THE ROAD TO ZACAPA AND COPAN.
We would gladly have lingered on in the enjoyment of such pleasant
lazy days at Coban; but there were many miles to be traversed before
we could reach the ruins of Copan, a place so like in name and so
different in nature, the goal to which my eyes now turned longingly.
Moreover, the season was advancing, and the fervid rays of the sun at
midday proclaimed that summer was upon us.
Two days were passed in hunting up mozos to carry our baggage, and it
was only owing to the fear of the wrath of the Alcalde and the terrors
of the cárcel that they consented to make the journey. The Indians
seem to be in absolute servitude to the Alcalde, who orders them to
go when and where he pleases, and in our better moments we had pangs
of conscience at being accomplices in such slave-driving; but such
is the force of custom, that we often found ourselves fretting and
fuming because the mozos failed to make their appearance, and their
dilatoriness even drew down denunciation on their heads from the mouth
of the ever-patient Gorgonio. At length five or six sulky Indians
arrived, shouldered our luggage, and started off on the road to Santa
Cruz; after bidding our kind host farewell, we rode after them, and on
our well-fed and rested mules actually traversed the four leagues to
Santa Cruz in three hours. Beyond Santa Cruz the road ran high above
the windings of the Coban River, whose steep banks are richly clothed
with tree-ferns and flowering creepers. Towards evening we reached the
ugly little wind-swept hamlet of Tactic, the usual resting-place for
travellers between Coban and the port of Panzos. Travellers must often
fare badly, for one small inn, containing a single bedroom, was all the
accommodation the village appeared to afford; and but for Mr. Thomae's
forethought in telegraphing to secure this room for us, we might
have had to share the verandah for the night with native travellers,
arrieros, and dogs, and probably have gone supperless to bed.
At Tactic we left the cart-road leading to Panzos, which, after
surmounting the divide, strikes the source of the Rio Polochic, and
follows its banks to the eastward. Our course lay along a mule-track
which crosses the hills to the southward and connects Coban with
the capital. During our morning ride we passed along river-bottoms
and good grass land, where well-fed cattle gazed peacefully at us,
instead of running after us and glaring with hungry eyes as their less
fortunate brethren had done in the dry lands of the Altos. Leaving
these pleasant pastures of El Patál, famous for keeping green and
fresh throughout the dry season, we mounted a considerable hill and
arrived at the small desolate rancho of Santa Rosa. Here we breakfasted
in the state apartment of the house, a small windowless mud-floored
chamber which served its owners as dining-room, sleeping-room, and
oratory, where a dissipated-looking muscovy duck, three minute
puppies, and numerous flea-infested, half-starved dogs shared our
meal of tortillas and frijoles. After breakfast we clambered over
more broken hills to the summit of the range, the cumbre de Cachil;
and here again we passed suddenly beyond the limit of the Atlantic
rainfall which keeps the Alta Vera Paz so rich and green, and entered
a gloomy and desert-looking land. There was no relief to the monotony
of the sun-baked mountain-sides, saving the presence here and there
in the deeper hollows of a few trees, which in this dry season had
dropped their leaves and clothed themselves with a wealth of brilliant
blossom--yellow and white frangipani, the madre de cacao, with its soft
pink bloom, and another tree unknown to me with feathery white racemes
like an acacia.
From the southern edge of the range we saw the hot dried-up plain of
Salamá stretching before us, and the white-walled houses of the town
glistening in the afternoon sun. Although the road was here well graded
and in fair condition, it was a wearisome journey over the last of
the hills and down the long descent to the little rivulet which flows
along the edge of the plain. The banks of the stream were covered
with flowering shrubs and trees, which here near the water's edge
were clothed in green leaves, and we preferred to seek a lodging in a
wayside house, under their grateful shade, to riding on over the dusty
plain to the hot streets of the little town. Here we were destined to
remain for two whole days, refreshed by the last drops of an occasional
shower blown to us over the mountains, and solaced by the sweet song
of the sensontes, or mocking-birds, which abound in the neighbourhood,
whilst the country round was being searched for mozos and mules to
carry on our baggage. We were obliged to despatch Caralampio to Rabinal
to fetch the boxes which were to have been sent there from Chiché;
and, as we afterwards learnt, he had to extend his journey to Chiché
itself in order to retrieve them from the Alcalde, in whose hands they
had been left, and who had been faithless to his promises to forward
them; Caralampio did not overtake us until we had reached Zacapa. The
difficulty in engaging mules would have led to a longer delay had not
Mr. Harris, the owner of the Hacienda of San Gerónimo, come to our
rescue and also invited us to visit him. On our way to the hacienda
we passed through Salamá, a pretty little town with a bright stream
running through it, and a Plaza planted with cocoanut-palms; and then
we rode on across the dried-up plain, which, as we approached the
hacienda, lost its sun-baked aspect and became green with cane-fields
and coffee-plantations, the result of careful irrigation. At our
journey's end we received a cordial welcome from Mr. Harris and Mr.
Burnes.
The Hacienda of San Gerónimo has an interesting history, and has been
the cause of endless troubles and litigation. Originally it was a
convent of Dominican monks, and their fine enduring work can be seen
in the solid building of the house and the church attached to it, and
in the extensive irrigation works with tunnels and aqueducts almost
worthy of the Romans. Both situation and climate are delightful. It
stands about 3000 feet above the sea-level at the edge of the plain,
with well-wooded hills at the back of it, which run to join the lofty
range of the Sierra de las Minas. The thin burnt-up grass and cracked
earth, so characteristic of the plain of Salamá, disappear before
the skilfully devised irrigation, and one's eyes rest gratefully
on fields of waving green sugar-cane. Surely the monks had learnt
the art of choosing pleasant places and adding to their natural
charms, and it must have been a cruel wrench when they were compelled
to leave their home, their church, and their vineyards--for here
alone in Guatemala they had succeeded in cultivating the vine and
producing a wine which was acceptable to their countrymen. After the
withdrawal of the Dominicans in about the year 1845 the estate was
bought by an Englishman of the name of Bennett, whose representatives
now own it; and although the vine has given way to the sugar-cane,
and the reputation of its wine is a thing of the past, the "Puro de
San Gerónimo," as the aguardiente now made here is called, is famed
throughout the length and breadth of the Republic.
The forty-six thousand acres over which the property extends contains
mountain, forest, and plain, and a splendid supply of running-water.
A little town of Indian and Negro labourers and attendants near the
convent walls was doubtless governed on the paternal system so dear to
the monks, who in the old days brooked little interference from the
secular arm. Probably the English proprietor reaped the benefit from
this state of affairs, and for some years he had obedient workmen and
the estate yielded large profits. Then followed disputes amongst his
heirs, changes of management, and law-suits. Meanwhile the serfs of the
monkish rule were beginning to learn and to abuse their independence;
squabbles arose between town and hacienda, and a feud gradually sprang
up which has never died out. But quite lately the crisis became
acute; Indians and half-castes had squatted in the outlying portions
of the property and played havoc with timber and game, incendiary
fires were of constant occurrence, irrigation ditches were damaged
and cattle mutilated; finally, a mob from the town wantonly burned
down the sugar-mill and attacked the overseer in charge. When matters
reached this stage the proprietors placed their case in the hands of
the English Minister at Guatemala, and after some negotiation the
Government (who knew that its own officials in the town had aided and
abetted in the attacks) was induced to settle the question by turning
the squatters out of the land and paying an indemnity of $14,000 to
the owners, and by purchasing from them a part of the estate on which
to settle some of the townspeople; whilst the owners on their part,
for certain considerations, ceded to the townspeople the church--one
of the possessions mostly fought over, although its use for religious
services had never been interfered with--and all town land and houses.
During the riots one of the managers of the estate lost a finger, and a
townsman who was caught in the act of mutilating cattle was shot dead.
We were assigned a monk's rooms opening into a gallery in that part of
the convent said to be haunted by ghosts; but no unearthly visitors
molested us. The room was windowless, and light was admitted by opening
the upper half of the door, when we gained a lovely view over the
plain and the rolling hills to the distant purple mountains. In the
foreground were waving green cornfields, coffee-bushes, and bananas,
and immediately below us was a garden filled with orange-trees laden
with fruit and blossom. The softest of summer breezes wafted up to us
the scent of the flowers, and the tinkle of the fountain filled the air
with a gentle murmur. Next morning we wandered round the small town and
visited some of the distilleries for which it is famous; for at the
hacienda itself no distillation is done, only a "panela" or low-grade
sugar is made, which is sold to the owners of the small distilleries,
and from this panela it is that the Puro de San Gerónimo is made. As we
passed through the streets we could not help observing what a strong
strain of Negro blood there was amongst the people; and it is possibly
this mixture of races which has made the townspeople so difficult to
deal with, for in all the disputes between town and hacienda there
seems to have been an assertion and initiative on the part of the
people unlike the usual passive stubbornness of the pure-blooded Indian.
Our haste to reach Copan obliged us to decline the pressing invitation
of our hosts to prolong our stay, but rather to accept with gratitude
their offer of mules and an arriero for the journey to Zacapa, about
sixty-three miles distant. We set out next day in the fresh coolness of
the early morning, and after a charming ride up a wooded mountain-side
we descended some two thousand feet to a hot valley, where we halted
for lunch. Indeed, this day our elevations changed rapidly, for in
the afternoon we again rose to a height of over four thousand five
hundred feet, and by nightfall had descended again a thousand feet to
the little town of Tocoy or Morazan (as it is now called), with its
palm-leaf roofed houses, cocoanut-trees, and tropical climate. The most
agreeable shelter to be found in this part of the country is in the
village school-house, and the reception under its roof depends on the
goodwill of the schoolmaster whose house it is. The school-houses are
all much alike, with walls of adobe, a roof of thatch or coarse red
tiles, and a mud floor; and the inventory of furniture includes a few
rough wooden benches, a table, a blackboard, and sometimes a rickety
chair.
The schoolmaster at Morazan most kindly put the large room at our
disposal, reserving for himself an inner apartment with no exit to
the outside. As the pleasures of privacy are but feebly appreciated
by a Guatemalteco, the idea of my objecting to his passing at any
hour through what had become my bedroom never occurred to him until
Gorgonio, with blandest voice and most courtly manner, suggested that
the señora was "muy distinguida," and might be "muy molestada" by
the intrusion. Kindly taking the hint, the pedagogue closed the door
between the rooms, and made his own exits and entrances by climbing
through a window. As the sun set, a splendid full moon rose over the
town, hiding all its defects and beautifying our surroundings with the
magic of its light. A warm breeze stirred the feathery leaves of the
cocoanut-palms, gently wafting them together in a clinging embrace;
and, tired as we were, we lingered late in the plaza enjoying the
beauty of the tropical night--a beauty which no words of mine can
describe.
We were up next morning at dawn, and had to hurry through our packing
to make way for the school-children, who thronged in almost as soon
as the sun rose. Our day's journey lay across dry sandy plains and
a gently undulating country, where nature had conspicuously adapted
the vegetation to its environment, for not even the hungriest animal
would have dared to face the armour of pines and prickles which both
on shrubs and trees guarded the precious green leaves. The stunted
acacias, now leafless from the drought, bristled with huge hollow
thorns, affording secure houses for the ants; and almost every one
of these thorns which I examined was bored at the base with a small
round hole, through which the ants ran in and out. Amongst these
thorn-protected branches the wasps, too, build their delicate paper
nests, safe from the attack of any insect-feeding bird. There was
one tree with pale green leaves and apple-like fruit which was
particularly noticeable, as the hard spines, some of them over 2
inches long, were arranged symmetrically in rosettes over both trunk
and branches. As a rule the trees were but sparsely scattered over the
plain, forming only here and there clumps and small thickets, where
perchance the yellow and red bottle-brush flowers or the purple masses
of a flowering creeper would catch the eye.
The redeeming feature in the landscape was the beauty of the
lignum-vitæ trees, covered even in this dry season with green leaves
and with clusters of purple blossom. But if the vegetation was for
the most part stunted and unattractive, both interest and colour were
supplied by the birds, for we were riding through a veritable aviary,
and small bright-plumaged birds were so numerous that at times the bare
branches appeared flushed into flowering sprays. The sensontes poured
forth volumes of liquid sound from every thicket; sweet-voiced orioles
arranged themselves into golden bunches; saucy blue jays, and their
still more impudent cousins, the crested grey jays, circled noisily
around us and perched on branches almost within reach of our hands, and
chattered at one another as though they were discussing the propriety
of allowing us to pass. Green and yellow flycatchers flew from their
perches, and made erratic sweeps in the air in chase of unwary insects.
Now and again one caught sight of a stupid-looking mot-mot with lovely
blue and green plumage, swinging his queer tail-feathers from side to
side in uneasy movement. Tiny iridescent humming-birds flitted across
our path, hovered for a moment over a flower, and then darted out of
sight, and numerous wrens not much larger than the humming-birds could
be seen slipping and sliding through the thorny hedges and fences.
Large flocks of the friendly blackbirds, with unmanageably long tails,
whose gregarious movements we had so often watched in the plazas and
patios, gossiped together vociferously, and red-headed woodpeckers
tapped loudly against the tree-trunks. The pretty little ground-doves,
whose plaintive cooing notes contrasted pleasantly with the strident
screams of the parrots and the incessant chatter of the jays, ran along
the path in search of food, and would not take to flight until our
mules were almost over them.
I was told to keep a sharp look out for the ground-cuckoos, and can
conscientiously say that I saw one; but as he leapt out of one low
bush, raced across the path and disappeared like a flash of lightning
in the next shelter of undergrowth, and as all the others we met
with on our journey behaved in precisely the same way, I have only a
very sketchy idea of their appearance. I should like to be able to
describe in words the beauty of the flight of the flocks of parrots
and parroquets as they swept overhead, their brilliant plumage dashing
like emeralds in the sunlight, or the stately sailing far up in the
soft blue sky of the eager-eyed zopilote, and the fine downward swoop
which he makes to secure his prey; however, words cannot do justice
to the charms of tropical bird-life, which must be seen to be fully
appreciated, but a ride in such an aviary as we passed through this day
is an experience not easily forgotten.
Late in the afternoon we again approached the banks of the Motagua, no
longer the babbling brook we had crossed near its source, but a swiftly
flowing river which, shrunken as it was by the summer drought, was not
less than 150 yards in width, and a formidable stream for our laden
mules to ford. However, cross it we must, so the faithful Gorgonio led
the way and the baggage-mules followed, their loads only just clearing
the water, which swirled up alarmingly near to them at every step. We
brought up the rear, our beasts splashing in and struggling to keep up
against the current, which threatened to carry my little mule off her
feet. In midstream I was forced to curl up on my saddle, risking the
chance of a serious fall, in my efforts to keep dry; and I was glad
enough to feel the water shallowing again and to reach the opposite
bank without mishap.
A ride of a few miles brought us to the town of El Jícaro, where we
had intended to pass the night, but no lodging could be found as the
town was in fiesta, and the Jefe of Zacapa and his staff had arrived
on an official visit; so we journeyed on about a league to another
settlement, where we hoped to find a hospitable school-house. But here
a disappointment awaited us, for the school-house was locked up, and
the schoolmaster had ridden off to do honour to the Jefe at El Jícaro
and had taken the key with him. Such shelter as the verandah afforded
appeared to be all the accommodation we should find that night; so we
set up our beds on the undulating mud floor and were hanging up rugs
and cloaks to shield them from the gaze of passers by, when a skeleton
of a horse came in sight stumbling along under the load of two riders
whose bodies swayed first in one direction, then in the other, and must
have been saved from a heavy fall only by the intervention of that
special providence which seems to guard the movements of drunken men.
In front of the school-house the poor horse stopped short and both his
riders promptly fell to the ground. As soon as they had struggled to
their feet again they gazed in a dazed way at us and our mountains of
baggage piled up in the verandah, and one of them muttered sulkily "es
mi casa," but added more politely, as key in hand he made an erratic
dive at the lock of the door, "No se molesten los señores." There was
no doubt left that this was our host, and we immediately urged on him
the propriety of giving up his house to us for the night; but either
our request did not penetrate his dull brain or it did not suit his
views, for he remained obdurate, although he stated his intention
of returning to El Jícaro to make a night of it. For half an hour my
husband and Gorgonio persisted in the discouraging task of arguing with
a drunken man, and I could hear Gorgonio repeating to him his favourite
phrases that the Señora was "muy distinguida" and "muy delicada" and
very much averse to sleeping in a verandah; but it made no impression
on him, and everyone's patience was exhausted when by some lucky
stratagem my husband managed to get possession of the key, and the
schoolmaster was too muddle-headed to demand it back again. It was a
happy moment for us, but a sad one for the poor horse, for the two
drunken men managed to scramble on his back again and set off for El
Jícaro. The road was monotonously straight, and there was a brilliant
moon overhead, but long after we were comfortably in bed we heard them
shouting as they passed and repassed the house in their efforts to find
the right way.
The night was still and sultry and we were up at dawn and got off as
soon as possible, but the morning air had no freshness in it and the
sun seemed to assert its full power from the moment it showed above the
horizon. Our road lay through a parched and waterless land. Here and
there were dotted the wretched tumble-down cabins of the miserable,
sallow-faced, fever-stricken half-castes, who must find it hard enough
to make a living. Indeed, in contrast with that of these poor people,
the condition of the half-caste population we had met with in other
parts of the country was one of riches and thrift.
After riding for about four leagues we were thoroughly baked through
and were glad to find shelter from the sun in the verandah of the only
respectable-looking house in the little village of La Reforma. The
people of the house were kind and attentive and gave us such food as
they had, but could not accommodate us with a room, nor could Gorgonio
find food enough for the mules. As soon as the sun sank low in the west
we set out again to cross the waterless plain, the Llano de la Fragua,
a journey best made by night, for the track is even more shadeless
than that we had just traversed, and the arid ground supports little
vegetation but cacti and euphorbiæ and scrubby prickly bushes, which
vie with one another in ugliness. The sun set in a blaze of glory and
we bid him farewell with a sense of relief. Saving the starlight the
night was dark, but fortunately the road was broad and well marked by
hedges of vicious-looking organ-pipe cactus. We were favoured with a
breeze increasing in freshness as the night drew on, and our mules made
good time over the plain, so that by 9 o'clock we had reached the river
which runs within a mile of the town. Just at this moment the moon rose
and in the half-light the stream looked black and formidable, and our
men hesitated and began to discuss the situation, as none of them knew
the depth of the water; but the ever-ready Gorgonio pulled off some
of his clothes, and soon put our doubts at rest by wading across and
shouting back to us that the water was no more than breast high. My
mule gave me a moment's anxiety during the crossing by floundering into
a hole, but she soon pulled herself together and scrambled into shallow
water.
Ten minutes' ride brought us to the town of Zacapa, and the so-called
"Hotel," where we were forced to spend several days in heat, dirt, and
discomfort. It was a very poor house, and one very scantily furnished
room had to serve us for all purposes. Our host appeared to devote
the whole of his energy to imbibing aguardiente and loafing, whilst
his wife, a kindly faced mestiza, did the cooking, and always looked
hot and overworked. Two of the children, Candelaria and Felicita,
aged eight and ten years, did most of the housework, and took care
of several younger members of the family (including an ever-crying
baby), who sprawled about in the dust and dirt of the patio all day
long, and at night the whole family slept side by side on the floor
of the corridor. Candelaria and Felicita, in addition to their other
duties, were told off to wait on us; and remarkably pleasant and bright
little creatures they proved to be, but amazingly dirty. One day I
remonstrated with them and delivered a lecture on cleanliness, which
was greeted with loud applause and shouts of laughter, but my advice as
to the use of soap and water was never followed.
As the hotel was not a bad example of a middle-class house in the
country towns I will endeavour to describe it. Looked at from the
street it showed a flat white-washed wall pierced by two heavily-barred
windows, and a large doorway fitted with heavy double wooden doors
which when thrown open would permit the passage of laden mules through
the house into the patio. There were rooms opening into a verandah or
corridor on two sides of the patio, the other sides being enclosed
by high walls. The two front rooms were used as guest rooms, one of
the side rooms was the patrona's bedroom, and the other served as a
kitchen. In the back wall was a doorway leading to a mule-shed and
stable-yard, also enclosed by high walls. The house was well supplied
with water by a pipe, from which a thin stream continually flowed into
a masonry tank or "pila" built against the back wall of the patio. When
such a house is being built the first operation is to set into the
ground, about twelve feet apart in the line of the projected walls,
a number of roughly dressed wooden posts with forked tops; on these
are laid equally rough wall-plates to which tie-beams and rafters are
fixed, and the whole framework is then lashed together with natural
lianes or strips of a bark called "capulin"; the tile roof, which
towards the patio extends across the corridor, is then put on, and not
until this is finished are the walls of adobe or talpetate (sun-dried
mud) commenced and carried up to the eaves, almost imbedding the
upright posts on the inside. Last of all, partitions are run up to
separate the rooms, which are roughly ceiled with reeds or canes lashed
across the tie-beams. The matter of brick or mud floor and the amount
of plaster laid on the walls depends on the wealth of the householder;
but even a poorly-built house, such as our hotel, will show a good coat
of plaster and blue or white wash to the street.
Curiously enough, it is from the plasterers that one has the best
chance of buying the highly polished prehistoric stone axes, "piedras
de rayo" (lightning stones), as they call them, firmly believing them
to be of the nature of thunderbolts; for they collect them as useful
tools with which to smooth down and give a burnished surface to the
plaster.
In some of the houses there are no windows giving on the street, all
the light for the rooms coming through the door opening onto the patio.
When the windows do open towards the street they rise above heavy
projecting sills, into which the bars of the iron reja are fixed. Here,
as in old Spain,--
"Las ventanas en las calles son muy peligrosas
Para madres que tienen hijas hermosas,"
for it is between the bars of the reja that most of the lovemaking is
carried on. All the windows are fitted with thick wooden shutters, and
it is only in the larger towns that glass casements have come into use.
We were consumed with impatience to get out of the heat and dirt of
Zacapa; but even after we had come to an arrangement with an arriero to
carry our additional luggage he kept on finding pretexts for delay, and
it was not until the 28th February that we set out for Copan, despite
the well-intentioned warnings of two young Americans, newly arrived in
the country, who had shared the discomforts of the hotel with us and
told us alarming stories of the dangers of travelling in Honduras since
the outbreak of the most recent revolution.
Indian cargadores are not an institution in this part of the country,
and in consequence our pack-train had been increased to the number of
twenty-five mules. Those under the charge of Santos, carrying our own
pack-saddles and boxes, went well, as they had done throughout the
journey; but the hirelings driven by a loud-voiced and exceedingly
profane arriero, caused incessant delays. Something was always
going wrong with the badly-adjusted cargos, and the clumsy native
pack-saddles galled the backs of the poor beasts, which were already
marked with a hundred scars; but the sight of their raw wounds failed
to awaken the sympathy of the arriero, who goaded them on with a stick
and yells of "arré!" "arriba!" followed by a burst of expletives,
throughout the sultry uncomfortable day. The track was of the worst
description. A long drought had parched all colour from the hills, and
the fringe of vegetation along the banks of the Copan River was the
only green thing to be seen. The path followed the winding of this
stream for a long distance, often high above it, then crossing it,
again rising and winding along narrow ledges, turning sharp corners and
revealing fine bits of landscape which would have been beautiful in a
less parched condition. Before sunset we reached our camping-ground for
the night, a spot named La Laguna; but there was no lagoon there, only
a clearing by the roadside, and the nearest water was half a league
distant.
It was a stifling night and we hailed the dawn with pleasure and set
off again as soon as the tent could be packed and the twenty-five mules
loaded. A short ride brought us again to the Copan River; but as the
ford was too deep for the cargo-mules we parted company, leaving them
to follow a track along the right bank, whilst we rode through the
stream, barely escaping a wetting, and took a short cut by the villages
of Jocotan and Comitan, which stand about a mile apart. To judge from
the size of the churches, these two villages must at one time have been
important towns: now they are squalid, half-deserted places, where pigs
and goats alone seem to flourish, and the huge dilapidated churches
would be capable of holding not only the whole of the sallow-faced,
dyspeptic-looking population, but nearly all the houses as well. At
Comitan, the last village before reaching the Honduras frontier, the
Alcalde stopped us and demanded Gorgonio's passport. This document was
produced, but he was nevertheless taken to the Cabildo, where it was
copied and viséd before he, as a citizen, was allowed to leave his own
country. No one being in the least interested in us we rode on, leaving
Gorgonio to follow when all the formalities had been gone through.
For the rest of the day we passed through a pleasant green country,
well watered and well wooded, and late in the afternoon rejoined our
pack-train, and reached the little settlement of Cachapa, where,
relying on the friendly shelter of the school-house, we drew up before
its mud walls, and proceeded to stack our boxes in the verandah,
whilst Gorgonio went off to hunt up the schoolmaster and get the key
of the door. He soon came back in company with the Indian Alcalde, to
tell us that the schoolmaster had gone away for a few days; and it
seemed as though we were about partly to repeat our experience at the
school-house at Jícaro, with the difference that this time, according
to the Alcalde, it was the schoolmaster who was "muy delicado" and
would greatly resent such an intrusion into his house. The schoolmaster
had evidently established himself as a power in the village, for
the Alcalde was immovable, and to all our united supplications that
he should give up the key merely replied that "it was more than his
place was worth." The case appeared hopeless, when, oddly enough, the
situation was changed suddenly by our finding among our keys one which
unlocked the padlock of the academy of Cachapa. I am afraid we crowed
over the Alcalde, who looked terribly depressed, but continued to deny
us admittance, and loyally obeyed the master's orders, protesting to
the last that the maestro was "muy delicado"; but victory was on our
side, and I think the heart of the Alcalde was softened by the sight
of my husband who lay on the ground almost speechless with headache:
so a treaty of peace was made, in which we solemnly promised to make
good any damage and generally to make matters straight with the
schoolmaster, should he return. I may add that this well-guarded house
in no way differed from other school-houses, except that the furniture
consisted of two rough benches only, and the walls were guiltless of
whitewash.
Our next day's journey was through a pleasant country with long
stretches of pine-wood, and it was altogether delightful. I must own
that my preconceived notions of the Tropics were being a good deal
upset; it had surprised me to find pine-trees growing throughout the
Altos, for the pine had always been associated in my mind with Norway
and California, and I had looked upon it as an essentially northern
tree; to-day I learnt that it needs a tropical sun to bring out all
the fragrance of its scent. Late in the afternoon we came to the edge
of the hills and looked down on the little plain of Copan, which was
closed in again on the far side by ranges of pine-clad hills. In the
middle of the plain on the right bank of the winding stream stands a
grove of tall forest trees covering the principal part of the ruins
which we had journeyed so far to see. We soon scrambled down the last
mile of the rugged path and rode on into the modern village of Copan--a
small collection of red-tiled dirty hovels grouped round a plaza which
was glorified by the presence of a fine stone altar, covered with the
fantastic carving in which the ancient Mayas excelled, and we drew
rein before the hut occupied by the Niña Chica, an old friend of my
husband's and the presiding genius of the village.
The arrival of our party had awakened the village from its siesta,
and we were soon the centre of an admiring group of rag-clad men and
women and bright-eyed and wholly unclad children. As soon as the Niña
Chica emerged from her hut and recognised Don Alfredo she expressed her
delight in the most flattering terms, throwing her arms round him, as
he sat in the saddle, in a fond embrace. In her youth the Niña Chica
must have been a beauty, and even now in her old age her wrinkled
face has a fine look, and she carries herself with an imperious
air, in queer contrast to the dirt of her dress and the squalor of
her surroundings. She seemed determined to take complete possession
of my husband, and began to pour into his ears, with the greatest
volubility and wit, the gossip of the village and the history of all
that had happened during the eight years that had passed since his last
visit. It required some tact and skill to disengage ourselves from
the attentions of this dirty but attractive old lady, and it was only
achieved after many promises to visit her again soon and talk it all
over.
After crossing the small stream, the laundry of Copan, we rode on
for half a mile, part of the way through a plantation of sugar-cane,
to a stone wall which has lately been built round the ruins. Passing
through a gateway we entered an enchanting grove of grand old trees
which cast their shade over the remains of temples, monoliths, and
altars. At last we had arrived and were in the actual presence of the
strange stone monuments whose reproductions in plaster I knew so well.
The bridle-path led over the steep side of a foundation mound into the
Western Court, where I found myself face to face with an old friend,
who has stood on guard for centuries at the foot of a great stairway.
The stately grove of giant tropical trees was of itself strangely
impressive, and the glimpses of the grim figures on the monoliths and
the strange scrolls and grotesque ornament on the scattered fragments
of stone, amongst which we picked our way, added a sense of unreality
which was bewildering. Since passing through that little gate in the
wall we seemed to have slipped back into a remote past and to be
treading the Valhalla of gods and heroes whose patient followers and
worshippers had raised monuments which were to outlast the ages, where
the spirits of the mighty dead might still haunt the scene of their
ancient glory.
It was a distinct effort to return to commonplace things, and to call
to mind the fact that the afternoon was far advanced and that I had
duties to perform as chief cook and housekeeper. In the middle of the
plaza stood the house we were to occupy, an airy structure something
like a large bird-cage, which had been built by a party of Americans
who for the last two years had been at work in the ruins. The walls
were made of rough sticks placed side by side, about an inch apart,
and bound together with lianes; the roof was thatched with sugar-cane
leaves, one large opening in the wall served as doorway, and windows
were certainly not needed, as every breath of air sighed through the
gaping walls. One end of the house had been screened off and the walls
thatched to the ground so as to form a dark room for photography. Our
American friends had left a convenient shed and cooking-place near the
house, and I soon had supper ready, and then we settled ourselves for
the night.