers of the
Maya Renaissance could never have produced, even in their prime. No
Maya building has ever moved me so much as that little Temple of the
Frescoes, with the four columns of its main entrance and the flaring
concave sides of its second story--those leaping lines of a Peking
roof. Spinden laughs at me and says it is something of a hodge-podge.
He is right. But although it suggests Greek architecture below and
Chinese above it remains for me a piece of sheer beauty in white stone.
With night has come a stiff east wind. I am wearing flannel under a
waterproof shirt. But Vega, beside me, seems comfortable in his thin
pyjamas. He is an interesting character, a mixture of business man,
mountebank, diplomat and seer. He is telling me about the social usages
and customs among the people he rules, trying to get my opinion of
them without giving me his. He is especially concerned with marital
infidelity and divorce, but for the life of me I cannot learn his own
convictions on these subjects. Which is partly due to my ignorance of
Spanish. Yet I can sense that he is constantly retreating behind jokes
and light persiflage, watching me like a hawk all the while.
Gough is keeping a sharp lookout for one of the lighthouses on Cozumel.
Whiting comes forward and remarks to me that when he was aloft just
before dark he found Spinden’s lizard on the port main shroud, close to
the cross trees.
“I’d have shot it, but I was afraid of cutting the shroud.”
Vega suggests putting a man on watch at the foot of the shroud to catch
the creature if it comes down.
McClurg comes forward and says that at last he has discovered the
schooner’s compass. It is hidden away in the engine room, and
apparently is never consulted by the skipper of this good mud boat.
[Illustration: Tulum’s Temple of the Frescoes contains some of the
finest paintings in the whole Maya area]
That worthy now sights the light of San Miguel, chief port of Cozumel,
a town of some 1500 people, and our destination tonight.
Although we are under the lee of the island the wind is rising, and
the boat is rocking heavily. Spinden seeks his cot in the hold with a
groan. The cold has already driven everyone else below but Vega, the
Captain, the helmsman and me.
Now several lights are visible at each side of the high lamp which
warns mariners of the proximity of San Miguel.
For the ninth or tenth time Vega remarks:
“Among my people we punish infidelity by beating the woman on the neck
and the man on the buttocks. Do you approve of that?”
For the ninth or tenth time I reply laboriously that the distinction
indicates an interesting sense of chivalry but that both punishments
seem commendable to an Anglo-Saxon sociologist. Why not try them in New
York?
“Ah, but your men don’t have to have a woman to cook for them. You can
get a divorce and eat in a restaurant. You are lucky.”
The _Albert_ slides between the dim white shapes of chicle schooners.
Someone on the largest throws a beam on us from an electric
flashlight. Now, for a little while we shall be in comparative
civilization. Tomorrow we can send off radios. And perhaps we can buy
phonograph needles, which we forgot to get in Belize.
[Illustration]