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[Illustration: LA CASA
(_The House at the ranch_)
THE ONLY AMERICAN-BUILT HOUSE IN THIS SECTION OF THE COUNTRY
An orange tree stands at either side of the front steps. See p. 70]
A JOURNEY IN
SOUTHEASTERN MEXICO
NARRATIVE OF EXPERIENCES, AND OBSERVATIONS
ON AGRICULTURAL
AND INDUSTRIAL
CONDITIONS
BY
HENRY H. HARPER
PRINTED PRIVATELY FOR THE AUTHOR
BY THE DE VINNE PRESS, N. Y.
BOSTON--MCMX
Copyright, 1910,
By HENRY H. HARPER
_All rights reserved_
A LIMITED NUMBER OF COPIES OF THIS WORK HAVE
BEEN ISSUED PRIVATELY FOR DISTRIBUTION
AMONG THE AUTHOR'S FRIENDS AND
BOOK-LOVING ACQUAINTANCES,--MOSTLY
TO MEMBERS OF
THE BIBLIOPHILE SOCIETY
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
The volume here presented to the reader does not profess to be a
history or description of Mexico as a whole, nor does it claim to
be typical of all sections of the country. It deals simply with an
out-of-the-way and little-known region, accompanied by a history of
personal experiences, with comment upon conditions almost or quite
unknown to the ordinary traveler.
Many books upon Mexico have been written--a few by competent and
others by incompetent hands--in which the writers sometimes charge
each other with misstatements and inaccuracies, doubtless oftentimes
with reason. However that may be, I have yet to discover among them a
narrative, pure and simple, of travel, experiences and observations in
the more obscure parts of that country, divested of long and tedious
topographical descriptions. Narrations which might be of interest,
once begun, are soon lost in discussion of religious, political, and
economic problems, or in singing the praises of "the redoubtable
Cortez," or the indefatigable somebody else who is remembered chiefly
for the number of people he caused to be killed; or in describing the
beauty of some great valley or hill which the reader perhaps never saw
and never will see.
I have always felt that a book should never be printed unless it is
designed to serve some worthy purpose, and that as soon as the author
has written enough to convey his message clearly he should stop. There
are many books in which the essential points could be encompassed
within half the number of pages allotted to their contents. A good
twenty-minute sermon is better than a fairly good two-hour sermon;
hence I believe in short sermons,--and short books.
With this conviction, before placing this manuscript in the hands
of the printer I sought to ascertain what possible good might be
accomplished by its issue in printed form. My first thought was to
consult some authority, upon the frankness and trustworthiness of
whose opinion I could rely with certainty. I therefore placed the
manuscript in the hands of my friend Mr. Charles E. Hurd, whose
excellent scholarship and sound literary judgment, coupled with a
lifelong experience as an editor and critical reviewer, qualify him as
an authority second to none in this country. He has done me the honor
voluntarily to prepare a few introductory lines which are printed
herein.
In view of the probability that very few, if any, among the restricted
circle who read this book will ever traverse the territory described,
I am forced to conclude that for the present it can serve no better
purpose than that of affording such entertainment as may be derived
from the mere reading of the narrative. If, however, it should
by chance fall into the hands of any individual who contemplates
traveling, or investing money, in this district, it might prove to be
of a value equal to the entire cost of the issue. Moreover, it may
serve a useful purpose in enlightening and entertaining those who are
content to leave to others the pleasures of travel as well as the
profits derived from investments in the rural agricultural districts of
Mexico.
Possibly a hundred years hence the experiences, observations, and
modes of travel herein noted will be so far outgrown as to make them
seem curious to the traveler who may cover the same territory, but I
predict that even a thousand years from now the conditions there will
not undergo so radical a change that the traveler may not encounter the
same identical customs and the same aggravating pests and discomforts
that are so prevalent today. Doubtless others have traversed this
territory with similar motives, and have made practically the same
mental observations, but I do not find that anyone has taken the pains
to record them either as a note of warning to others, or as a means of
replenishing a depleted exchequer.
In issuing this book I feel somewhat as I imagine Horace did when he
wrote his ode to Pyrrha,--which was perhaps not intended for the
eye of Pyrrha at all, but was designed merely as a warning to others
against her false charms, or against the wiles of any of her sex. He
declared he had paid the price of his folly and inexperience, and had
hung up his dripping clothes in the temple as a danger-signal for
others--
Ah! wretched those who love, yet ne'er did try
The smiling treachery of thine eye;
But I'm secure, my danger's o'er,
My table shows the clothes[1] I vow'd
When midst the storm, to please the god,
I have hung up, and now am safe on shore.
So am I. Horace, being a confirmed bachelor, probably took his theme
from some early love affair which would serve as a key-note that
would strike at the heart and experience of almost every reader. The
apparent ease with which one can make money and enjoy trips in Mexico
is scarcely less deceptive than were the bewitching smiles of Horace's
Pyrrha. Indeed the fortune-seeker there can see chimerical Pyrrhas
everywhere.
[1] It was customary for the shipwrecked sailor to deposit in the
temple of the divinity to whom he attributed his escape, a votive
picture (_tabula_) of the occurrence, together with his clothes, the
only things which had been saved.
Although it has been said that truth is stranger than fiction, it
is observable that most of the great writers have won their fame in
fiction, possibly because they could not find truths enough to fill
a volume. In setting down the narrative of a journey through Mexico,
however, there is no occasion to distort facts in order to make
them appear strange, and often incredible, to the reader. We are so
surfeited with books of fiction that I sometimes feel it is a wholesome
diversion to pick up a book containing a few facts, even though they
be stated in plain homespun language. It is fair to assume that in
writing a book the author's chief purpose is to convey a message of
some sort in language that is understandable. In the following pages I
have therefore not attempted any flourishes with the English language,
but have simply recorded the facts and impressions in a discursive
conversational style, just as I should relate them verbally, or write
them in correspondence to some friend.
H. H. H.
Boston, Mass.,
October, 1909.
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
BY CHARLES E. HURD
The present volume in which Mr. Harper tells the story of his personal
experiences and observations in a section of Mexico which is now being
cleverly exploited in the advertising columns of the newspapers as
the great agricultural and fruit-growing region of the North American
continent, has a peculiar value, and one that gives it a place apart
from the ordinary records of travel. The journey described was no
pleasure trip. The three who took part in it were young, ambitious, and
full of energy. Each had a fair amount of capital to invest, and each,
inspired by the accounts of visitors and the advertisements of land
speculators setting forth the wonderful opportunities for easy money
making in agricultural ventures along the eastern coast of Mexico,
believed that here was a chance to double it. There was no sentiment
in the matter; it was from first to last purely a business venture.
The scenery might be enchanting, the climate perfect, and the people
possessed of all the social requirements, but while these conditions
would be gratefully accepted, they were regarded by the party as
entirely secondary--they were after money. The recorded impressions are
therefore the result of deliberate and thoughtful investigation,--not
of the superficial sort such as one would acquire on a pleasure-seeking
trip. They differ essentially from the unpractical views of the writer
who is sent into Mexico to prepare a glowing account of the country's
resources from a casual and personally disinterested view of conditions.
The story of the trip by land and water from Tampico to Tuxpam is
photographic in its realism. In no book on Mexico has the character of
the peon been as accurately drawn as in this volume. Most writers have
been content to sketch in the head and bust of the native Mexican, but
here we have him painted by the deft hand of the author at full length,
with all his trickery, his laziness and his drunkenness upon him. One
cannot help wondering why he was ever created or what he was put here
for. In this matter of character-drawing Mr. Harper's book is unique.
The results of the investigations in this section of the country to
which the party had been lured are graphically set forth by Mr. Harper
in a half-serious, half-humorous manner which gives the narrative a
peculiar interest. He perhaps feels that he has been "stung," but yet
he feels that he can stand it, and enters no complaint. Besides, the
experience is worth something.
Of course the volume does not cover all Mexico, but its descriptions
are fairly typical of the larger portion of the country, particularly
as regards the people, their habits, morals and methods of living.
Aside from its interest as a narrative the book has an important
mission. It should be in the hands of every prospective investor
in Mexican property, especially those whose ears are open to the
fascinating promises and seductive tales of the companies formed for
agricultural development. A single reading will make nine out of ten
such restrap their pocketbooks. The reader will be well repaid for the
time spent in a perusal of the volume, and it is to be regretted that
the author has determined to print it only for private and restricted
distribution.
Boston, October 25, 1909.
A JOURNEY IN
SOUTHEASTERN MEXICO
There are few civilized countries where the American pleasure-seeking
traveler is so seldom seen as in the rural districts of southeastern
Mexico, along the coast between Tampico and Vera Cruz. The explanation
for this is doubtless to be found in the fact that there is perhaps
no other civilized country where the stranger is subjected to so
many personal discomforts and vexations resulting from incommodious
facilities for travel, and from the multiplicity of pests that beset
his path.
The writers of books on Mexican travel usually keep pretty close to
the beaten paths of travel, and discreetly avoid the by-ways in those
portions far removed from any railroad or highway. They acquire their
observations and impressions chiefly from the window of the comfortable
passenger-coach or from the veranda of some hotel where three good
meals are served daily, or from government reports and hearsay,--which
are often unreliable. It is only the more daring fortune-hunters that
brave the dangers and discomforts of the remote regions, and from
these we are rarely favored with a line, either because they have no
aptitude for writing, or, as is more likely, because, wishing to forget
their experiences as speedily as possible, they make no permanent
record of them. Tourists visiting Mexico City, Monterey, Tampico and
other large cities are about as well qualified to discourse upon the
conditions prevailing in the agricultural sections of the unfrequented
country districts as a foreigner visiting Wall Street would be to write
about the conditions in the backwoods of northern Maine. I can readily
understand the tendency of writers to praise the beauty of Mexican
scenery and to expatiate upon the wonderful possibilities in all
agricultural pursuits. In passing rapidly from one section to another
without seeing the multifarious difficulties encountered from seedtime
to harvest, they get highly exaggerated ideas from first impressions,
which in Mexico are nearly always misleading. The first time I beheld
this country, clothed in the beauty of its tropical verdure, I wondered
that everybody didn't go there to live, and now I marvel that anybody
should live there, except possibly for a few months in winter. If one
would obtain reliable intelligence about Mexico and its advantages--or
rather its disadvantages--for profitable agriculture, let him get the
honest opinion of some one who has tried the experiment on the spot, of
investing either his money or his time, or both, with a view to profit.
In March, 1896, in company with two friends and an interpreter, I went
to Mexico, having been lured there by numerous exaggerated reports
of the possibilities in the vanilla, coffee and rubber industries.
None of us had any intention of remaining there for more than a few
months,--long enough to secure plantations, put them in charge of
competent superintendents, and outline the work to be pursued. We
shared the popular fallacy that if the natives, with their crude and
antiquated methods could produce even a small quantity of vanilla,
coffee or rubber, we could, by employing more progressive and
up-to-date methods, cause these staple products to be yielded in
abundant quantities and at so slight a cost as to make them highly
profitable. We had heard that the reason why American investors had
failed to make money there was because they had invested their funds
injudiciously, through intermediaries, and had no personal knowledge
of the actual state of affairs at the seat of investment. We were
therefore determined to investigate matters thoroughly by braving
the dangers and discomforts of pestilence and insects and looking
the ground over in person. We had no idea of forming any company or
copartnership, but each was to make his own observations and draw his
own conclusions quite independent of the others. We agreed, however,
to remain together and to assist one another as much as possible by
comparing notes and impressions. There was a tacit understanding
that all ordinary expenses of travel should be shared equally from
one common fund, to which each should contribute his share, but that
each one should individually control his own investment, if such were
made. Each member of the party had endeavored to post himself as best
he could regarding the necessities of the trip. We consulted such
accounts of travel in Mexico as were available (nothing, however, was
found relating to the locality that we were to visit), conversed with
a couple of travelers who had visited the western and central parts,
and corresponded with various persons in that country; but when we
came together to compare notes of our requirements for the journey no
two seemed to agree in any particular. Our objective point was Tuxpam,
which is on the eastern coast almost midway between Tampico and Vera
Cruz, and a hundred miles from any railroad center. As it was our
intention to barter direct with the natives instead of through any land
syndicate, we thought best to provide ourselves with an ample supply
of the native currency. Out of the thousand and one calculations and
estimates that we all made, this latter was about the only one that
proved to be anywhere near correct. In changing our money into Mexican
currency we were of course eager to secure the highest premium, and
upon learning that American gold was much in demand at Tampico (the
point where we were to leave the railroad) we shipped a quantity of
gold coin by express to that place.
Our journey to Tampico was by rail via Laredo and Monterey, and was
without special incident; the reader need not therefore be detained by
a recital of what we thought or saw along this much traveled highway.
This route--especially as far as Monterey--is traversed by many
Americans, and American industry is seen all along the line, notably at
Monterey.
Upon arriving at Tampico we were told by the money-changers there
that they had no use for American gold coin. They said that the only
way in which they could use our money was in the form of exchange on
some eastern city, which could be used by their merchants in making
remittances for merchandise; so we were obliged to ship it all back
to an eastern bank, and sold our checks against a portion of it at a
premium of eighty cents on the dollar.
We stalked around town with our pockets bulging out with Mexican
national bank notes, and felt quite opulent. Our wealth had suddenly
increased to almost double, and it didn't seem as if we ever could
spend it, dealing it out after the manner of the natives, three, six,
nine and twelve cents at a time. We acquired the habit of figuring
every time we spent a dollar that we really had expended only fifty
cents. Our fears that we should have difficulty in spending very much
money must have shone out through our countenances, for the natives
seemed to read them like an open book; and for every article and
service they charged us double price and over. We soon found we were
spending real dollars, and before returning home we learned to figure
the premium the other way.
The moment we began to transact business with these people we became
aware that we were in the land of _mañana_ (tomorrow). The natives make
it a practice never to do anything today that can be put off until
tomorrow. Nothing can be done _today_,--it is always "_mañana_," which,
theoretically, means tomorrow, but in common practice its meaning is
vague,--possibly a day, a week, or a month. Time is reckoned as of no
consequence whatever, and celerity is a virtue wholly unknown.
Our business and sightseeing concluded, we made inquiry as to the way
to get to Tuxpam,[2] a small coast town in the State of Vera Cruz,
about a hundred miles further south. We inquired of a number of persons
and learned of nearly as many undesirable or impossible ways of getting
there. There were coastwise steamers from Tuxpam up to Tampico, but
none down the coast from Tampico to Tuxpam. After spending a whole
day in fruitless endeavor to find a means of transportation we were
returning to the hotel late in the afternoon, when a native came
running up behind us and asked if we were the Americans who wanted to
go to Tuxpam. He said that he had a good sailboat and was to sail for
Tuxpam _mañana_ via the _laguna_,--a chain of lakes extending along
near the coast from Tampico to Tuxpam, connected by channels ranging
in length from a hundred yards to several miles, which in places are
very shallow, or totally dry, most of the time. We went back with him
to his boat, which we found to be a sturdy-looking craft about thirty
feet long, with perhaps a five-foot beam. It was constructed of two
large cedar logs hewn out and mortised together. The boatman said
he had good accommodations aboard and would guarantee to land us at
Tuxpam in seven days. He wanted two hundred dollars (Mexican money, of
course) to take our party of four. This was more than the whole outfit
was worth, with his wages for three weeks thrown in. We went aboard,
and were looking over the boat, rather to gratify our curiosity than
with any intention of accepting his monstrous offer, when one of the
party discovered a Mexican lying in the bottom of the boat with a
shawl loosely thrown over him. Our interpreter inquired if anyone was
sick aboard, and was told by the owner that the man was a friend of
his who was ill with the smallpox, and that he was taking him to his
family in Tuxpam. We stampeded in great confusion and on our way to the
hotel procured a supply of sulphur, carbolic acid, chlorine, and all
the disinfectants we could think of. Hurrying to one of our rooms in
the hotel, we barred the door and discussed what we should do to ward
off the terrible disease. Some one suggested that perhaps the boatman
was only joking, and that after all the man didn't have smallpox. It
didn't seem plausible that he would ask us to embark for a seven days'
voyage in company with a victim of an infectious disease. But who would
venture back to ascertain the facts? Of course this task fell upon the
interpreter, as he was the only one who could speak the language. While
he was gone we began preparing for the worst, and after taking account
of our stock of disinfectants the question was which to use and how to
apply it. Each one recommended a different formula. One of the party
found some sort of a tin vessel, and putting half a pound of sulphur
into it, set it afire and put it under the bed. We then took alternate
sniffs of the several disinfectants, and debated as to whether we
should return home at once, or await developments. Meanwhile the room
had become filled almost to suffocation with the sulphur fumes, the
burning sulphur had melted the solder off the tin vessel, and running
out had set the floor on fire. About this time there was a vigorous rap
at the door and some one asked a question in Spanish; but none of us
could either ask or answer questions in that language, so there was no
chance for an argument and we all kept quiet, except for the scuffling
around in the endeavor to extinguish the fire. The water-pitcher being
empty, as usual, some one seized my new overcoat and threw it over the
flames. At this juncture our interpreter returned and informed us that
it was no joke about the sick man, and that the police authorities had
just discovered him and ordered him to the hospital. He found that the
boatman had already had smallpox and was not afraid of it; he was quite
surprised at our sudden alarm. As the interpreter came in, the man who
had knocked reappeared, and said that having smelled the sulphur fumes
he thought someone was committing suicide. When we told him what had
happened he laughed hysterically, but unfortunately we were unable to
share the funny side of the joke with him.
[2] The reader should not confound this with other Tuxpams and Tuxpans
in Mexico. The name of this place is nearly always misspelled, Tuxpan,
with the final _n_; it is so spelled even in the national post-office
directory; but it is correctly spelled with the final _m_.
That evening when we went down to supper everybody seemed to regard us
with an air of curious suspicion, and we imagined that we were tagged
all over with visible smallpox bacteria.
We afterwards learned that the natives pay little more heed to
smallpox than we do to measles; and especially in the outlying country
districts, they appear to feel toward it much as we do toward measles
and whooping-cough,--that the sooner they have it and are over with
it (or rather, it is over with them), the better.[3] One of the party
vowed that he wouldn't go to his room to sleep alone that night,
because he knew he should have the smallpox before morning. After
supper we borrowed a small earthenware vessel and returning to our
"council chamber" we started another smudge with a combination of
sulphur and other fumigating drugs. Someone expressed regret that he
had ever left home on such a fool's errand. During the night it had
been noised about that there was a party of "Americanos ricos" (rich
Americans) who wanted to go to Tuxpam, and next morning there were a
number of natives waiting to offer us various modes of conveyance, all
alike expensive and tedious. We finally decided to go via the _laguna_
in a small boat, and finding that one of the men was to start that
afternoon we went down with him to see his boat, which proved to be of
about the same construction and dimensions as the one we had looked
at the previous afternoon. He said that he had scarcely any cargo and
would take us through in a hurry; that he would take three men along
and if the wind was unfavorable they would use the paddles in poling
the boat. His asking price for our passage, including provisions,
was $150, but when he saw that we wouldn't pay that much he dropped
immediately to $75; so we engaged passage with him, on his promising to
land us in Tuxpam in six days. He said there was plenty of water in the
channels connecting the lakes, except at one place where there would
be a very short carry, and that he had arranged for a man and team to
draw the boat over. We ordered our baggage sent to the boat and not
liking his bill of fare we set out to provide ourselves with our own
provisions for the trip.
[3] The mortality from smallpox in Mexico is alarming. Three weeks
later our party stopped over night about twelve miles up from Tuxpam
on the Tuxpam River opposite a large hacienda called San Miguel. We
noticed when we arrived that there was a constant hammering just over
the river in the settlement. It sounded as though a dozen carpenters
were at work, and the pounding kept up all night. In the morning we
inquired what was the occasion of this singular haste in building
operations, and were told that the workmen were making boxes in which
to bury the smallpox victims. It was reported that fifty-one had died
the day before, and that the number of victims up to this time was
upwards of three hundred, or nearly one-third of the population of
the place. One of the natives told us that a very small percentage of
the patients recover, which is easily understood when it is explained
that the first form of treatment consists of a cold-water bath. This
drives the fever in and usually kills the patient inside of forty-eight
hours. There was no resident physician and the physicians in Tuxpam
were too busy to leave town. They would not have come out anyway, as
not one patient in fifty could afford to pay the price of a visit. A
nearby settlement called Ojite, numbering sixty odd souls, was almost
completely blotted out. There were not enough survivors to bury the
dead.
When we arrived at the boat we found our baggage stored away, with
a variety of merchandise, including a hundred bags of flour, piled
on top of it. There was not a foot of vacant space in the bottom of
the boat, and we were expected to ride, eat and sleep for six days
and nights on top of the cargo. The boatman had cunningly stored our
effects underneath the merchandise hoping that we would not back
out when we saw the cargo he was to take. However, we had become
thoroughly disgusted with the place and conditions (the hotel man
having arbitrarily charged us $25 for the hole we burned in his cheap
pine floor), and were glad to get out of town by any route and at any
cost. We all clambered aboard and were off at about three p.m. As we
sat perched up on top of that load of luggage and merchandise when the
boat pulled out of the harbor we must have looked more like pelicans
sitting on a huge floating log than like "Americanos ricos" in search
of rubber, vanilla and coffee lands. We didn't find as much rubber in
the whole Republic of Mexico as there appeared to be in the necks of
those idlers who had gathered on the shore to see us off.
The propelling equipment of our boat consisted of a small sail, to be
used in case of favorable breezes--which we never experienced--and
two long-handled cedar paddles. The blades of these were about ten
inches wide and two and a half feet long, while the handles were about
twelve feet long. The natives are very skillful in handling these
paddles. They usually work in pairs,--one on each side of the boat.
One starts at the bow by pressing the point of the paddle against the
bottom and walks along the edge of the boat to the stern, pushing as
he walks. By the time he reaches the stern his companion continues
the motion of the boat by the same act, beginning at the bow on the
opposite side. By the time the first man has walked back to the bow
the second has reached the stern, and so on. The boats are usually run
in the shallow water along near the shore of the large bodies of water
in the chain of lakes, so that the paddles will reach the bottom. The
boatman had three men besides himself in order to have two shifts, and
promised that the boat should run both night and day. This plan worked
beautifully in theory, but how well it worked out in practice will be
seen later on. We glided along swimmingly until we reached the first
channel a short distance from Tampico, and here we were held up for
two hours getting over a shoal. That seemed a long wait, but before we
reached our destination we learned to measure our delays not by hours
but by days. After getting over the first obstruction we dragged along
the channel for an hour or so and then came to a full stop. We were
told that there was another shallow place just ahead and that we must
wait awhile for the tide to float us over. We prepared our supper,
which consisted of ham, canned baked beans, bread, crackers, and such
delicacies as we had obtained at the stores in Tampico. The supper
prepared by the natives consisted of strips of dried beef cut into
small squares and boiled with rice and black beans. At first we were
inclined to scorn such fare as they had intended for us, but before
we reached Tuxpam there were times when it seemed like a Presidential
banquet. After supper three of the boatmen went ahead, ostensibly to
see how much water there was in the channel, while the fourth remained
with the boat. After starting a mosquito smudge and discussing the
situation for a couple of hours, we decided to "turn in" for the
night. The interpreter asked the remaining Mexican where the bedding
was. His only response was a sort of bewildered grin. He didn't seem
to understand what bedding was, and said they never carried it. We
were expected to "roost" on top of the cargo without even so much as a
spread over us,--which we did. It was an eventful night,--one of the
many of the kind that were to follow. After the fire died out we fought
mosquitoes--the hugest I had ever seen--until about three o'clock in
the morning, when I fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. There being no
frost in this section to kill these venomous insects, they appear to
grow and multiply from year to year until finally they die of old age.
A description of their size and numbers would test the most elastic
human credulity. Webster must have had in mind this variety when he
described the mosquito as having "a proboscis containing, within the
sheathlike labium, six fine sharp needlelike organs with which they
puncture the skin of man and animals to suck the blood."
I had been asleep but a short time when the party returned from the
inspection of the "water" ahead, and if the fire-water they had aboard
had been properly distributed it would almost have floated us over any
shoal in the channel. They brought with them two more natives who were
to help carry the cargo over the shallow place, but all five of them
were in the same drunken condition. In less than ten minutes they all
were sound asleep on the grass beside the channel. We were in hopes
that such a tempting bait might distract some of the mosquitoes from
ourselves, but no such luck. The mosquitoes had no terrors for them and
they slept on as peacefully as the grass on which they lay. All hands
were up at sunrise and we supposed of course we were to be taken over
the shoal; but in this we were disappointed, for this proved to be
some saint's day, observed by all good Mexicans as a day of rest and
feasting.[4] We endeavored to get them to take us back to town, but no
one would be guilty of such sacrilege as working on a feast-day. When
asked when we could proceed on the journey they said "_Mañana_." After
breakfast our party strolled off into the pasture along the channel and
when we returned to the boat a few minutes later the Mexicans shouted
in a chorus "_Garrapatas! mucho malo!_" at the same time pointing to
our clothes, which were literally covered with small wood-ticks, about
half the size of an ordinary pinhead.
[4] I was told in Mexico that every day in the year is recorded as the
birthday of some saint, and that every child is named after the saint
of the same natal day. For instance, a male child born on June 24 would
be named Juan, after Saint John, or San Juan. The anniversary days of
perhaps thirty or forty of the more notable saints are given up to
feasting and dissipation.
_Garra_--pronounced gar-r-r-ra--means to hook or grab hold of, and
_patas_ means "feet," so I take it that this pestilential insect is
so named because it grabs hold and holds tight with its feet. If this
interpretation be correct, it is well named, because the manner in
which it lays hold with its feet justifies its name, not to mention the
tenacity with which it hangs on with its head. It is very difficult
to remove one from the skin before it gets "set," and after fastening
itself securely the operation of removing it is both irritating and
painful. If it should ever need renaming some word should be found that
signifies "grab hold and hang on with both head and feet."
They cling to the grass and leaves of bushes in small clusters after
the manner of a swarm of bees, and the instant anything touches one of
these clusters they let go all hold and drop off onto the object, and
proceed at once to scatter in every direction; taking care, however,
not to fall a second time. We had noticed a few bites, but paid no
special attention to them, as we were becoming accustomed to being
"bitten." Many of them had now reached the skin, however, and they
claimed our particular attention for the remainder of the day. We
inquired how best to get rid of them and were told that our clothes
would have to be discarded. The loss of the clothes and the wood-ticks
adhering to them was not a matter of such immediate consequence as
those which had already found their way through the seams and openings
and reached the skin. We were told that to bathe in kerosene or
turpentine would remove them if done before they got firmly set, and
that if they were not removed we would be inoculated with malaria and
thrown into a violent fever, for being unacclimated, their bite would
be poisonous to our systems. Of course there was not a drop of kerosene
or turpentine aboard, so the direst consequences were inevitable. Our
trip was fast becoming interesting, and with the cheering prospects of
malarial fever and smallpox ahead, we began to wonder what was next!
All interest in the progress of the journey was now entirely subverted,
and, with the mosquitoes and _garrapatas_ to play the accompaniment
to other bodily woes and discomforts, sufficient entertainment was in
store for the coming night.
After digging out our trunks and changing our clothes we thoughtlessly
laid our cast-off garments on top of the cargo, with the result that
in a short time the whole boat was infested with the little pests. Our
one comforting hope was that they might torture the Mexicans, but this
proved to be a delusive consolation, for we found that the natives were
accustomed to their bites and paid but little attention to them. I
refrain from detailing the events and miseries of the night following,
because I wish to forget them. Not least among our annoyances was the
evident relish with which the Mexicans regarded our discomforts during
daylight, and the blissful serenity with which they slept through it
all at night. As they lay there calmly asleep while we kept a weary
vigil with the mosquitoes and ticks, I was strongly tempted to push
one of them off into the water just to disturb his aggravating rest.
They laughed uproariously at our actions and imprecations over the
wood-ticks, but the next laugh was to be at their expense, as will be
seen further along.
Next morning at sunrise (from sunrise to sunset is regarded by the
Mexicans as the duration of a day's work) they began unloading the
cargo and carrying it half a mile over the shoal. The strength and
endurance of the men were remarkable, considering their meagre
fare. Each man would carry from two to three hundred pounds on the
back of his neck and shoulders the entire distance of half a mile
without stopping to rest. By two o'clock in the afternoon the cargo
was transferred and the boat dragged over the shoal. In this latter
undertaking we all lent a hand. If any of our friends at home could
have witnessed this scene in which we took an active part, with our
trousers rolled up, wading in mud and water nearly up to our knees,
they might well have wondered what Eldorado we were headed for. By the
time the boatmen got the cargo reloaded it was time for supper, and
they were too tired to continue the voyage that night.
We slept intermittently during the night, and fought mosquitoes
between dozes. We started next morning about five o'clock. This was
the beginning of the fourth day out and we had covered less than six
miles. One of the men told us that on the last trip they took ten days
in making the same distance. It began to look as though we would have
to go on half rations in order to make our food supply last through
the journey. We moved along the channel without interruption during
the day, and late in the afternoon reached the point where the channel
opened into a large lake several miles long. We camped that night by
the lakeside,--the Mexicans having apparently forgotten their promise
to pursue the journey at night. They slept on the bare ground, while we
remained in the boat. A brisk breeze blew from the lake, so we had no
mosquitoes to disturb the first peaceful night's sleep we had enjoyed
since the smallpox scare.
During the night we made the acquaintance of another native pest, known
as the "army-ant," a huge black variety measuring upwards of half an
inch in length, the bite of which produces much the same sensation
as the sting of a hornet or scorpion, though the pain is of shorter
duration. The shock produced by the bite, even of a single one, is
sudden and violent, and there is nothing that will cause a Mexican to
disrobe with such involuntary promptness as the attack of one of these
pestiferous insects. They move through the country at certain seasons
in great bodies, covering the ground for a space of from fifty feet
to a hundred yards wide, and perhaps double the length. If a house
happens to stand in their way they will rid it completely of rats,
mice, roaches, scorpions, and even the occupants. They invade every
crevice from cellar to garret, and every insect, reptile and animal
is compelled either to retreat or be destroyed. Nothing will cause a
household to vacate a dwelling more suddenly at any time of the night
or day, than the approach of the dreaded army-ant.
The boatmen were all asleep on the bank of the lake, while we,
remaining aboard the boat, had finished our after-supper smoke and were
preparing to retire. Suddenly our attention was attracted by a shout
from the four Mexicans almost simultaneously, which echoing through
the woods on the night air, produced the weirdest sound I had ever
heard. It was a cry of sudden alarm and extreme pain. In an instant the
four natives were on their feet, and their shirts were removed with
almost the suddenness of a flash of lightning. They all headed for the
boat and plunged headlong into the water. The army-ant being unknown to
us, and not knowing the cause of their sudden alarm, we were uncertain
whether they had all gone crazy or were fleeing from some wild beast.
They scrambled aboard the boat, and one of the regrets of my life
was that I couldn't understand Spanish well enough to appreciate
the full force of their ejaculations. All four of them jabbered in
unison--rubbing first one part of the body and then another--for fully
ten minutes, and judging from their maledictions and gestures, I doubt
if any of them had a good word to say about the ants. It was now our
turn to laugh. In half an hour or so they ventured back to the land
and recovered their clothes, the army of ants having passed on. They
were up most of the night nursing their bites, and once our interpreter
called out and asked them if ants were as bad as _garrapatas_. One of
the men was so severely poisoned by the numerous bites that he was
obliged to return home the next day.
At about eight o'clock next morning we arrived at a little village,
or settlement, and after wandering around for half an hour our party
returned to the boat, but the boatmen were nowhere to be seen. We
waited there until nearly noon, and then started out in search of them.
They were presently found in the store, all drunk and asleep in a
back room. We aroused them, but they were in no condition to proceed,
and had no intention of doing so. We remained there just twenty-eight
hours, and when we again started on our journey it was with only three
boatmen, none of them sober enough to work. The wind blew a steady gale
in our faces all the afternoon, and we had traveled only about four
miles by nightfall. We had now been out more than six days and had not
covered one quarter of the distance to Tuxpam. At this rate it would
take us nearly a month to reach there.
About three o'clock next day we went ashore at a little settlement, and
upon learning that there was to be a _baile_ (a dance) that night, the
boatmen decided to stay until morning. It was an impoverished looking
settlement of perhaps forty huts, mostly of bamboo with thatched roofs
of grass. A hut generally had but one room, where the whole family
cooked, ate and slept on the dirt floor. This room had an aperture
for ingress and egress, the light and ventilation being admitted
through the cracks. We did not see a bed in the entire village, and
in passing some of the huts that night we observed that the entire
family slept on the hard dirt floor in the center of the room with
no covering. In one hovel, measuring about 12 x 14 feet, we counted
eleven people asleep on the floor,--three grown persons and eight
children, while the family pig and the dog reposed peacefully in one
corner. All were dressed in the same clothes they wore in the daytime,
including the dog and pig. The garments of the men usually consist of
a pair of knee-drawers,--generally of a white cotton fabric,--a white
shirt-waist, leather sandals fastened on their feet with strings of
rawhide, and a sombrero, the latter usually being more expensive than
all the rest of the wearing apparel. The natives here are generally
very cleanly, and change and wash their garments frequently. The women
spend most of their time at this work, and when we landed we counted
fourteen women washing clothes at the edge of the lake.
The dance began about nine o'clock and most of the participants, both
men and women, were neatly attired in white garments. The men were
very jealous of their girls, though for what reason it was hard to
understand. Many writers rhapsodise over the beauty and loveliness of
the Mexican women, but I couldn't see it. There are rare exceptions,
however. The dance-hall consisted of a smooth dirt floor with no
covering overhead, and the orchestra--a violin and some sort of a
wind-instrument--was mounted on a large box in the center. A row of
benches extended around the outside of the "dancing-ground." The men
all carried their machetes (large cutlasses, the blades of which range
from eighteen to thirty-six inches in length) in sheaths at their side,
and two or three of the more gaily dressed wore colored sashes around
their waists. All wore their sombreros. The dance had not progressed
for more than an hour when one of the villagers discovered that his
lady was engaging too much of the attention of one of our boatmen,
and this resulted in a quarrel. Both men drew their machetes and went
at one another in gladiator fashion. It looked as if both would be
carved to pieces, but after slashing at each other for awhile they were
separated and placed under arrest. It was discovered that one of them
had received an ugly, though not dangerous, wound in his side, while
the other (our man) had the tendons of his left wrist severed. The men
were taken away and the dance proceeded as orderly as before. We now
had only two boatmen left. In discussing the matter at home a year
later a member of our party remarked that "it was a great pity that the
whole bunch wasn't put out of commission; then we would have returned
to Tampico, and from there home." One of the natives very courteously
invited us to get up and take part in the dance, but after the episode
just mentioned we decided not to take a chance.
Our boatmen spent all the next day in fruitless endeavor to secure
another helper, and we did not start until the day after at about nine
o'clock--a needless delay of forty-two hours; but they were apparently
no more concerned than if it had been ten minutes. We were learning to
measure time with an elastic tape. Ober complains of the poor traveling
facilities in Mexico, and says that "in five days' diligent travel" he
accomplished but 220 miles. We had been out longer than that and had
not covered twenty miles.
The wind remained contrary all day, as usual, and having but two
men, our progress--or lack of progress--was becoming painful. Our
provisions, too, were exhausted, and we were reduced to the regular
Mexican fare of dried beef and boiled rice. We took a hand at the
paddles, but our execution was clumsy and the work uncongenial. Someone
suggested that in order to make our discomfiture complete it ought to
rain for a day or two, but the boatman reassured us upon this point,
saying that it never rained there at that season of the year,--about
the only statement they made which was verified by facts. Having made
but little progress that day, we held a consultation after our supper
of dried beef and rice, and decided that the order of procedure would
have to be changed. The wind had ceased and the mosquitoes attacked
us in reinforced numbers. We were forced to remain in a much cramped
position aboard the boat on top of the cargo, because every time we
attempted to stretch our legs on shore we got covered with wood-ticks.
It occurred to some of us to wonder what there could possibly be in
the whole Republic that would compensate us for such annoyance and
privation, and even if we should happen to find anything desirable in
that remote district, how could we get in to it or get anything out
from it? Certainly none of us had any intention of ever repeating the
trip for any consideration. Thus far we had not seen a rubber-tree,
vanilla-vine, coffee-tree, or anything else that we would accept as a
gift.
Next morning we went over to a nearby hut, and our interpreter
calling in at the door asked of the woman inside if we could get some
breakfast. "_No hay_" (none here) said she, not even looking up from
her work of grinding corn for _tortillas_.[5] He then asked if we could
get a cup of hot coffee, to which she again replied "_No hay_." In
response to a further inquiry if we could get some hot _tortillas_ he
got the same "_No hay_," although at that moment there was one baking
over the fire and at least a dozen piled up on a low bench, which, in
lieu of a table, stood near the fireplace,--which consisted of a small
excavation in the dirt floor in the center of the room. The fire was
made in this, and the _tortillas_ baked on a piece of heavy sheetiron
resting on four stones. The interpreter said that we were hungry and
had plenty of money to pay for breakfast, but the only reply he got was
the same as at first. We therefore returned to the boat and breakfasted
on boiled rice and green peppers, the dried beef strips having given
out. Soon after our meal I had a severe chill, followed by high fever.
Of course we all feared that it was the beginning of smallpox or
malaria, or both. Another member of the party was suffering from a
racking headache and dizziness, which, he declared, were the first
symptoms of smallpox. There was no doctor nearer than Tuxpam or Tampico.
The aspect was therefore gloomy enough from any point of view.
[5] See description of the _tortilla_ on p. 36.