THE LAKE OF ATITLAN.
Our tent was pitched so close to the precipice that even from my bed
I had a grand view over the lake, and could watch the black masses
of the volcanoes looming clear cut and solemn in the moonlight, or
changing from black to grey in the early dawn; then a rosy flush would
touch the peak of Atitlan and the light creep down its side, revealing
for a brief half-hour every detail of cinder ridge and chasm on its
scarred and wounded slopes, until with a sudden burst of glory the
sun rose above the eastern hills to strike the mirror-like surface of
the lake and flood the world with warmth and dazzling light. Every
peak and mountain-ridge now stood out clear and sharp against the
morning sky, and only in the shadow of the hills would a fleecy mist
hang over the surface of the lake far beneath us; then, almost before
the sun had power to drink up these lees of the night, from the deep
gap between the hills to the south a finger of white cloud, borne up
from the seaward slope, would creep round the peak of Atitlan only to
be dissipated in the cooler air; but finger followed finger, and the
mysterious hand never lost its grasp until, about noon, great billowy
clouds rolled up through the gap and the outpost was fairly captured,
although the crater itself often stood out clear above the cloudy
belt. It was not, however, until the sun began to lose its power that
the real attack commenced, and the second column deployed through
the gap on the southern flank of San Pedro, and then from 5 o'clock
until dark there followed a scene which no pen and no brush could
adequately portray. The clouds seemed to be bewitched: they came down
on us in alternate black and sunlit masses, terrible in their majesty;
then rolled aside to show us all the beauty of a sunset sky, tints of
violet that shaded into pink, and pink that melted into the clearest
blue, whilst far away beyond the mountains seaward rolled vast billowy
masses, first red and yellow, and then pink, fading to the softest
green. Again and again would the clouds roll down upon us, the mist
at times so thick that we could not see beyond a hundred yards; then
just as quickly it would roll away and reveal a completely new phase
of this ever-shifting scene of beauty. It is a poor simile, but I can
compare it to nothing but the falling and rising gauzes of a Christmas
transformation scene, with a wealth of colour and effect that Covent
Garden may despair of ever attaining. As the sun sank behind San
Pedro, all turned again to dark and angry purple, with contrasts and
reflections like the sheen of a shot silk. Slowly the mists melted away
with the fading daylight, Venus hung for a while like a splendid jewel
in the air, and the mountains turned again to shadowy masses outlined
against a crystal sky.
The saucy blue jays had ceased to chatter before the sun went down; but
we were not left in silence, for as the moon, then at its full, rose
above the eastern hills the whip-poor-will began its plaintive cry,
the crickets chirped, bats swooped down on us, fireflies hovered among
the trees, and dozens of frogs emerging from their hiding-places took
possession of our pool with loud croaks of satisfaction.
Our days were spent in rides and rambles in the neighbourhood; but we
always tried to get home early, so as to finish our dinner comfortably
and take our seats in good time for a view of the never-failing cloud
display. The air was fresh and exhilarating, although the heat at noon
was that of an August day at home; but as evening came on we were
always glad of extra wraps, and at night we slept under our heaviest
blankets.
All day long travellers would pass along the road, which ran within a
few feet of our tent. Sometimes it would be a party of Indian traders
or carriers, their cacastes heavily laden with earthen cooking-pots or
other merchandise, or carrying on their backs bulky bundles of rugs
or mats. A mozo laden with a freight of "Tinajas" (as the large-sized
water-jars are called) is indeed a curious sight, for the tinajas are
not heavy, and he manages to carry an extraordinary number of them
skilfully tied on to the outside of his cacaste, so that a back view
shows only a mountain of crockery supported by two small mahogany
coloured legs, and suggests a sort of human caddis-worm. Then a party
of Ladinos would come by on mule-back, the women, who were almost
always smoking cigarettes, sitting on the offside of their mules and
wearing long flowing riding-skirts and men's straw hats tied under
the chin with a pocket-handkerchief, the men as often as not dressed
in dilapidated uniforms with the inevitable bath-towel thrown over
the shoulders. Often they would call out to me to know what I could
give them for breakfast, or what we had to sell, for it never entered
their heads that we were camping-out for amusement, and our answers
were received with visible want of faith. Once a party of men passed
by carrying on their backs, or slung on poles between them, the whole
paraphernalia of a village fiesta--images, wooden trestles, platforms,
and arches studded with tin candle-sockets and adorned with tawdry
decorations and fringed edges of coloured paper which fluttered in the
wind.
The Indians would put down their loads and stop to rest under the shade
of the trees and ask permission to fill their water-jars from the
little pool as civilly as though we were its lawful possessors. Then
they would light their fires by the roadside to heat their coffee and
toast tortillas in the ashes. Sometimes they would pass the night
close by our camp, smoking and chatting for awhile after the evening
meal, and then roll themselves in their blankets to enjoy a well-earned
sleep.
[Illustration: NOONDAY REST.]
[Illustration: SUNSET, THE LAKE OF ATITLAN.]
We made many attempts to photograph the picturesque groups, but seldom
with much success, as the sitters were so restless and shy under the
ordeal that they would hide their faces or move away as soon as the
camera was in position, and they could only be captured by a chance
snapshot. But here, as everywhere, there were exceptions to a rule,
for two of our Indian visitors were so far advanced in civilization
that as soon as they caught sight of the camera they promptly demanded
a "medio" apiece for the privilege of taking their portraits, and
insisted on payment in advance; but they seemed almost as quickly to
repent of their bargain, and could only be induced to sit uneasily for
a moment, and hastily made off before a second plate could be exposed.
The Indians' objection to photography is due to the fear of "brujeria,"
or witchcraft, in which they are firm believers; and after all a medio
was small pay for the risk they ran of being looked at naked through
their clothes or having their insides filled full of snakes.
Sometimes we were awakened before dawn by the distant sound of a boy's
shrill voice chanting a few bars of a melody, which was caught up by
a chorus of men's voices a fifth lower, and repeated again and again
as the sound rapidly approached our tent, and then died away in the
distance. It was the morning hymn of a company of Indian pilgrims
returning from the shrine of the Black Christ at Esquipulas, which
lies distant many days' journey towards the frontier of Honduras. The
great festival of the year is held in January, and then for a week
or more the usually half-deserted little town of Esquipulas swarms
with pilgrims. In old days its fame was so great that it attracted
worshippers all the way from Mexico and Panama, and the fair which
was carried on at the same time was the great commercial event of
the year. Thither the English merchants from Belize brought their
wares and carried on what was practically the whole of the foreign
business of Honduras, Salvador, and Guatemala, taking in exchange the
native-grown indigo. For some years the working of the neighbouring
mines of Alotepeque helped to keep up business, but now steamships and
railways have so changed the course of trade that the fair is of not
more than local importance. The custom-loving Indian will, however,
still cheerfully make a month's journey, cacaste on back, to pay his
adoration to the Black Christ, and the huge church is still kept in
good repair, although not many years ago it was despoiled of its rich
treasure of gold and silver votive offerings by a troop of Guatemala
cavalry which had been sent to defend the frontier against an attack
from Salvador, and repaid itself for its patriotic services by looting
one of its own churches on the way home. The Ladino troopers rode back
into the capital with handkerchiefs full of little golden arms and legs
tied to their saddle-bows, and freely distributed the spoil amongst
their friends and admirers, who thronged the streets to give them a
welcome home.
[Illustration: ESQUIPULAS.]
During this and the following week we met many companies of pilgrims
returning from Esquipulas to their villages laden with the goods
they had purchased, and with a bundle of rockets tied to each man's
cacaste, to be fired off in celebration of his safe return home. The
pilgrims will often stop to deck the roadside crosses with flowers,
branches, and green leaves, and to strew the ground around them with
fresh pine-needles, and every man will pluck a green branch from a
tree and strike his leg sharply with it, so as to ensure good health
on his journey. Sometimes the hill Indians when journeying down to the
plains will tie a small bundle of sticks together and deposit them by
the roadside, if possible near a hot spring, as a charm against fevers;
and every man on leaving his home will place a marked stone in a
certain position, or put one stone above another, as a test of his
wife's fidelity during his absence. If the stones are untouched on his
return he is satisfied; but many a poor woman must get an undeserved
thrashing, as the mischievous Ladino boys delight in moving the stones
when they can find them, thus ensuring a family squabble.
[Illustration: VOLCANO OF ATITLAN.]
On Sunday, the 21st January, to my regret, we broke up our camp. Mr.
Gosling said good-bye to us the night before, and started on his return
journey to Guatemala before daylight; and we afterwards learned that he
rode and walked the whole sixty miles of rough road in a day, arriving
at the legation about 10 o'clock in the evening, neither he nor his
mule any the worse for the long journey.
We sent on our pack-mules and luggage to the town of Panajachél to
await our arrival, and set out ourselves to visit the small village
of San Antonio, which lay three thousand feet below us on the border
of the lake. The shortest way to the village is by a precipitous path
down the cliff, used daily by the Indians, but altogether impossible
for mules; so we packed what we needed for the night on the backs of
some Indians and sent them off by this route. We rode back ourselves
through Godines, and then took the road which leads through the
great gap towards the sea-coast. It was a beautiful morning, and we
thoroughly enjoyed our ride through pine woods and past fields of maize
and flowering aniseed. The clouds had not yet rolled up, and we had a
splendid view through the gap to the rich lowlands of the Costa Grande.
About six miles from Godines we left the high road and turning sharply
to the right came in full view of the lake again. A solitary black
storm-cloud had gathered over the surface of the water and threatened
us with a drenching should it come over our way; but luckily we escaped
it, and its changing tints only added to the beauty of the scene.
The narrow path zigzagged down the hill, and was so steep that we
preferred to dismount and lead our mules until we reached the water's
edge; then a ride of a few miles over a path scraped out of the
hillside brought us in view of the little Indian town.
The walls of the queer-looking square houses are built of rough stones
held together by a framework of undressed sticks, and a grass thatch
covers the roof. Each house stands within a small enclosure formed by a
rough stone wall or a reed-fence, and some attempt has here and there
been made to plant these enclosures with flowers; but usually the hard
surface of the earth is swept bare. There are only two or three trees
in all the village, and as none of the Indian houses are plastered or
white-washed, the prevailing colour is a dusky brown of earth, rock,
and thatch, which renders all the more striking the striped huipils
of the women and the red-and-white handkerchiefs bound round the men's
heads.
[Illustration: SAN ANTONIO.]
We climbed up through the steep narrow lanes to the Cabildo, where we
proposed to pass the night, and found the verandah in front of the
building closely packed with Indian travellers and their cargoes. There
were only two rooms--one used as a prison, which was overcrowded with
delinquents, who stretched out their hands through the heavy barred
door and begged for alms; the other used as a "Sala Municipal," which
was both small and dirty: however, we were ready to make the best of it
as a lodging, when we were informed that, as the Secretario was away,
no one could give us leave to make use of it. Somewhat discouraged, we
wandered on, in search of a resting-place, past the church, roofless
from the shocks of many earthquakes, and arrived at the foot of a
high flight of steps, crooked and picturesque, at the top of which
stood the school-house. Here was our chance: we hunted up the Ladino
schoolmaster; Gorgonio and he were soon fast friends, and the room used
as a girl's school was placed entirely at our disposal. The room had
a mud floor and was furnished with a blackboard--very useful to hang
clothes on,--a table, and a few wooden benches. There were no windows,
and the door had to be kept wide open to admit light and air, greatly
to the delight of a few urchins who lingered about the steps and
furtively watched our movements.
[Illustration: SAN ANTONIO.]
The Ladino inhabitants of San Antonio are the schoolmaster, his wife
and children, the Secretario, and two women who keep the estanco or
grog-shop; otherwise the town is purely Indian and governed by an
Indian municipality. Until quite lately it was difficult of access by
land and almost isolated, but since the track along the lake-shore has
been improved it is found to be a convenient short cut from the Altos
to the coffee-fincas on the Costa Grande, and the sight of strangers
is no longer a novelty. Nevertheless we found the women and girls so
extremely shy that they ran away from us and from the camera, as though
the evil eye were on them.
After arranging our camp-beds and ordering our supper from the estanco
we strolled about the town to see the sights. Whilst we were enjoying
the lovely view and watching the changing lights upon the water, a
procession of Indians clad in their black sack-like garments came
towards us. It was headed by the alcalde with his staff of office,
who was followed by his alguacils and mayores, each carrying a long
white stick. They stopped at house after house, apparently giving
some directions to the inmates, and as they passed us the alcalde
civilly wished us "buenas noches"; then a little further on they
halted and an alguacil clambering up a wall stood on the top and in a
loud clear voice, which seemed to travel up the hillsides, called out
the instructions for the work to be put in hand on the morrow, and
repeated the Municipal orders for the week. After a moment's pause
he was answered by a voice far away in the distance, then by another
in an opposite quarter of the town, and when all was quiet again the
Indians ceremoniously bade one another good night and the procession
dispersed. This, we learnt, is the usual custom on a Sunday night, and
in the stillness of the fading daylight it was a curious and impressive
ceremony.
Next morning we were awakened by the arrival of the school-boys, whose
class-room was next door: each little fellow trotted up the steps
with a little bundle of wood faggots on his back, which he deposited
outside the door, and then took his seat on the wooden bench within.
They were the quaintest little creatures imaginable, dressed just like
their fathers; but their strange black garments were in indifferent
repair, and the red-and-white handkerchiefs round their heads looked
as though they might have been handed down from father to son. There
they sat on the bench as still as mice, with their thin black legs
dangling down, each one with a yellow-covered dog-eared school-book in
his hand, in which he buried his face when overcome with bashfulness
at the sight of us. About 7 o'clock the schoolmaster came in to call
the roll, and as each boy answered his name he shouldered his bundle
of faggots and demurely trotted off with it to the schoolmaster's
house and deposited it in the kitchen. Thus having done their duty
and given the schoolmaster his week's supply of firewood, they seated
themselves on the bench again, buried their faces in the yellow-covered
books, and never stirred for three whole hours! during which time the
schoolmaster sat outside the school-room and chatted to Gorgonio and
Santos. Perhaps after all the master's absence or presence did not make
much difference, for he owned to us that he could not speak the Indian
language, and his pupils knew no Spanish.
As we were in occupation of their school-room the girls were given a
holiday, and we saw them only at a distance, for they always took to
their heels on our approach.
There is a school-house in every village, and the Government really
seems to do its best to give the Indians some education, but the
difficulties are great. Sometimes it is the Indian parents who refuse
to send their children to school, fearing that if they learn to read
and write and speak Spanish they will be employed by the Cabildo at
a starvation salary and never find time to plant their milpas; at
other times it is the difficulty of finding competent and trustworthy
teachers. Indeed, I heard of one case in which it was not until the
schoolmaster had been some years in office that the Jefe Político
discovered that the man could neither read nor write. The Jefe was for
instant dismissal, but the Indian parents begged that the schoolmaster
might be allowed to retain his office, because he kept the children so
quiet all the morning, and their mothers could make the tortillas in
peace.
[Illustration: BOYS IN SCHOOL.]
The women of the town are very clean and tidy in their dress, and take
especial care of their hair: we saw numbers of them almost standing on
their heads in the shallow edge of the lake in their efforts to give
their hair a good washing, after which they dried and combed and oiled
it and braided it into long tails. It took much coaxing to induce the
group of mayores and alguacils on the next page to stand to the camera;
however, they at last consented. But when we tried to take a separate
portrait of the young man who is standing lowest on the step, really a
good-looking and graceful fellow, he blushed and wriggled and hid his
face like a shy school-girl, so, after spoiling a plate or two, the
attempt had to be abandoned.
[Illustration: AN INDIAN LOOM.]
All the garments worn both by men and women are of native manufacture,
and some, if not all, of them are woven in the town. The looms on
which the handkerchiefs and shawls are made are primitive in their
simplicity, and are just the same as those pictured in the aboriginal
Mexican manuscripts. My husband managed, after much discussion and
bargaining, to buy one with the still unfinished fabric on it, which is
now in the Museum of Archæology at Cambridge. A sketch of it is given
on this page as well as a copy of the drawing from the ancient Mexican
Codex. One end of the loom is usually tied to the post of the house,
and the other end steadied by a band round the woman's body. Custom
demands that the hollow reed or stick to which the warp is attached
should contain several round seeds or beads, which rattle up and down
as it is moved for the shuttle to pass. Whatever the origin of the
custom may be, one result of it is that you can always tell by the
noise when the women are busy at work.
[Illustration: A WOMAN WEAVING. (From the Codex Mendoza.)]
About noon we left the village and followed the rough path along the
border of the lake, sometimes scrambling over the steep headlands, at
others passing along the margin of the little sheltered bays,
where numberless coots and some few duck swam out at our approach from
amongst the scanty reeds and sought refuge in deep water. We passed on
our way the little village of Santa Catarina; but, to judge from the
canoes we saw drawn up on beach, water must be an accident in the life
of these Indians and not a natural element as it is with the red men of
the North.
[Illustration: INDIANS AT SAN ANTONIO.]
[Illustration: WATER CARRIERS, SAN ANTONIO.]
The canoes are roughly hollowed logs without shape or beauty, the
sides raised in height by planks fastened to the gunwale. The sterns
are cut off square, two solid projections from the original log being
left as handles by which the amorphous craft may be pushed off the
shore. There are two sorts of fish found in the lake--one a "mojarra"
(_Heros nigrofasciatus_) about the size of a sardine, and the other the
"triponcito" or "pepesca" (_Fundulus pachycephalus_), which is peculiar
to this lake, and does not exceed two and a half inches in length. I
was told that an attempt has been made to introduce a larger fish, but
so far it has not met with any success. The conditions may be adverse
to fish life, for the water is very cold and at only a short distance
from the shore it is said to be profoundly deep.
A ride of three leagues brought us to Panajachél, a little town
standing on a rich alluvial plain formed by a swift stream which issues
from a narrow cleft in the hills, and has spread out the earth in the
shape of an open fan until it forms a mile of frontage to the lake.
The stream is now somewhat diverted from its bed and is led away
through many channels to irrigate the vegetable gardens, orchards, and
coffee-plantations which cover the delta. But even with so many outlets
there are times during the wet season when the sudden increase in the
volume of water threatens the safety of the town, and we were told that
not many years ago an inundation caused great damage, washing away
some of the houses, and cutting off the townspeople from all outside
communication. There is nothing especially interesting in the town
itself; but its surroundings of lake and mountain, garden and orchard,
are charming, and the bright green of the trees seemed all the more
brilliant in contrast with the bareness of the surrounding hills, on
which so much of the timber has been ruthlessly destroyed.
As we found the Inn to be sufficiently comfortable we stayed for
several days to develop the photographs taken near Godines, and to
enjoy the fresh greenness of this sheltered nook, where the oranges
were in blossom and in fruit, the coffee was in full bearing, and the
branches of the jocote trees, although bare of leaves, were weighed
down with fruit which glistened red and yellow in the sunlight.
Outside the orchards beautiful flowering creepers and long streamers
of what looked to me like a feathery grey moss, called by the natives
"barbas de viejo"--which, I am told, is a "bromelia" and not a moss at
all,--almost smothered the forest trees, which here and there reared
their heads from the thickets; whilst orchids of many colours, and
other epiphytes with clusters of green-red leaves and splendid red and
purple flower-spikes, clung to every available branch.
The aguacates, or alligator-pears, grown here are celebrated throughout
the Republic, but the creamy delicacy of the flesh is beyond my powers
of description; and I can only say that I felt myself to be at last in
the land of the Swiss family Robinson, when I found a most delicious
salad with a perfect mayonnaise dressing slightly flavoured with
pistachio-nut hanging ready mixed in the form of a pear-shaped fruit
from the branches of a fair-sized tree. However, to the Indian the
chief glory of Panajachél is not its aguacates, but its onions, which
grow in luxuriant profusion, and which he carries in his cacaste to all
the markets of the Altos.
I was constantly regretting my inability to speak with the Indians
and learn more of their daily life. To an onlooker that of the women
seems hopelessly monotonous and devoid of any recreation or pleasure,
and one could only silently sympathize with them in the patient labour
of grinding maize for tortillas, and the never-ending task of washing
clothes at the fountain or at the river's edge.
[Illustration: PANAJACHÉL AND THE LAKE OF ATITLAN.]
Whilst we were at Panajachél a matter of especial interest presented
itself to us in the curious ceremonies of the Indian pilgrims returning
from Esquipulas. Our room looked out on the Plaza, which in the morning
always afforded a few picturesque groups of market-women, but was
almost deserted by noon; then, as evening approached, little companies
of pilgrims, bending under their burdens, filed into the town, and as
night fell the Plaza was lit up by numerous small fires, around which
the pilgrims gathered for their supper. This important meal ended,
they began their religious functions by laying down petates (mats) in
front of the cacastes, which had already been arranged in a line across
the Plaza. Then each man produced from his cargo a small wooden box,
usually glazed on one side, containing the image of a saint, and these
were arranged in a row against the cacastes, between lighted candles,
the place of honour in the middle being assigned to a box containing
a figure of the Black Christ. When these arrangements were completed,
the Indians, who were dressed in long black woollen garments, with long
white veils fastened to their black straw hats, prostrated themselves
in turn before each shrine, and crawled along from one to the other
on hands and knees, laying the forehead in the dust, offering up
their prayers to each saint and kissing the box which contained its
image. These acts of devotion were several times repeated, and then
grouping themselves on their knees before the shrine of the Black
Christ, and led by one of their number, who seemed to have some sort of
authority over them, they all chanted the quaint hymn we had so often
heard in the early watches of the morning. After singing for nearly
half an hour they withdrew to their fires, rolled themselves in their
blankets, and were soon fast asleep.
Luckily for us on one occasion this ceremony took place just before
dusk, and a hastily snatched-up camera secured the picture given below.
During the whole of our journey I saw no Indian ceremony more
picturesquely interesting than this which I have attempted to describe,
and none which more strongly impressed me with the feeling, which I
cannot attempt to explain, that I was witnessing a Pagan and not a
Christian ceremony. It has often been a matter of doubt, even to the
priests who have lived among them for many years, whether the Indians
really understand Christian doctrine; but they are ceremonious by
nature, and formality is congenial to them, so that the ritual and
functions of the Church of Rome (however little they may understand
their actual meaning) have now become as much a part of their daily
life as the carrying of burdens or cultivation of milpas.
[Illustration: PILGRIMS AT EVENING PRAYER.]