Attacks from Fever and Ague.--Final Departure from Uxmal.--Newyear's
Day.--Fate of Chaipa Chi.--Painful Journey.--Chetulish.--Arrival
at Nohcacab.--Concourse of Indians.--A Casa
Real.--Plaza.--Improvements.--The Church.--A Noria, or Well.--Municipal
Elections.--The Democratic Principle.--Installation of
Alcaldes.--Illness of the Cura of Ticul.--Set out for
Ticul.--Intoxicated Carriers.--Accident.--Arrival at Ticul.--A
wandering Physician.--Changed Appearance of the Cura.--Return to
Nohcacab.--Take up Quarters in the Convent.--Ancient Town of
Nohcacab.--Ruined Mounds.--Ruins of Xcoch.--A Mysterious Well.--Fine
Grove.--Circular Cavity.--Mouth of the Well.--Exploration of its
Passages.--Uses of the Well.--Return to the Village.--Fatal
Accident.--A House of Mourning.--Ceremony of El Velorio.
The reader, perhaps, is now anxious to hurry away from Uxmal, but he
cannot be more anxious to do so than we were. We had finished our work,
had resolved on the day for our departure, and had determined to devote
the intermediate time to getting out of the wall and collecting
together some ornaments for removal, and, having got the Indians fairly
at work, we set about making some farewell Daguerreotype views. While
working the camera under a blazing sun in the courtyard of the Monjas,
I received a note from Mr. Catherwood advising me that his time had
come, that he had a chill, and was then in bed. Presently a heavy rain
came down, from which I took refuge in a damp apartment, where I was
obliged to remain so long that I became perfectly chilled. On my
return, I had a severe relapse, and in the evening Dr. Cabot, depressed
by the state of things, and out of pure sympathy, joined us. Our
servants went away, we were all three pinned to our beds together, and
determined forthwith to leave Uxmal.
The next day it rained again, and we passed the hours in packing up,
always a disagreeable operation, and then painfully so. The next day we
departed, perhaps forever, from the Casa del Gobernador.
As we descended the steps, Mr. C. suggested that it was Newyear's day.
It was the first time this fact had presented itself; it called up
scenes strikingly contrasted with our own miserable condition, and for
the moment we would have been glad to be at home. Our coches were in
readiness at the foot of the terrace, and we crawled in; the Indians
raised us upon their shoulders, and we were in motion from Uxmal. There
was no danger of our incurring the penalty of Lot's wife; we never
looked back; all the interest we had felt in the place was gone, and we
only wanted to get away. Silent and desolate as we found them, we left
the ruins of Uxmal, again to be overgrown with trees, to crumble and
fall, and perhaps, in a few generations, to become, like others
scattered over the country, mere shapeless and nameless mounds.
Our housekeeping and household were again broken up. Albino and
Bernaldo followed us, and as we passed along the edge of the milpa,
half hidden among the cornstalks was the stately figure of Chaipa Chi.
She seemed to be regarding as with a mournful gaze. Alas! poor Chaipa
Chi, the white man's friend! never again will she make tortillas for
the Ingleses in Uxmal! A month afterward she was borne to the campo
santo of the hacienda. The sun and rain are beating upon her grave. Her
bones will soon bleach on the rude charnel pile, and her skull may
perhaps one day, by the hands of some unscrupulous traveller, be
conveyed to Doctor S. G. Morton of Philadelphia.
Our departure from Uxmal was such a complete rout, that it really had
in it something of the ludicrous, but we were not in condition to enjoy
it at the time. Notwithstanding the comparatively easy movement of the
coche, both Mr. C. and I suffered excessively, for, being made of poles
hastily tied together, the vehicle yielded under the irregular steps of
the carriers. At the distance of two leagues they laid us down under a
large seybo tree, opposite the hacienda of Chetulish, part of the
domain of Uxmal. As if in mockery of us, the Indians were all out of
doors in holyday dresses, celebrating the opening of the new year. We
remained a short time for our carriers to rest, and in two hours we
reached the village of Nohcacab, and were laid down at the door of the
casa real. When we crawled out, the miserable Indians who had borne us
on their shoulders were happy compared with us.
The arrival of three Ingleses was an event without precedent in the
history of the village. There was a general curiosity to see us,
increased by knowledge of the extraordinary and unaccountable purpose
for which we were visiting the country. The circumstance of its being a
fete day had drawn together into the plaza all the people of the
village, and an unusual concourse of Indians from the suburbs, most of
whom gathered round our door, and those who dared came inside to gaze
upon us as we lay in our hammocks. These adventurous persons were only
such as were particularly intoxicated, which number, however, included
on that day a large portion of the respectable community of Nohcacab.
They seemed to have just enough of reason left, or rather of instinct,
to know that they might offend by intruding upon white men, and made up
for it by exceeding submissiveness of manner and good nature.
We were at first excessively annoyed by the number of visiters and the
noise of the Indians without, who kept up a continued beating on the
tunkul, or Indian drum; but by degrees our pains left us, and, with the
comfortable reflection that we had escaped from the pernicious
atmosphere of Uxmal, toward evening we were again on our feet.
The casa real is the public building in every village, provided by the
royal government for the audiencia and other public offices, and, like
the cabildo of Central America, is intended to contain apartments for
travellers. In the village of Nohcacab, however, the arrival of
strangers was so rare an occurrence that no apartment was assigned
expressly for their accommodation. That given to as was the principal
room of the building, used for the great occasions of the village, and
during the week it was occupied as a public schoolroom; but,
fortunately for us, being Newyear's Day, the boys had holyday.
It was about forty feet long and twenty-five wide. The furniture
consisted of a very high table and some very low chairs, and in honour
of the day the doors were trimmed with branches of cocoanut tree. The
walls were whitewashed, and at one end was an eagle holding in his beak
a coiled serpent, tearing it also with his claws. Under this were some
indescribable figures, and a sword, gun, and cannon, altogether warlike
emblems for the peaceful village which had never heard the sound of
hostile trumpet. On one side of the eagle's beak was a scroll with the
words "Sala Consistorial Republicana, Ano 1828." The other had
contained the words "El Systema Central," but on the triumph of the
Federal party the brush had been drawn over it, and nothing was
substituted in its place, so that it was all ready to be restored in
case the Central party returned to power. On the wall hung a paper
containing a "notice to the public" in Spanish and the Maya language,
that his Excellency the Governor of the State had allowed to this
village the establishment of a school of first letters for teaching
children to read, write, count, and the doctrines of the holy Catholic
religion; that fathers and other heads of families should send their
children to it, and that, being endowed by the public funds, it should
not cost a medio real to any one. It was addressed to vecinos, or white
people, indigenos, or Indians, and other classes, meaning Mestizoes.
On one side of this principal room was the quartel, with the garrison,
which consisted of seven soldiers, militia, three or four of whom were
down with fever and ague. On the other was the prison with its grated
door, and one gentleman in misfortune looking through the grating.
This building occupied all one side of the plaza. The village was the
only one I had seen that gave any indications of "improvement;" and
certainly I had not seen any that needed it more. The plaza was the
poorest in appearance, and at that time was worse than usual. It had
been laid out on a hillside, and the improvement then going on was
making it level. There was a great pile of earth thrown up in the
centre, and the houses on one side had their foundations laid bare, so
that they could only be entered by means of ladders; and it was
satisfactory to learn that the alcaldes who had planned the improvement
had got themselves into as much trouble as our aldermen sometimes do in
laying out new streets.
From the door of the casa real two striking objects were in sight, one
of which, grand in proportions and loftily situated, was the great
church I had seen from the top of the sierra in coming from Ticul; the
other was the noria, or well. This was an oblong enclosure with high
stone walls, and a roof of palm leaves at one end, under which a mule
was going round continually with a beam, drawing water into a large
oblong basin cemented, from which the women of the village were filling
their water-jars.
In our stroll out of doors our Indian carriers espied us, and came
staggering toward us in a body, giving us to understand that they were
overjoyed at seeing us, and congratulating us upon our recovery. They
had not had a fair start with the Indians of the village, but they had
been expeditious, and, by making good use of their time and the money
we paid them, were as thoroughly intoxicated as the best in Nohcacab.
Still they were good-natured as children, and, as usual, each one
concluded his little speech with begging a medio.
The North American Indian is by drinking made insolent, ferocious, and
brutal, and with a knife in his hand he is always a dangerous
character; but the Indians of Yucatan when intoxicated are only more
docile and submissive. All wear machetes, but they never use them to do
harm.
We endeavoured to persuade our bearers to return to the hacienda before
their money was all spent, and at length, giving us to understand that
it was in obedience to us, they went away. We watched them as they
reeled down the road, which they seemed to find hardly wide enough for
one abreast, turning to look back and make us another reverence, and at
length, when out of our reach, they all stopped, sat down in the road,
and again took to their bottles.
We had arrived at Nohcacab at an interesting and exciting moment. The
village had just gone through the agony of a contested election. During
the administration of the last alcalde, various important causes, among
which were the improvements in the plaza, had roused the feelings of
the whole community, and a strong notion prevailed, particularly among
the aspirants to office, that the republic was in danger unless the
alcaldes were changed. This feeling extended through all classes, and,
through the interposition of Providence, as it was considered by the
successful party, the alcaldes were changed, and the republic saved.
[Engraving 30: A Noria, or Well]
The municipal elections of Nohcacab are, perhaps, more important than
those of any other village in the state. The reader is aware of the
great scarcity of water in Yucatan; that there are no rivers, streams,
or fountains, and, except in the neighbourhood of aguadas, no water but
what is obtained from wells. Nohcacab has three public wells, and it
has a population of about six thousand entirely dependant upon them.
Two of these wells are called norias, being larger and more
considerable structures, in which the water is drawn by mules, and the
third is simply a poso, or well, having merely a cross-beam over the
mouth, at which each comer draws with his own bucket and rope. For
leagues around there is no water except that furnished by these wells.
All the Indians have their huts or places of residence in the village,
within reach of the wells; and when they go to work on their milpas,
which are sometimes several miles distant, they are obliged to carry a
supply with them. Every woman who goes to the noria for a cantaro of
water carries a handful of corn, which she drops in a place provided
for that purpose: this tribute is intended for the maintenance of the
mules, and we paid two cents for the drinking of each of our horses.
The custody and preservation of these wells are an important part of
the administration of the village government. Thirty Indians are
elected every year, who are called alcaldes of the well, and whose
business it is to keep them in good order, and the tanks constantly
supplied with water. They receive no pay, but are exempted from certain
obligations and services, which makes the office desirable; and no
small object of the political struggle through which the village had
passed, was to change the alcaldes of the wells. Buried among the ruins
of Uxmal, the news of this important election had not reached us.
Though practically enduring, in some respects, the appendages of an
aristocratic government, the Indians who carried us on their shoulders,
and our loads on their backs, have as good votes as their masters; and
it was painful to have lost the opportunity of seeing the democratic
principle in operation among the only true and real _native American_
party; the spectacle being, as we were told, in the case of the
hacienda Indians, one of exceeding impressiveness, not to say
sublimity. These, being criados, or servants, in debt to their masters
and their bodies mortgaged, go up to the village unanimous in opinion
and purpose, without partiality or prejudice, either in favour of or
against particular men or measures; they have no bank questions, nor
questions of internal improvement, to consider; no angry discussions
about the talents, private characters, or public services of
candidates; and, above all, they are free from the degrading imputation
of man worship, for in general they have not the least idea for whom
they are voting. All they have to do is to put into a box a little
piece of paper given to them by the master or major domo, for which
they are to have a holyday. The only danger is that, in the confusion
of greeting acquaintances, they may get their papers changed; and when
this happens, they are almost invariably found soon after committing
some offence against hacienda discipline, for which these independent
electors are pretty sure to get flogged by the major domo.
In the villages the indifference to political distinctions, and the
discrimination of the public in rewarding unobtrusive merit, are no
less worthy of admiration, for Indian alcaldes are frequently elected
without being aware that they have been held up for the suffrages of
their fellow-citizens; they pass the day of election on the ground, and
go home without knowing anything about it. The night before their term
is to commence the retiring functionaries go round the village and
catch these unconscious favourites of the people, put them into the
cabildo, and keep them together all night, that they may be at hand in
the morning to receive the staves and take the oath of office.
These little peculiarities were told to us as facts, and of such a
population I can believe them to be true. At all events, the term of
the incumbent officers was just expiring; the next morning the grand
ceremony of the inauguration was to take place, and the Indians going
out of office were actively engaged in hunting up their successors and
bringing them together in the cabildo. Before retiring we went in with
the padrecito to look at them. Most of them had been brought in, but
some were still wanting. They were sitting round a large table, on
which lay the record of their election; and, to beguile the tediousness
of their honourable imprisonment, they had instruments by them, called
musical, which kept up a terrible noise all night. Whatever were the
circumstances of their election, their confinement for the night was,
no doubt, a wise precaution, to ensure their being sober in the
morning.
When we opened our door the next day, the whole village was in
commotion, preparatory to the august ceremony of installing the new
alcaldes. The Indians had slept off the debauch of the Newyear, and in
clean dresses thronged the plaza; the great steps ascending to the
church and the platform in front were filled with Indian women dressed
in white, and near the door was a group of ladies, with mantas and
veils, and the costume of the senoras in the capital. The morning air
was fresh and invigorating; there were no threatening clouds in the
sky, and the sun was pouring its early beams upon the scene of
rejoicing. It was a great triumph of principle, and the humble mules
which trod their daily circle with the beam of the noria, had red
ribands round their necks, hung with half dollar and two shilling
pieces, in token of rejoicing at the change of the alcaldes of the
wells.
At seven o'clock the old alcaldes took their seats for the last time,
and administered the oath of office to their successors, after which a
procession formed for the church. The padrecito led the way,
accompanied by the new alcaldes. They were dressed in black body-coats
and black hats, which, as we had not seen such things since we left
Merida, among the white dresses and straw hats around seemed a strange
costume. Then followed the Indian officials, each with his staff of
office, and the rest of the crowd in the plaza. Grand mass was said,
after which the padrecito sprinkled the new alcaldes with holy water,
and withdrew into his room in the convent to take chocolate. We
followed him, and about the same time the whole body of new officers
entered. The white alcaldes all came up and shook hands with us, and
while the padrecito was raising his chocolate to his lips, the Indians
went one by one and kissed his hand without disturbing his use of it.
During this time he asked us what we thought of the muchachas, or girls
of the village, whether they would compare with those of our country,
and, still sipping his chocolate, made an address to the Indians,
telling them that, although they were great in respect to the other
Indians, yet in respect to the principal alcaldes they were but small
men; and, after much other good advice, he concluded by telling them
that they were to execute the laws and obey their superiors.
At nine o'clock we returned to our quarters, where, either by reason of
our exertion, or from the regular course of the disease, we all had a
recurrence of fever, and were obliged to betake ourselves to our
hammocks. While in this condition the padrecito came in with a letter
he had just received from Ticul, bringing intelligence that the cura
had passed a fatal night, and was then dying. His ministro had written
to us at the ruins, advising us of his continued indisposition and
inability to join us, but, until our arrival at Nohcacab, we had no
intimation that his illness was considered dangerous. The intelligence
was sudden and most afflicting. It was so short a time since we had
parted with him to meet again at Uxmal, his kindness was so fresh in
our recollection, that we would have gone to him immediately, but we
were fastened to our hammocks.
His illness had created a great sensation among the Indians of Ticul.
They said that he was going to die, and that it was a visitation of God
for digging up the bones in San Francisco; this rumour became wilder as
it spread, and was not confined to the Indians. An intelligent Mestizo
lad belonging to the village came over with the report, which he
repeated to gaping listeners, that the poor cura lay on his back with
his hands clasped on his breast, crying out, in a deep, sepulchral
voice, every ten minutes by the watch, "Devuelve esos huesos." "Restore
those bones."
We heard that he had with him accidentally an English physician, though
we could not make any English of the name. Our fever might leave us in
a few hours, and with the desperate hope that we might arrive in time
for Doctor Cabot's skill to be of some use to him, or, if not, to bid
him a last farewell, we requested the padrecito to procure coches and
Indians by two o'clock in the afternoon.
Two fete days in succession were rather too much for the Indians of
Nohcacab. In about an hour one of the new alcaldes came to tell us
that, in celebrating the choice of their new officers, the independent
electors had all become so tipsy that competent men could be found for
only one coche. Perhaps it would have been difficult for the alcaldes
to know whether their immediate condition was really the fruit of that
day's celebration or a holding over from Newyear's Day, but the effect
was the same so far as we were concerned.
The alcaldes and the padrecito, however, appreciated our motives, and
knew it was utterly impossible for us to go on horseback, so that, with
great exertions, by two o'clock the requisite number came reeling and
staggering into the room. We were still in our hammocks, uncertain
whether it would be possible to go at all, and their appearance did not
encourage us, for they seemed unable to carry themselves on their feet,
much less us on their shoulders. However, we got them out of the room,
and told them to get the coches ready. At three o'clock we crawled into
the vehicles, and in the mean time our carriers had taken another
drink. It seemed foolhardy to trust ourselves to such men, particularly
as we had to cross the sierra, the most dangerous road in the country;
but the alcaldes said they were hombres de bien, men of good character
and conduct; that they would be sober before the first league was
passed; and with this encouragement we started. The sun was still
scorching hot, and came in directly upon the back of my head. My
carriers set off on a full run, which they continued for perhaps a
mile, when they moderated their pace, and, talking and laughing all the
time, toward evening they set me down on the ground. I scrambled out of
the coche; the freshness of the evening air was reviving, and we waited
till Doctor Cabot came up. He had had a much worse time than I, his
carriers happening to be more intoxicated.
It was nearly dark when we reached the foot of the sierra, and, as we
ascended, the clouds threatened rain. Before, it had been an object to
leave the coche as open and airy as possible, on account of the heat,
but now it was a greater object to avoid getting wet, and I had
everything fastened down on the sides. On the top of the sierra the
rain came on, and the Indians hurried down as fast as the darkness and
the ruggedness of the road would permit This road required care on
horseback and by daylight; but as the Indians were now sober, and I had
great confidence in their sureness of foot, I had no apprehensions,
when all at once I felt the coche going over, and, pinned in as I was,
unable to help myself, with a frightful crash it came down on its side.
My fear was that it would go over a precipice; but the Indians on the
upper side held on, and I got out with considerable celerity. The rain
was pouring, and it was so dark that I could see nothing. My shoulder
and side were bruised, but, fortunately, none of the Indians were
missing, and they all gathered round, apparently more frightened than I
was hurt. If the accident had been worse, I could not have blamed them;
for in such darkness, and on such a road, it was a wonder how they
could get along at all. We righted the coche, arranged things as well
as we could, and in due season I was set down at the door of the
convent. I stumbled up the steps and knocked at the door, but the good
cura was not there to welcome me. Perhaps we had arrived too late, and
all was over. At the extreme end of the long corridor I saw a ray of
light, and, groping my way toward it, entered a cloister, in which a
number of Indians were busily employed making fireworks. The cura had
been taken to the house of his sister-in-law, and we sent one of them
over to give notice of our arrival. Very soon we saw a lantern crossing
the plaza, and recognised the long gown of the padre Brizeno, whose
letter to the padrecito had been the occasion of our coming. It had
been written early in the morning, when there was no hope; but within
the last six hours a favourable change had taken place, and the crisis
had passed. Perhaps no two men were ever more glad than the doctor and
myself at finding their journey bootless. Doctor Cabot was even more
relieved than I; for, besides the apprehension that we might arrive too
late, or barely in time to be present at the cura's death, the doctor
had that of finding him under the hands of one from whom it would be
necessary to extricate him, and still his interference might not be
effectual.
As a matter of professional etiquette, Doctor Cabot proposed to call
upon the English physician. His house was shut up, and he was already
in his hammock, being himself suffering from calentura, for which he
had just taken a warm bath; but before the door was opened we were
satisfied that he was really an Ingles. It seemed a strange thing to
meet, in this little village in the interior of Yucatan, one speaking
our own language, but the circuitous road by which he had reached it
was not less strange.
Doctor Fasnet, or Fasnach as he was called, was a small man,
considerably upward of fifty. Thirty years before he had emigrated to
Jamaica, and, after wandering among the West India Islands, had gone
over to the continent; and there was hardly a country in Spanish
America in which he had not practised the healing art. With an
uncontrollable antipathy to revolutions, it had been his lot to pass
the greater part of his life in countries most rife with them. After
running before them in Colombia, Peru, Chili, and Central America,
where he had prescribed for Carrera when the latter was pursuing his
honest calling as a pig-driver, unluckily he found himself in Salama
when Carrera came upon it with twelve hundred Indians, and the cry of
death to the whites. With a garrison of but thirty soldiers and sixty
citizens capable of bearing arms, Doctor Fasnach was fain to undertake
the defence; but, fortunately, Carrera drew off his Indians, and Doctor
Fasnet drew off himself, came into Yucatan, and happened to settle in
Tekax, the only town in the state that could get up a revolution. He
was flying from it, and on his way to Merida, when he was arrested by
the cura's illness. The doctor's long residence in tropical countries
had made him familiar with their diseases, but his course of treatment
would not be considered legitimate by regular practitioners. The cura's
illness was cholera morbus, attended with excessive swelling and
inflammation of the stomach and intestines. To reduce these. Doctor F.
had a sheep killed at the door, and the stomach of the patient covered
with flesh warm from the animal, which in a very few minutes became
tainted and was taken off, and a new layer applied; and this was
continued till eight sheep had been killed and applied, and the
inflammation subsided.
From the house of Doctor Fasnet we went to the cura. The change which
two weeks had made in his appearance was appalling. Naturally thin, his
agonizing pains had frightfully reduced him, and as he lay extended on
a cot with a sheet over him, he seemed more dead than living. He was
barely able, by the feeble pressure of his shrunken hand, to show that
he appreciated our visit, and to say that he had never expected to see
us again; but the happy faces of those around him spoke more than
words. It was actually rejoicing as over one snatched from the grave.
The next morning we visited him again. His sunken eye lighted up as he
inquired about our excavations at Uxmal, and a smile played upon his
lips as he alluded to the superstition of the Indians about digging up
the bones in San Francisco. Our visit seemed to give him so much
satisfaction, that, though we could not talk with him, we remained at
the house nearly all day, and the next day we returned to Nohcacab on
horseback. Our visit to Ticul had recruited us greatly, and we found
Mr. Catherwood equally improved. A few days' rest had done wonders for
us all, and we determined immediately to resume our occupations.
On leaving Uxmal we had directed our steps toward Nohcacab, not from
any attractions in the place itself, but on account of the ruins which
we had heard of as existing in that neighbourhood; and, after
ascertaining their position, we considered that they could be visited
to the best advantage by making this place our head-quarters. We had
the prospect of being detained there some time, and, as the casa real
was low, damp, and noisy, and, moreover, our apartment was wanted for
the schoolroom, by the advice of the padrecito we determined to abandon
it, and take up our abode in the convent.
This was a long stone building in the rear of the church, standing on
the same high table-land, overlooking the village, and removed from its
annoyances and bustle. In the part immediately adjoining the church
were two large and convenient apartments, except that, quick in
detecting all which could bring on a recurrence of fever and ague, we
noticed on one side puddles of water and green mould, from the constant
shade of the great wall of the church, and on the door of one of the
rooms was written, "Here died Don Jose Trufique: may his soul rest in
peace."
In these rooms we established ourselves. On one side of us we had the
padrecito, who was always gay and lively, and on the other six or eight
Indian sacristans, or sextons, who were always drunk. Before the door
was a broad high platform, running all round the church, and a little
beyond it was a walled enclosure for our horses. Opposite the door of
the sacristia was a thatched cocina, or kitchen, in which these Indian
church ministers cooked and Albino and Bernaldo slept.
It is ascertained by historical accounts, that at the time of the
conquest an Indian town existed in this immediate neighbourhood,
bearing the name of Nohcacab. This name is compounded of three Maya
words, signifying literally the great place of good land; and from the
numerous and extraordinary ruins scattered around, there is reason to
believe that it was the heart of a rich, and what was once an immensely
populous country. In the suburbs are numerous and large mounds, grand
enough to excite astonishment, but even more fallen and overgrown than
those of San Francisco, and, in fact, almost inaccessible.
The village stands in the same relative position to these ruins that
Ticul does to the ruins of San Francisco, and, like that, in my opinion
it stands on the offskirts of the old Indian town, or rather it
occupies part of the very site, for in the village itself, within the
enclosures of some of the Indians, are the remains of mounds exactly
like those in the suburbs. In making excavations in the plaza, vases
and vessels of pottery are continually brought to light, and in the
street wall of the house where the padrecito's mother lived is a
sculptured head dug up fifteen years ago.
The whole of this region is retired and comparatively unknown. The
village is without the line of all the present main roads; it does not
lie on the way to any place of general resort, and is not worth
stopping at on its own account. Notwithstanding the commencement of
improvements, it was the most backward and thoroughly Indian of any
village we had visited. Merida was too far off for the Indians to think
of; but few of the vecinos ever reached it, and Ticul was their
capital. Everything that was deficient in the village they told us was
to be had at Ticul, and the sexton, who went over once a week for the
holy wafer, was always charged with some errand for us.
The first place which we proposed visiting was the ruins of Xcoch, and
in the very beginning of our researches in this neighbourhood we found
that we were upon entirely new ground. The attention of the people had
never been turned to the subject of the ruins in the neighbourhood.
Xcoch was but a league distant, and, besides the ruins of buildings it
contained an ancient poso, or well, of mysterious and marvellous
reputation, the fame of which was in everybody's mouth. This well was
said to be a vast subterraneous structure, adorned with sculptured
figures, an immense table of polished stone, and a plaza with columns
supporting a vaulted roof, and it was said to have a subterraneous
road, which led to the village of Mani, twenty-seven miles distant.
Notwithstanding this wondrous reputation and the publicity of the
details, and although within three miles of Nohcacab, the intelligence
we received was so vague and uncertain that we were at a loss how to
make our arrangements for exploring the well. Not a white man in the
place had ever entered it, though several had looked in at the mouth,
who said that the wind had taken away their breath, and they had not
ventured to go in. Its fame rested entirely upon the accounts of the
Indians, which, coming to us through interpreters, were very confused.
By the active kindness of the padrecito and his brother, the new
alcalde Segunda, two men were brought to us who were considered most
familiar with the place, and they said that it would be impossible to
enter it except by employing several men one or two days in making
ladders, and, at all events, they said it would be useless to attempt
the descent after the sun had crossed the meridian; and to this all our
friends and counsellors, who knew nothing about it, assented. Knowing,
however, their dilatory manner of doing business, we engaged them to be
on the ground at daylight. In the mean time we got together all the
spare ropes in the village, including one from the noria, and at eight
o'clock the next morning we set out.
For a league we followed the camino real, at which distance we saw a
little opening on the left, where one of our Indians was waiting for
us. Following him by a narrow path just opened, we again found
ourselves among ruins, and soon reached the foot of the high mound
which towered above the plain, itself conspicuous from the House of the
Dwarf at Uxmal, and which is represented in the engraving above. The
ground in this neighbourhood was open, and there were the remains of
several buildings, but all prostrate and in utter ruin.
[Engraving 31: Mound a Xcoch]
The great cerro stands alone, the only one that now rises above the
plain. The sides are all fallen, though in some places the remains of
steps are visible. On the south side, about half way up, there is a
large tree, which facilitates the ascent to the top. The height is
about eighty or ninety feet. One corner of a building is all that is
left; the rest of the top is level and overgrown with grass. The view
commanded an immense wooded plain, and, rising above it, toward the
southeast the great church of Nohcacab, and on the west the ruined
buildings of Uxmal.
Returning in the same direction, we entered a thick grove, in which we
dismounted and tied our horses. It was the finest grove we had seen in
the country, and within it was a great circular cavity or opening in
the earth, twenty or thirty feet deep, with trees and bushes growing
out of the bottom and sides, and rising above the level of the plain.
It was a wild-looking place, and had a fanciful, mysterious, and almost
fearful appearance; for while in the grove all was close and sultry,
and without a breath of air, and every leaf was still, within this
cavity the branches and leaves were violently agitated, as if shaken by
an invisible hand.
This cavity was the entrance to the poso, or well, and its appearance
was wild enough to bear out the wildest accounts we had heard of it. We
descended to the bottom. At one corner was a rude natural opening in a
great mass of limestone rock, low and narrow, through which rushed
constantly a powerful current of wind, agitating the branches and
leaves in the area without. This was the mouth of the well, and on our
first attempting to enter it the rush of wind was so strong that it
made us fall back gasping for breath, confirming the accounts we had
heard in Nohcacab. Our Indians had for torches long strips of the
castor-oil plant, which the wind only ignited more thoroughly, and with
these they led the way. It was one of the marvels told us of this
place, that it was impossible to enter after twelve o'clock. This hour
was already past; we had not made the preparations which were said to
be necessary, and, without knowing how far we should be able to
continue, we followed our guides, other Indians coming after us with
coils of rope.
The entrance was about three feet high and four or five wide. It was so
low that we were obliged to crawl on our hands and feet, and descended
at an angle of about fifteen degrees in a northerly direction. The
wind, collecting in the recesses of the cave, rushed through this
passage with such force that we could scarcely breathe; and as we all
had in us the seeds of fever and ague, we very much doubted the
propriety of going on, but curiosity was stronger than discretion, and
we proceeded. In the floor of the passage was a single track, worn two
or three inches deep by long-continued treading of feet, and the roof
was incrusted with a coat of smoke from the flaring torches. The labour
of crawling through this passage with the body bent, and against the
rush of cold air, made a rather severe beginning, and, probably, if we
had undertaken the enterprise alone we should have turned back.
At the distance of a hundred and fifty or two hundred feet the passage
enlarged to an irregular cavern, forty or fifty feet wide and ten or
fifteen high. We no longer felt the rush of cold wind, and the
temperature was sensibly warmer. The sides and roof were of rough,
broken stone, and through the centre ran the same worn path. From this
passage others branched off to the right and left, and in passing along
it, at one place the Indians held their torches down to a block of
sculptured stone. We had, of course, already satisfied ourselves that
the cave or passage, whatever it might lead to, was the work of nature,
and had given up all expectation of seeing the great monuments of art
which had been described to us; but the sight of this block encouraged
us with the hope that the accounts might have some foundation. Very
soon, however, our hopes on this head were materially abated, if not
destroyed, by reaching what the Indians had described as a mesa, or
table. This had been a great item in all the accounts, and was
described as made by hand and highly polished. It was simply a huge
block of rude stone, the top of which happened to be smooth, but
entirely in a state of nature. Beyond this we passed into a large
opening of an irregular circular form, being what had been described to
us as a plaza. Here the Indians stopped and flared their torches. It
was a great vaulted chamber of stone, with a high roof supported by
enormous stalactite pillars, which were what the Indians had called the
columns, and though entirely different from what we had expected, the
effect under the torchlight, and heightened by the wild figures of the
Indians, was grand, and almost repaid us for all our trouble. This
plaza lay at one side of the regular path, and we remained in it some
minutes to refresh ourselves, for the closeness of the passage and the
heat and smoke were becoming almost intolerable.
Farther on we climbed up a high, broken piece of rock, and descended
again by a low, narrow opening, through which we were obliged to crawl,
and which, from its own closeness, and the heat and smoke of the
torches, and the labour of crawling through it, was so hot that we were
panting with exhaustion and thirst. This brought us to a rugged,
perpendicular hole, three or four feet in diameter, with steps barely
large enough for a foothold, worn in the rock. We descended with some
difficulty, and at the foot came out upon a ledge of rock, which ran up
on the right to a great height, while on the left was a deep, yawning
chasm. A few rude logs were laid along the edge of this chasm, which,
with a pole for a railing, served as a bridge, and, with the torchlight
thrown into the abyss below, made a wild crossing-place; the passage
then turned to the right, contracting to about three feet in height and
the same in width, and descending rapidly. We were again obliged to
betake ourselves to crawling, and again the heat became insufferable.
Indeed, we went on with some apprehensions. To faint in one of those
narrow passages, so far removed from a breath of air, would be almost
to die there. As to carrying a man out, it was impossible for either of
us to do more than drag himself along, and I believe that there could
have been no help from the Indians.
This passage continued fifty or sixty feet, when it doubled on itself,
still contracted as before, and still rapidly descending. It then
enlarged to a rather spacious cavern, and took a southwest direction,
after which there was another perpendicular hole, leading, by means of
a rude and rickety ladder, to a steep, low, crooked, and crawling
passage, descending until it opened into a large broken chamber, at one
end of which was a deep hole or basin of water.
This account may not be perfectly accurate in all the details, but it
is not exaggerated. Probably some of the turnings and windings, ascents
and descents, are omitted; and the truest and most faithful description
that could be given of it would be really the most extraordinary.
The water was in a deep, stony basin, running under a shelf of
overhanging rock, with a pole laid across on one side, over which the
Indians leaned to dip it up with their calabashes; and this alone, if
we had wanted other proof, was confirmation that the place had been
used as a well.
But at the moment it was a matter of very little consequence to us
whether any living being had ever drunk from it before; the sight of it
was more welcome to us than gold or rubies. We were dripping with
sweat, black with smoke, and perishing with thirst. It lay before us in
its stony basin, clear and inviting, but it was completely out of
reach; the basin was so deep that we could not reach the water with our
hands, and we had no vessel of any kind to dip it out with. In our
entire ignorance of the character of the place, we had not made any
provision, and the Indians had only brought what they were told to
bring. I crawled down on one side, and dipped up a little with one
hand; but it was a scanty supply, and with this water before us we were
compelled to go away with our thirst unsatisfied. Fortunately, however,
after crawling back through the first narrow passage, we found some
fragments of a broken water-jar, with which the Indians returned and
brought us enough to cool our tongues.
In going down we had scarcely noticed anything except the wild path
before us; but, having now some knowledge of the place, the labour was
not so great, and we inquired for the passage which the Indians had
told us led to Mani. On reaching it, we turned off, and, after
following it a short distance, found it completely stopped by a natural
closing of the rock. From the best information we could get, although
all said the passage led to Mani, we were satisfied that the Indians
had never attempted to explore it. It did not lead to the water, nor
out of the cave, and our guides had never entered it before. We advised
them for the future to omit this and some other particulars in their
stories about the well; but probably, except from the padrecito, and
others to whom we communicated what we saw, the next travellers will
hear the same accounts that we did.
As we advanced, we remained a little while in the cooler atmosphere
before exposing ourselves to the rush of cold air toward the mouth, and
in an hour and a half from the time of entering, we emerged into the
outer air.
As a mere cave, this was extraordinary; but as a well or watering-place
for an ancient city, it was past belief, except for the proofs under
our own eyes. Around it were the ruins of a city without any other
visible means of supply, and, what rarely happened, with the Indians it
was matter of traditionary knowledge. They say that it was not
discovered by them; it was used by their fathers; they did not know
when it began to be used. They ascribe it to that remote people whom
they refer to as the antiguos.
And a strong circumstance to induce the belief that it was once used by
the inhabitants of a populous city, is the deep track worn in the rock.
For ages the region around has been desolate, or occupied only by a few
Indians during the time of working in the milpas. Their straggling
footsteps would never have made that deep track. It could only have
been made by the constant and long-continued tread of thousands. It
must have been made by the population of a city.
In the grove surrounding the entrance we found some water collected in
the hollow of a stone, with which we slaked our thirst and made a
partial ablution; and it was somewhat extraordinary that, though we
were barely recovered from illness, had exerted ourselves greatly, and
been exposed to rapid alternations of heat and cold, we never
experienced any bad effects from it.
On our return to the village we found that an unfortunate accident had
occurred during our absence; a child had been run away with by a horse,
thrown off, and killed. In the evening, in company with the alcalde,
the brother of the padrecito, we went to the velorio, or watching. It
was an extremely dark night, and we stumbled along a stony and broken
street till we reached the house of mourning. Before the door were a
crowd of people, and a large card-table, at which all who could find a
place were seated playing cards. At the moment of our arrival, the
whole company was convulsed with laughter at some good thing which one
of them had uttered, and which was repeated for our benefit; a strange
scene at the threshold of a house of mourning. We entered the house,
which was crowded with women, and hammocks were vacated for our use,
these being in all cases the seat of honour. The house, like most of
those in the village, consisted of a single room rounded at each end.
The floor was of earth, and the roof thatched with long leaves of the
guano. From the cross-poles hung a few small hammocks, and in the
middle of the room stood a table, on which lay the body of the child.
It had on the same clothes which it wore when the accident happened,
torn and stained with blood. At one side of the face the skin was
scratched off from being draped on the ground; the skull was cracked;
and there was a deep gash under the ear, from which the blood was still
oozing. On each side of the head was a lighted candle. It was a white
child, three years old, and that morning had been playing about the
house. The mother, a woman of uncommonly tall and muscular frame, was
applying rags to stanch the flow of blood. She had set out that morning
with all her family for Campeachy, with the intention of removing to
that place. An Indian woman went before on horseback, carrying this
child and another. In the suburbs of the village the horse took fright
and ran away, throwing them all off; the servant and one child escaped
unhurt; but this one was dragged some distance, and in two hours died
of its wounds. The women were quiet and grave, but outside there was a
continual laughing, jesting, and uproar, which, with the dead child
before our eyes, seemed rude and heartless. While this was going on, we
heard the gay voice of the padrecito, just arrived, contributing
largely to the jest, and presently he came in, went up to the child,
and, addressing himself to us, lifted up the head, showed us the
wounds, told what he had done for it, and said that if the doctor had
been there it might have been saved, or if it had been a man, but,
being so young, its bones were very tender; then he lighted a straw
cigar, threw himself into a hammock, and, looking around, asked us, in
a tone of voice that was intended for the whole company, what we
thought of the girls.
This ceremony of el velorio is always observed when there is death in a
family. It is intended, as the padrecito told us, para divertirse, or
to amuse and distract the family, and keep them from going to sleep. At
twelve o'clock chocolate is served round, and again at daybreak; but in
some respects the ceremony is different in the case of grown persons
and that of children. In the latter, as they believe that a child is
without sin, and that God takes it immediately to himself the death is
a subject of rejoicing, and the night is passed in card-playing,
jesting, and story-telling. But in the case of grown persons, as they
are not so sure what becomes of the spirit, they have no jesting or
story-telling, and only play cards. All this may seem unfeeling, but we
must not judge others by rules known only to ourselves. Whatever the
ways of hiding or expressing it, the stream of natural affection runs
deep in every bosom.
The mother of the child shed no tears, but as she stood by its head,
stanching its wounds from time to time, she did not seem to be
rejoicing over its death. The padrecito told us that she was poor, but
a very respectable woman. We inquired about the other members of her
family, and especially her husband. The padrecito said she had none,
nor was she a widow; and, unfortunately for his standard of
respectability, when we asked who was the father of the child, he
answered laughingly, "Quien sabe?" "Who knows?" At ten o'clock he
lighted a long bundle of sticks at one of the candles burning at the
head of the child, and we went away.