THE START.
[Illustration: STONE IDOLS ON THE ROAD TO MIXCO.]
At the end of three weeks all our outfit for the journey, including
numerous cases of provisions, had, by the kindness of the Government,
been passed through the Custom House free of duty, and we at once
set to work sorting the provisions and repacking them in smaller
boxes--some to be carried with us, others to be sent on to various
points on the road to await our arrival.
We had already purchased seven cargo-mules and one horse, none of them
in very good condition, for sound and well-conditioned animals were not
only very expensive, but exceedingly scarce, and we were forced to take
what we could find.
No trained riding-mule could be found for me, so I had to make my
choice of a steed from amongst the pack-mules, and picked out the
smallest, principally because she had a pretty head and held her ears
well forward. No doubt these are not all the points I should have
attended to; but no choice could have proved more fortunate, and it
would have been difficult to find in the whole country a gentler or
more sure-footed creature. Her feet were unshod and her power of
holding on to slippery rocks was positively astounding. I soon learnt
to leave her reins loose and let her pick her own way, which she did
with the greatest care, whether scrambling up the rough hillsides, or,
with her hind feet kept well together, sliding down perilously steep
and slippery mountain-paths. Her temper was above reproach, but it
required much prodding to get her out of the steady walk to which her
life in a pack-train had accustomed her; however, when once fairly
started, she paced easily and comfortably. I cannot say too much in
praise of my mule, for she solved the one great question which weighed
on my mind: how was I, who had never ridden before, to traverse the
difficult country which lay in front of us? Trusting to her superior
knowledge and good sense, I was carried in safety for more than five
hundred miles, in daylight and in dark, over mountains and across
rivers, from the Pacific to the shores of the Atlantic, without a
stumble and without even the feeling of fear; and when at last I had to
part with her at Yzabal, it was with real regret, and the feeling that
I was saying good-bye to an old and valued friend.
Our party at the start numbered five--our two selves, Gorgonio Lopes
(my husband's faithful companion during many earlier expeditions), his
son Caralampio, and Santos the arriero; our train was made up of the
six cargo-mules, three saddle-mules, and a horse, and to this must be
added four or five Indian cargadores, bearing loads which could not be
conveniently carried on pack-saddles.
My husband rode the horse, which, although not a very
magnificent-looking animal, gave a certain air of respectability to
the train. Gorgonio's mule was a wise old beast with a rough and
varied experience of life, who seemed to have been brought more out
of sentiment than for use, for Gorgonio persistently walked up and
down all the hills, and sometimes on the flat, so as to lighten her
labours. He had strange stories to tell of her adventures. Once, when
on a journey in Honduras, she was stolen from him and he had to return
home to Coban and give up all hope of seeing her again; it was not
until long afterwards that he learnt that the thief was the Juez de paz
(the local Judge). At the end of a year the Governor of the Province,
having heard of the shortcomings of his subordinate, took possession of
the mule, but, somehow or other, forgot to give any information to her
real owner, and had her sent away to a distant rancho; there possibly
her existence might have been forgotten and her brand have changed
its shape, had it not been that, by the merest chance, a doctor, who
was an old friend of Gorgonio, recognized the mule and gave him the
information which led to her recovery. Caralampio's mule was like Mr.
Kipling's Battery mule--a mule; and mine was the excellent creature I
have described.
On the 2nd of January we left the capital, mounting our mules just
outside the main streets of the town, as a concession to my feelings
of bashfulness; for I had no wish to shock the sensibilities of the
fashionable society of the capital by riding through the streets in
a short walking-dress, or to expose my bad horsemanship to their
criticism. We passed to the right of the fort or Castle of San José,
which commands the city, and then for about a mile followed the road
bordered by straggling houses to the Guarda viejo. On passing through
the gate we turned to the right across a narrow strip of land between
deep barrancas, and then found ourselves fairly in the country.
On the plain through which our road lay there must have stood in olden
times a fair-sized town, if one can judge from the large number of
grass-grown mounds scattered over its surface; but it is now the mere
ghost of a town, without history and without name, and the two squat
figures carved in a hard stone which stand by the roadside at the
gate of a small hacienda are all that remains to show the art of the
builders, although careful investigation would no doubt reveal much
more of interest. The sketch-plan on the next page was made by my
husband some years ago.
We had set out late in the afternoon, and our first journey was
purposely a short one of eight miles,--just enough to settle down men
and mules to their work,--to the small town of Mixco, the home of
arrieros, mules, washerwomen, and bakers and purveyors in general to
the capital. The short twilight faded away as we crossed the plain,
and it was dark before we entered the deep barranca which had to be
crossed before the town could be reached. I must confess that my heart
was in my mouth as I felt rather than saw the steep rough road that
lay before me--for be it remembered that I knew nothing as yet of the
surefootedness of my mule,--but I soon felt that she was more at home
crawling down the side of a barranca than when shuffling along the
dusty high road; then I grew very brave, gave her my full confidence,
and never after repented of the gift. My first barranca successfully
passed, we clambered into the deserted street, crossed the plaza, and,
guided by Gorgonio, groped our way in the pitchy darkness down another
paved street, which seemed to be as steep as the roof of a house, and
found ourselves in the courtyard of a straggling one-storied building
dignified by the name of hotel.
[Illustration: PLAN OF THE RUINED TOWN BETWEEN GUATEMALA AND MIXCO.]
After many fruitless efforts to attract some attention, a woman
appeared with a candle and led us to a sort of outhouse which had been
engaged for us by Caralampio, who had preceded us with the pack animals
and cargadores. This apartment was not prepossessing; its furniture
consisted of two miserable beds, a table, two infirm chairs, a wooden
bench, and a sewing-machine, and in one corner our servants had piled
up indiscriminately provision-boxes, mule-trunks, tents, beds, and
pack-saddles, so that confusion was added to discomfort.
[Illustration: A STREET IN MIXCO.]
My husband and Gorgonio were particularly assiduous in their attentions
to me and in their efforts to improve matters, each in his way rather
alarmed as to what effect this sudden plunge into semi-civilization
might produce on a novice. They were lavish in the use of candles from
our store, and Gorgonio went off to forage for supper, whilst the other
men were set to work to put the baggage into something like order.
Before long the usual food of the country--fried eggs, frijoles (black
beans), and tortillas (thin round cakes of Indian corn)--was brought to
us, and to this fare we added a tin of good chicken-broth, cooked on
our own spirit-lamp. Bread, which I afterwards found to be usually the
first thing placed on the table of a Central-American inn, was on this
occasion lacking; and we learnt that a company of soldiers, on their
way to a distant station, had passed through the town in the morning
and eaten up all the bread, so nothing was left for us but a little
stale 'pan dulce.' However, we made a good supper, and even enjoyed the
stale 'pan dulce' with the help of a cup of delicious coffee, a luxury
which the traveller in Guatemala may usually count on finding even in
the poorest posada.
As soon as we were comfortable Gorgonio left us to assure himself
that the arriero had attended to the wants of the beasts, and found
them safely tied up in the yard outside our door, each with a bundle
of "sacate de milpa" (the leaves and stems of the maize-plant) for
his supper. In my opinion Gorgonio holds a unique position amongst
his countrymen on account of his sympathy with dumb animals, and it
is well for the mule-train which falls under his management. The kind
soul never thought of refreshing himself until the mules had been
attended to, and no beautiful scenery or convenient camping-ground had
any charms for him if there was a scarcity of food "para las pobres
mulas." His horror lest the animals should suffer stood out in striking
contrast to the callousness and brutality which one noticed every day
amongst the half-caste muleteers.
Supper disposed of we turned our attention to the bed question, and
after examining those provided for us, determined to open our own
camp-cots. But, alas! neither persuasion nor force would induce the
swollen plugs to fit into their sockets, and we were obliged to sleep
on the beds belonging to the hotel. A message came from the patrona to
the effect that clean sheets were to be had if they were needed, and
when these arrived we carefully wrapped the suspected mattresses up in
them, and rolling ourselves in our blankets, knew nothing more until
the sunlight streaming into the room awakened us to a lovely morning.
As we looked from the window across the plain we had traversed the
evening before, the scene was an enchanting one. Soft mists coloured
by the sunlight, and pierced here and there by dome and tower, hung
over the city, and billowy sunlit clouds wreathed themselves round the
distant mountains. Even our immediate surroundings, which appeared
so squalid the night before, became transformed under the brilliant
sunlight: the old courtyard looked quite picturesque with the bustle
of preparation for our journey; gaily-dressed washerwomen laden with
bundles of clean linen trotted past the open door, and we could watch
them and the line of pack-mules and Indian carriers winding down
the sides of the barranca on their way to the morning market in the
capital. The air was filled with the perfume of flowers, and the
atmosphere was soft and delicious.
[Illustration: A MIXCO WASHERWOMAN.]
To the native traveller there is not much difficulty in making an
early start, for he seems, as a rule, to confine his equipment for
the road to a rug rolled up and strapped on the back of his saddle,
a Turkish bath towel thrown over his shoulders, and such small
articles as he can stow away in his "arganas," or plaited grass
saddle-bags. Possibly he may be followed by a small boy on a second
mule, who carries his master's clothes in front of him wrapped up in
a petate or mat. But with us the case was very different, for what
with tents, tent-furniture, beds, bedding, photographic cameras and
other apparatus, a large store of provisions, a cooking-canteen, and
water-tins, as well as our own personal belongings, our baggage-train
was a long one, much time was occupied in getting under weigh, and our
progress was necessarily slow. We had found it impossible in the city
to engage Indian carriers by the month or even by the week, so we had
to depend on the village alcaldes to supply us with mozos to carry
loads from town to town.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
I soon learnt that the alcaldes never hurry themselves to find the
mozos, and that the mozos are never in a hurry to come; and when at
last they are all assembled, much time is lost in fussing over the
size, weight, and general make-up of the cargos. Even when the mules
were all saddled and loaded, and we were making a start, one of the
mozos was sure to find that the tent-poles were too long, or the
camera-legs inconvenient to adjust. This discovery was followed by a
demand for more pay, and we had to wait whilst Gorgonio smoothed the
ruffled feelings of the mozos to whose lots these awkward burdens had
fallen, with the promise of an extra medio apiece if each of them
travelled well. As the Indians speak little, if any, Spanish, and our
Ladinos, who spoke the Indian dialect, "la lengua" as they called it,
of the Alta Vera Paz, could not understand the speech of the Indians of
the Altos and the Lake region, we usually found it best to leave to the
Alcalde all arrangements with the Indians, and cheerfully ran the risk
of an overcharge in order to avoid delay and ensure the proper carriage
of cargos.
Our start from Mixco was in no wise different from what experience
afterwards showed me to be the rule, and it was rather late before we
were under weigh for Antigua; but as we had only twenty miles to travel
along one of the best high roads in the country, and were to find an
hotel at the end of our journey, the delay was not a matter of much
consequence.
The air was fresh and invigorating, and as we wound round the hills
along the edge of a great barranca we caught charming glimpses of the
capital, with its shining white churches lying in the plain beneath us,
and of distant mountains and valleys changing from sunlight to shadow
under the passing clouds. The roadside was edged with wild flowers,
among them large scarlet salvias, beautiful purple single dahlias,
growing to a great height, elder-trees in full bloom, and Wigandia with
its magnificent leaves and fine sprays of purple flowers, royal in
effect. Besides these were brilliant patches of small sunflowers, and
delicate little blossoms of many sorts and colours peeping out between
the moss and maidenhair ferns which clothed the rocks and turned the
green roadsides into charming rock-gardens.
About midday we arrived at the little hamlet of San Rafael, high up in
the hills, but even at an altitude where frost is by no means unknown
it was impossible to realize that we were in the midst of winter,
for in the well-kept garden of the inn standard roses, banksias,
heliotrope, and various other garden plants were blooming, as if it
were June and not January. Here we came up with the soldiers, infantry
and artillery, who had eaten up all the bread at Mixco, and who were
now resting and cooking their food by the roadside, whilst their
officers took possession of the hotel. It was rather disquieting to
have to follow in the wake of this hungry army, but the innkeeper
dispelled our fears and gave us an abundant and well-cooked breakfast.
Soon after leaving San Rafael, a turn in the road revealed the two
great volcanoes, Agua and Fuego, towering dark and mysterious above us,
and seeming to bar our way. Soft billowy white clouds hovered over and
around their summits, now hiding them from view, and now revealing the
sharp edges of a crater, then sinking lower and wreathing their slopes
in a clinging drapery of mist, sometimes silvery and glowing in the
sunlight, then fading to a cold chalky whiteness. Where the afternoon
sun touched the beautiful sloping sides of the mountains one could see
the great deep furrows ploughed by the rains of centuries, and here
and there a yellow patch of maize and the solitary hut of a mountain
Indian.
The road led us down through passes wilder than we had seen before,
with rugged hillsides covered with forest trees and a cheerful
stream bubbling along the bottom of the narrow gully. We passed long
mule-trains toiling over the hills on their way to the capital, and
then the silence of the valleys was broken and the rocks echoed with
the loud harsh voices of the arrieros calling to their beasts by
every name in the calendar, with a refrain of "Macho, Mula arré, anda
pues"--a useless expenditure of breath and energy, which never seems to
affect the pace of the mule-train in the slightest degree, but which is
an unfailing and annoying habit of every Spanish-American muleteer. The
prettiest party we met on the road was a company of young girls clad
in embroidered huipils and bright-coloured enaguas (their upper and
lower garments), each with a big flat basket on her head, and a bare
well-shaped brown arm raised to support it. They fluttered up the hill
towards us laughing and chattering, their well-poised erect figures
swaying with a fine freedom of motion. Surely no prettier sight was
ever seen, with its sylvan surroundings and the sunlight glistening
through the trees.
On nearing Antigua the valley opened out, and we passed some
coffee-plantations, the trees loaded with berries in various stages of
ripening, and the beautiful leaves shining in the sunlight. Alternating
with the rows of coffee-bushes were rows of plantains and bananas,
their straight unbending stems supporting a wealth of mellowing fruit
and their glorious crowns of leaves giving the grateful shade which
the young coffee-tree requires. The open road then merged into a
roughly-paved street bordered by walls covered with flowering creepers,
and overtopped here and there by flaming heads of poinsettia, which
here grows almost a tree in size. Just before entering the half-ruined
city we passed a group of women filling their great earthen "tinajas"
with water at a picturesque old fountain, and lingering in the sweet
evening light to gossip with their neighbours and stare at us as we
passed.
Gorgonio led us to our hotel through long streets paved with
cobble-stones, and between high walls, which, of old, enclosed
well-kept convent gardens, now in ruins and unkempt, but still sweet
with the scent of orange-blossom and other flowers. Sometimes through
a gateway one caught a glimpse of palm-trees and bananas, bowers of
yellow and white roses, peach-trees in full bloom, great bunches of
crimson hibiscus, and over all a tangle of yellow jasmine and bignonia.
I must own that a great longing came over me to rest here in this
dilapidated old town, with its balmy delicious climate and lovely
skies, its exquisite views and charming wildernesses of gardens, and
here, far from the noise and bustle of steamships and railways, to live
the life of Arcady!