MY JOURNEY TO THE GULF COAST
The narrow-gauge railway that carried me away from Mexico City passed
close under the walls of Guadalupe. I had hoped to go straight on down
through the center of the country, on foot and perhaps sometimes on
horseback. Then I might have visited the pleasant old city of Cuernavaca
and the quaint little state capital of Oaxaca on the way to Tehuantepec.
Near Oaxaca, at Mitla, there are wonderful ruins of great buildings
which the Zapotec Indians of ancient times probably used for religious
and burial purposes. Mitla means “Place of the Dead.” I did not visit
Mitla or its neighborhood because just then civil war and bandits made
the region a bad one for the “gringo” who wished to get home again some
day. Instead, I took the railway down to the Gulf coast, intending to go
south on another line. After all, this would bring me to as many
interesting and historic scenes as the other route.
Soon we came to the famous pyramids of Teotihuacán looming above the
plain. No one knows just when or by whom these two great artificial
hills were built, but it was before the Toltecs came. The larger pyramid
had recently been cleared of the trees and bushes that had found root in
the soil deposited by winds over a long period of years. Cement-colored,
it rose in four terraces, with a low monument on the summit. Although it
has as much material in it as the great pyramid of Cheops in Egypt, this
Mexican pile does not look so imposing, because the proportions are
different. It is much larger at the base and not nearly so high.
[Illustration:
Underwood & Underwood
In the Hall of Mosaics at Mitla are marvelous relics of prehistoric
builders.
]
The train made a mighty curve to the northward in finding its way out of
the Valley of Mexico. I got off it in the famous little state of
Tlaxcala. You remember that Cortés was helped in the conquest of Mexico
by the Tlaxcalans, a tribe at enmity with the Aztecs. After his final
victory the people of Tlaxcala were given certain special privileges
because of their assistance. Their lords were baptized and required to
swear allegiance to the king of Spain, but they were left in command of
their domains. Even during viceroy days the Tlaxcalans were treated
better than the other Indian tribes.
[Illustration:
Underwood & Underwood
Pyramid of the Sun at San Juan Teotihuacán, seen across the maguey
fields from the Pyramid of the Moon.
]
[Illustration:
Underwood & Underwood
The low pyramids at San Juan Teotihuacán have given this region the
name “the Egypt of America.”
]
[Illustration:
Underwood & Underwood
Detail of the strange carving on one of the pyramids at San Juan
Teotihuacán.
]
Tlaxcala is the Rhode Island of Mexico, the tiniest of the twenty-eight
states. Its name means “Land of Corn.” The fact that it is almost
completely hedged in by mountains was both a hindrance and a help to
Cortés in his conquest of Mexico. With the two great volcanoes of
Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl gazing down upon it, Tlaxcala is one of
the most striking regions in Mexico. However, one might think it had
been punished at last for joining the white invaders against the rest of
the Indians. It is really rather miserable, by no means prosperous.
Although the capital of a state, Tlaxcala town has only about three
thousand inhabitants. It is several miles from the railway, being
connected with the station and the outer world by a few wretched mule
cars. I decided it would be more fun to walk than to ride. Tlaxcala is
several hundred feet higher than Mexico City, and it is cold and dreary
and almost treeless. Its ancient church of San Francisco is said to be
the oldest structure in North America built for Christian worship. Many
of its stone buildings are mere ruins, where grass and flowers grow as
they do among the cobblestones of the streets. Yet Tlaxcala has a
complete state government, with all the customary officials and features
of a capital.
The “City of the Angels”
Puebla, the next state capital on the way to the coast, is called the
“City of the Angels.” There was no city at this place when the Spaniards
came. A legend says that angels appeared to a priest in a dream and
helped him lay out the city they said should be built there. But while
it is cleaner and in some other ways better than most Mexican cities,
Puebla did not look exactly angelic. It is a city of churches, many of
them having domes decorated with the bright-colored tiles that are a
Puebla specialty. Some have carvings, paintings, and other precious
things that compare with the possessions of old European churches.
Puebla is also an important manufacturing city, producing much flour,
soap, glass, paper, and cheap pottery.
[Illustration:
The marketplace of Tlaxcala has a dozen or more buildings to shelter
the sellers. As the weather is never cold, walls are not needed.
]
Some of the old houses of Puebla have their fronts covered with tile
mosaics of birds, animals, and saints. Such buildings are all low, so
that a view across the city shows little besides flat roofs and church
domes. Most of the outer walls are cream white, but some are tinted more
gayly. Puebla resembles Tlaxcala in being even colder than Mexico City
and in being watched over by “Popo” and the “White Woman.” Far away to
the west stands Orizaba, highest peak in Mexico. There was music in the
_plaza_ that evening, but the air was so chilly that I soon hurried back
to my hotel. Even there the only warm place was in bed. People in Puebla
do not build fires for comfort, but merely heat up a little charcoal to
cook with.
[Illustration:
Courtesy Ward Line. Photo by American Photo Co., Havana
From the summit of the ancient pyramid at Cholula one obtains a
splendid view of Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl. The shrine dates
from the year 666, when it was erected by Cortés after he had
ordered the destruction of the Aztec temples in the vicinity.
Cholula being the sacred city of the tribe, this action resulted in
the natives’ troubling Cortés constantly and finally securing his
downfall.
]
The next morning I was ready to get up at dawn, though I found it cold
work. A three hours’ walk from the central _plaza_ of Puebla warmed me
and brought me to the top of one of the greatest pyramids in the world.
This is at Cholula, eight miles from Puebla. It was built of sun-dried
bricks, limestone, and clay, by some tribe that arrived before the
Aztecs. When Cortés came, there was on top of it a great temple to the
Aztec god Quetzalcoatl. The Spaniards pulled down the ancient images and
overthrew the altar on which so many people had been sacrificed to the
bloodthirsty god. Now there is at the summit a great church to which
many pilgrims come. The ancient pyramid has crumbled a good deal and is
so covered with grass, flowers, and trees that it looks almost like a
natural hill. Through a great gash that has been made in it runs the
street-car line to Puebla.
Down to Vera Cruz
Though it is called the Mexican Railway, the line from Mexico City down
to Vera Cruz belongs to the English. Descending from the great Mexican
plateau, it zigzags back and forth, often on the brink of precipices. At
one point we could look down upon the town of Maltrata, more than two
thousand feet below, as directly as if we had been in an airplane. The
train, behind a double-header engine, twisted about until it seemed as
if it must be lost, but finally we reached our destination.
For the first time since my second day in Mexico I was less than a mile
above sea level. High above all else, and much farther away than it
seemed, was the symmetrical snow-capped top of Orizaba. This was first
climbed by American officers during our war with Mexico. The cold peak
looked still stranger from the town of Orizaba where I spent the night.
Orizaba has one of the largest cotton mills in the world, and a big
brewery; but although it is really an industrious place, it is just near
enough the tropics to be rather sleepy and careless in its manner.
[Illustration:
Photo by Hugo Brehme, Mexico City
Along the Mexican Railway, the oldest railroad in Mexico, leading from
the high plateau of the capital down to Vera Cruz.
]
It took eighteen miles of winding and tunneling to get down from Orizaba
to Córdoba, almost directly below. The train skirted yawning precipices,
passed through dense vegetation, banana plants without number, coffee
plantations, and uncultivated jungle. It seemed very hot after being on
Mexico’s plateau, though we were still higher than the tops of our
Alleghanies.
[Illustration:
Photo from Janet M. Cummings
A fine _hacienda_ house on a coffee plantation near Córdoba, Mexico.
]
Two Gulf Ports
Tropical Vera Cruz, where the Mexican Railway finally ends at sea level,
is the greatest port of Mexico. Ever since the days of Cortés it has
been the country’s front door. In a sense, entrance by railroad from the
United States is by the back door. Most travelers to and from Mexico,
and most imports and exports, except oil from Tampico, go through Vera
Cruz. Cortés, landing there on Good Friday, which the Spanish call “The
Day of the True Cross,” gave the place that name. A hundred years before
the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock, Cortés claimed all Mexico in the
name of the king of Spain. He built a fortress which still covers a
small island a mile from shore and bears the marks of many a battle.
Ever since Cortés traveled the road from the coast to Tenochtitlan, Vera
Cruz has been both a door to power and a way of escape for the defeated.
It is the favorite place for beginning revolutions against the
government in power at Mexico City. The American General Scott took Vera
Cruz before he started on his way to capture the capital.
Vera Cruz is one of the most Spanish cities in Mexico. There used to be
much yellow fever there, and travelers hurried through it as fast as
possible. But now it is fairly healthful, though very hot. The wharves
have every modern docking facility.
[Illustration:
Underwood & Underwood
The harbor of Vera Cruz is a busy one. This city has had an important
part in the history of Mexico because it is one of the country’s few
fine ports.
]
Some distance up the coast is another important city, Tampico, more
important perhaps to Americans than to the Mexicans. Most of the oil
from Tampico is finally used in American automobiles, and many of the
oil wells belong to Americans. Tampico and the great oil fields about it
are so American that the Mexicans themselves often call the region
“Gringolandia.” Being close to the coast, the oil fields cannot legally
continue to be held by foreigners, according to the 1917 constitution.
The matter is under discussion by the Mexican and United States
governments. Although it is an important city to those who think in
terms of oil, Tampico is not as interesting or as pleasant a place as
most Mexican cities.
[Illustration:
© Burton Holmes, from Keystone View Co.
The oil wells at Tampico sometimes catch fire and send a great cloud
of smoke high into the air.
]