Departure from Chichen.--Village of Cawa.--Cuncunul.--Arrival at
Valladolid.--An Accident.--Appearance of the City.--Don Pedro
Baranda's Cotton Factory.--A Countryman.--Mexican Revolution.--The
Indians as Soldiers.--Adventures of a Demonio.--Character of the
People.--Gamecocks.--Difficulty of obtaining Information in regard to
the Route.--Departure for the Coast.--Party of Indians.--Village of
Chemax.--Fate of Molas the Pirate.--Discouraging Accounts.--Plans
deranged.--The Convent.--The Cura.--Population of the Village.--Its
early History.--Ruins of Coba.--Indian Sepulchre.--Relics.--A Penknife
found in the Sepulchre.
On Tuesday, the twenty-ninth of March, we left Chichen. It was still in
the gray of the morning when we caught our last view of the great
buildings, and as we turned away we felt that the few short months of
our journey had been a time of interest and wonder, such as rarely
occurs in life. At nine o'clock we reached the village of Kaua, six
leagues distant, and at half past eleven the small village of Cuncunul,
within an hour's ride of Valladolid, and there we determined to dine,
and wait for the servants and carriers.
We remained till four o'clock, and then set out for Valladolid. As far
as the suburbs the road was broken and stony. We entered by the great
Church of Sisal, with convent and cloisters by its side, and a square
in front, which, as we rode across it, sounded hollow under our horses'
feet, and underneath was an immense senote. We passed up the Calle de
Sisal, a long street with straggling houses on each side, and were
directed to the house of Don Pedro Baranda, one of the largest and best
in the place. This gentleman had received advices of our intended
visit, and had engaged for us a house. As our luggage did not arrive,
he furnished us with hammocks, and in an hour we were comfortable as in
our house at Merida. About midnight Albino came clattering to the door,
accompanied by only one horse, carrying our hammocks, and bringing the
disastrous intelligence that the horse carrying the Daguerreotype
apparatus had run away, and made a general crash. Hitherto the
apparatus had always been carried by an Indian, but the road from
Chichen was so good that we were not afraid to trust it on horseback.
There was consolation, however, in the thought that we could not lose
what we had already done with its assistance.
The next morning we were in no hurry. From Valladolid it was our
purpose to prosecute our exploration through a region of which less was
known than of any we had yet visited. In our short voyage with Captain
Fensley from the Laguna to Sisal, he had told us of stone buildings on
the coast, near Cape Catoche, which he called old Spanish forts. These
accounts were confirmed by others, and we at length ascertained what we
supposed to be the fact, that in two places on the coast called Tancar
and Tuloom, what were taken for Spanish forts were aboriginal
buildings. Our business at Valladolid was to make arrangements for
reaching them, and at the same time for coasting round Cape Catoche,
and visiting the Island of Cozumel. We had been told that at Valladolid
we should be able to procure all necessary information about the ruins
on the coast; but we could not even learn the way to reach them; and by
the advice of Don Pedro Baranda we determined to remain a few days,
until a person who was expected, and who was familiar with that region,
should arrive.
In the mean time, a few days did not hang heavy on our hands in
Valladolid. The city, which was founded at an early period of the
conquest, contains about fifteen thousand inhabitants, and is
distinguished as the residence of the vicar-general of the church of
Yucatan.
It was built in a style commensurate with the lofty pretensions of the
conquerors, and, like other cities of Spanish America, bears the marks
of ancient grandeur, but is now going to decay. The roads leading to it
and the very streets are overgrown with bushes. The parochial church
still stands, the principal object in the plaza, and the churches of
San Servacio, San Juan De Dios, Santa Lucia, Santa Ana, La Virgen de la
Candelaria, and the Church of Sisal, the largest buildings in the city,
are all more or less dilapidated.
The same melancholy tokens are visible in the private houses. In the
principal street stand large buildings, roofless, without windows or
doors, and with grass and bushes growing from crevices in the walls;
while here and there, as if in mockery of human pride, a tottering
front has blazoned upon it the coat of arms of some proud Castilian,
distinguished among the daring soldiers of the conquest, whose race is
now entirely unknown.
Among these time-shattered buildings stood one in striking contrast,
remarkable for its neat, compact, and business-like appearance; and in
that country it seemed a phenomenon. It was a cotton factory belonging
to Don Pedro Baranda, the first established in the Mexican Republic,
and for that reason, as emblematic of the dawn of a great manufacturing
system, called the "Aurora de la Industria Yucateca;" and, what gave it
a greater interest in our eyes, it was under the direction of that
young countryman and fellow-citizen, Don Juan Burque, or Mr. John
Burke, to whom I before referred as the first stranger who visited
the ruins of Chichen. It seemed strange to meet in this unknown,
half-Spanish and half-Indian town a citizen of New-York. It was seven
years the day of our arrival since he came to Valladolid. He had almost
lost the facility of expressing himself in his native tongue, but in
dress, manner, appearance, and feelings he was unchanged, and different
from all around him; and it was gratifying to us to know that
throughout that neighbourhood it was no small recommendation to be the
countryman of "the engineer."
Don Pedro Baranda, the proprietor of the factory, began life in the
Spanish navy; at fifteen he was a midshipman on board the flag-ship of
the Spanish admiral at the memorable battle of Trafalgar, and, though
not unwounded, was one of the few who escaped the terrible slaughter of
that day. At the commencement of the war of Mexican independence he was
still in the Spanish navy, but, a Mexican by birth, joined the cause of
his countrymen, and became admiral of the fleet, which he commanded at
the taking of the Castle of San Juan de Ulloa, the closing act of the
successful revolution. After this, he resigned and went to Campeachy,
his native place, but, being in delicate health, removed to Valladolid,
which, in the absence of all other recommendations, was celebrated for
the salubrity of its climate. He had held the highest offices of honour
and trust in the state, and, although his party was now down and his
political influence lost, he had fallen with the respect of all, and,
what was a rare thing among the political animosities of that country,
the actual government, his successful opponents, gave us letters of
introduction to him.
Retired from office, and unable to endure idleness, the spontaneous
growth of cotton around Valladolid induced him to undertake the
establishment of a cotton factory. He had great difficulties to contend
with, and these began with the erection of the building. He had no
architect to consult, and planned and constructed it himself. Twice the
arches gave way, and the whole building came down. The machinery was
imported from the United States, accompanied by four engineers, two of
whom died in the country. In 1835, when Mr. Burke arrived, the factory
had yielded but seventy pieces of cotton, and eighteen yards had cost
eight thousand dollars. At this time the office of acting governor of
the state devolved upon him, but by a political revolution he was
deposed; and while his workmen were celebrating the grito de Dolores,
which announced the outbreak of the Mexican revolution, they were
arrested and thrown in prison, and the factory was stopped for six
months. It was afterward stopped twice by a failure of the cotton crop,
and once by famine; and all the time he had to struggle against the
introduction of smuggled goods from Belize; but, in spite of all
impediments, it had gone on, and was then in successful operation.
In walking about the yard, Don Pedro led us to the wood-pile, and
showed us that the logs were all split into four pieces. This wood is
brought by the Indians in back-loads at a medio per load, and Don Pedro
told us that at first he had requested the Indians not to split the
logs, as he would rather have them entire, but they had been used to
doing so, and could not alter their habits; yet these same Indians, by
discipline and instruction, had become adequate to all the business of
the factory.
The city of Valladolid had some notoriety, as being the place at which
the first blow was struck in the revolution now in progress against the
dominion of Mexico, and also as being the residence of General Iman,
under whom that blow was struck. The immediate consequence was the
expulsion of the Mexican garrison; but there was another, more remote
and of more enduring importance. Therein for the first time, the
Indians were brought out in arms. Utterly ignorant of the political
relations between Mexico and Yucatan, they came in from their ranchos
and milpas under a promise by General Iman that their capitation tax
should be remitted. After the success of the first outbreak the
government endeavoured to avoid the fulfilment of this promise, but was
compelled to compromise by remitting the tax upon women, and the
Indians still look forward to emancipation from the whole. What the
consequences may be of finding themselves, after ages of servitude,
once more in the possession of arms, and in increasing knowledge of
their physical strength, is a question of momentous import to the
people of that country, the solution of which no man can foretell.
And Valladolid had been the theatre of stranger scenes in ancient
times. According to historical accounts, it was once haunted by a
demonio of the worst kind, called a demonio parlero, a loquacious or
talking devil, who held discourse with all that wished at night,
speaking like a parrot, answering all questions put to him, touching a
guitar, playing the castanets, dancing and laughing, but without
suffering himself to be seen.
Afterward he took to throwing stones in garrets, and eggs at the women
and girls, and, says the pious doctor Don Sanchez de Aguilar, "an aunt
of mine, vexed with him, once said to him, 'Go away from this house,
devil,' and gave him a blow in the face which left the nose redder than
cochineal." He became so troublesome that the cura went to one of the
houses which he frequented to exorcise him, but in the mean time El
Demonio went to the cura's house and played him a trick, after which he
went to the house where the cura was waiting, and when the latter went
away, told the trick he had been playing. After this he began
slandering people, and got the whole town at swords' points to such an
extent that it reached the ears of the bishop at Merida, who forbade
speaking to him under pain of heavy spiritual punishments, in
consequence of which the vecinos abstained from any communication with
him; at first the demonic fell to weeping and complaining, then made
more noise than ever, and finally took to burning houses. The vecinos
sought Divine assistance, and the cura, after a severe tussle, drove
him out of the town.
Thirty or forty years afterward, "when I," says the doctor Don Sanchez
de Aguilar, "was cura of the said city, this demonic returned to infest
some of my annexed villages, and in particular one village, Yalcoba,
coming at midnight, or at one in the afternoon, with a great whirlwind,
dust, and noise, as of a hurricane; stones swept over the whole pueblo;
and though the Indians promptly put out the fires of their kitchens, it
did not avail them, for from the flames with which this demonio is
tormented proceeded flashes like nightly comets or wandering stars,
which set fire to two or three houses at once, and spread till there
were not people enough to put out the fire, when I, being sent for to
come and drive it away, conjured this demon, and, with the faith and
zeal that God gave me, commanded him not to enter that village; upon
which the fires and the whirlwinds ceased, to the glory and honour of
the Divine Majesty, which gave such power to the priests." Driven out
here, this demonio returned to infest the village of Valladolid with
new burnings; but by putting crosses in all the hills this evil ceased.
For generations this demonio has not been heard of, but it is known
that he can take any shape he pleases; and I fear me much that he has
at last entered the padres, and, taking advantage of that so-called
amiable weakness which I before hinted at in confidence to the reader,
is leading them along seeming paths of roses, in which they do not yet
feel the thorns.
I have none but kind feelings toward the padres, but, either as a cause
or in consequence of the ascendency of this demonio, the people of
Valladolid seemed the worst we had met with, being, in general, lazy,
gambling, and good for nothing. It is a common expression, "Hay mucho
vago en Valladolid," "There are many idlers in Valladolid;" and we saw
more gamecocks tied by the leg along the walls of the houses than we
had seen in any other place we visited. Part of our business was to
repair our wardrobe and procure a pair of shoes, but neither of these
undertakings could we accomplish. There were no shoes ready made, and
no artist would promise to make a pair in less than a week, which we
learned might be interpreted as meaning at least two.
In the mean tittle we were making inquiries and arrangements for our
journey to the coast. It is almost impossible to conceive what
difficulty we had in learning anything definite concerning the road we
ought to take. Don Pedro Baranda had a manuscript map, made by himself,
which, however, he did not represent as very correct; and the place on
the coast which we wished to visit was not laid down on it at all.
There were but two persons in the town who could give us any
information, and what they gave was most unsatisfactory. Our first plan
was to go to the Bay of Ascension, where we were advised we could hire
a canoa for our coast voyage, but fortunately, by the advice of Don
Pedro Baranda, we were saved from this calamitous step, which would
have subjected us to a long and bootless journey, and the necessity of
returning to Valladolid without accomplishing anything, which might
have disheartened us from attempting to reach the coast in another
direction. Upon the information we received, we determined on going to
the village of Chemax from which, we were advised, there was a direct
road to Tancah, where a boat was on the stocks, and probably then
finished, which we could procure for a voyage down the coast.
Before our departure Doctor Cabot performed an operation for
strabismus, under circumstances peculiarly gratifying to us and, with
the satisfaction arising from its complete success, on Saturday, after
an early dinner, we mounted for our journey to the coast, going first
to the house of Don Pedro Baranda, and to the factory to bid farewell
to Mr. Burke. The road was broad, and had been lately opened for carras
and calesas. On the way we met a large straggling party of Indians,
returning from a hunting expedition in the forests along the seacoast.
Naked, armed with long guns, and with deer and wild boars slung on
their backs, their aspect was the most truculent of any people we had
seen. They were some of the Indians who had risen at the call of
General Iman, and they seemed ready at any moment for battle.
It was some time after dark when we reached the village. The outline of
the church was visible through the darkness, and beside it was the
convent, with a light streaming from the door. The cura was sitting at
a table surrounded by the officials of the village, who started at the
clatter of our horses; and when we appeared in the doorway, if a
firebrand had been thrown among them they could not have been more
astounded. The village was the Ultima Thule of population, the last
between Valladolid and Tancah, and the surprise caused by our
appearance did not subside when we told them that we were on our way to
the latter. They all told us that it was impossible. Tancah was a mere
rancho, seventy miles distant, and the whole intermediate country was a
dense forest. There was no road to it, and no communication except by
an overgrown footpath. It was utterly impossible to get through without
sending Indians before to open a road all the way; and, to crown all,
we would be obliged to sleep in the woods, exposed to moschetoes,
garrapatas, and rain, which last, in our uncertain state, we regarded
with real apprehension.
The rancho was established by one Molas, a smaller and pirate, who,
while under sentence of death in Merida, escaped from prison, and
established himself at this lonely point, out of the reach of justice.
Soldiers had been sent from Merida to arrest him, who, after advancing
as far as Chemax, turned back. In consequence of new political
excitements, change of government, and lapse of time, the persecution,
as it is called, against poor Molas had ceased; and, having an attack
of sickness, he ventured up from the coast, and made his appearance in
the village, to procure such medical aid as it afforded. No one
molested him; and after remaining a while he set out to return on foot
with a single Indian, but worn down by the fatigues of the journey,
while yet eight leagues from the rancho he died upon the road.
These accounts came upon us most unexpectedly, and deranged all our
plans. And there was nothing that more strikingly exhibited the
ignorance prevailing in that country in regard to the roads, than the
fact that, after diligent and careful inquiries at Valladolid, we had
set out upon positive information that we could ride directly through
to Tancah, and had made all our arrangements for doing so, whereas at
six leagues' distance we found ourselves brought to a dead stand.
But turning back formed no part of our deliberations. The only question
was whether we should undertake the journey on foot. The mere walking
none of us regarded; in fact, it would have been a pleasant change, for
there was no satisfaction in stumbling on horseback along those stony
roads; but our servants foresaw a great accumulation of their labours,
and the risk of exposure to rain was a serious consideration; moreover,
I had one little difficulty, which, however, was really a serious one,
and could not be remedied except by a delay of several days, in the
want of shoes, those on my feet being quite incapable of holding out
for such a walk. Our alternative was to go to the port of Yalahao,
which, the reader will see by the map, is almost at right angles from
Tancah, and thence take a canoa. This would subject us to the necessity
of two voyages along the coast, going and returning, and would require,
perhaps, a fortnight to reach Tancah, which we had expected to arrive
at in three days; but there were villages and ranchos on the road, and
the chance of a canoa was so much greater that, under the
circumstances, we were glad of such an alternative.
In the midst of the vexation attending this derangement of our plan, we
were cheered by the comfortable appearance of the convent, and the warm
reception given us by the cura Garcia. The sala was furnished with
pictures and engravings from Scott's novels, made for the Spanish
market, with Spanish lettering; looking-glasses, with gilt frames, from
El Norte, and a large hand organ, horribly out of tune, which, in
compliment to us, the cura set to grinding out "God save the King!"
And, besides all this, the smiling faces of women were peeping at us
through the doors, who at length, unable to repress their curiosity,
crowded each other into the room. The cura sat with us till a late
hour, and when we retired followed us to our room, and stood by us till
we got into our hammocks. His curacy extended to the coast. The ruins
which we proposed visiting were within it, but he had never visited
that part, and now talked seriously of going with us.
The next day Dr. Cabot was taken with a fever, which the cura said he
was almost thankful for, and we were glad of an excuse for passing the
day with him. It was Sunday, and, dressed in his black gown, I never
saw a priest of more respectable appearance. And he was a politician as
well as priest. He had been a member of the convention that formed the
constitution of the state, had taken a prominent part in the
discussions, and distinguished himself by his strong and manly
eloquence. The constitution which he had assisted in forming debarred
priests from holding civil offices, but through the loophole of his
retreat he looked out upon the politics of the world. The relations
between Mexico and Texas were at that time most interesting to him; he
had received a Merida paper, containing a translation in full of
President Houston's inaugural address; and often repeated, "not a
dollar in the treasury, and ten to fifteen millions of debt." He
predicted the downfall of that republic, and said that the conquering
army in Texas would proclaim Santa Ana emperor, march back upon the
capital, and place the diadem upon his head!
Amid the distraction and civil war that devastated his own country, he
had looked to ours as the model of a republic, and gave us many though
not very accurate details; and it seemed strange in this little
interior Indian town to hear an account of late proceedings in our own
capital, and to find one taking so deep an interest in them.
But the cura had more accurate knowledge in regard to matters nearer
home. The village of Chemax contains nearly ten thousand inhabitants,
and was in existence at the time of the conquest. Four years after the
foundation of Merida the Indians in the neighbourhood of Valladolid
formed a conspiracy to destroy the Spaniards, and the first blow was
struck at Chemax, where they caught two brothers, whom they put upon
crosses, and shot at from a distance till they were covered with
arrows. At sunset they took down the bodies, dismembered them, and sent
the heads and limbs to different places, to show that vengeance was
begun.
The curacy of Chemax comprehended within its jurisdiction all between
it and the sea. The cura had drawn up a report, by order of the
government, of the condition and character of the region under his
charge, and its objects of curiosity and interest, from which I copied
the following notice in regard to ruins known by the name of Coba.
"In the eastern part of this village, at eight leagues' distance, and
fourteen from the head of the district, near one of the three lagunas,
is a building that the indigenes call Monjas. It consists of various
ranges of two stories, all covered with arches, closed with masonry of
rude stone, and each piece is of six square yards. Its interior
pavement is preserved entire, and on the walls of one, in the second
story, are some painted figures in different attitudes, showing,
without doubt, according to the supposition of the natives, that these
are the remains of that detestable worship so commonly found.
"From this edifice there is a calzada, or paved road, of ten or twelve
yards in width, running to the southeast to a limit that has not been
discovered with certainty, but some aver that it goes in the direction
of Chichen Itza."
The most interesting part of this, in our eyes, was the calzada, or
paved road, but the information from others in the village did not
increase our interest. The cura himself had never visited these ruins;
they were all buried in forest; there was no rancho or other habitation
near; and as our time was necessarily to be much prolonged by the
change we were obliged to make, we concluded that it would not be
advisable to go and see them.
But the cura had much more interesting information. On his own hacienda
of Kantunile, sixteen leagues nearer the coast, were several mounds, in
one of which, while excavating for stone to be used in building, the
Indians had discovered a sepulchre containing three skeletons, which,
according to the cura, were those of a man, a woman, and a child, but
all, unfortunately, so much decayed that in attempting to remove them
they fell to pieces.
[Engraving: Contents of terra cotta vases]
At the head of the skeletons were two large vases of terra cotta, with
covers of the same material. In one of these was a large collection of
Indian ornaments, beads, stones, and two carved shells, which are
represented in the following engraving. The carving on the shells is in
bas-relief, and very perfect; the subject is the same in both, and the
reader will observe that, though differing in detail, it is of the same
type with the figure on the Ticul vase, and those sculptured on the
wall at Chichen. The other vase was filled nearly to the top with
arrow-heads, not of flint, but of obsidian; and as there are no
volcanoes in Yucatan from which obsidian can be procured, the discovery
of these proves intercourse with the volcanic regions of Mexico. But,
besides these, add more interesting and important than all, on the top
of these arrow-heads lay a _penknife with a horn handle_. All these the
cura had in his possession, carefully preserved in a bag, which he
emptied on a table for our examination; and, as may be supposed,
interesting as the other memorials were, the penknife attracted out
particular attention. The horn handle was much decayed, and the iron or
steel was worn and rusted. This penknife was never made in the country.
How came it in an Indian sepulchre? I answer, when the fabrics of
Europe and this country came together, the white man and the red had
met. The figures carved on the shells, those little perishable
memorials, accidentally disinterred, identify the crumbling bones in
that sepulchre with the builders of Chichen, of those mysterious cities
that now lie shrouded in the forest; and those bones were laid in their
grave after a penknife had found its way into the country. Speculation
and ingenuity may assign other causes, but, in my opinion, the
inference is reasonable, if not irresistible, that at the time of the
conquest, and afterward, the Indians were actually living in and
occupying those very cities on whose great ruins we now gaze with
wonder. A penknife--one of the petty presents distributed by the
Spaniards--reached the hands of a cacique, who, far removed from the
capital, died in his native town, and was buried with the rites and
ceremonies transmitted by his fathers. A penknife is at this day an
object of curiosity and admiration among the Indians, and, perhaps, in
the whole of Yucatan there is not one in the hands of a native. At the
time of the conquest it was doubtless considered precious, worthy of
being buried with the heirlooms of its owner, and of accompanying him
to the world of spirits. I was extremely anxious to procure these
memorials. The cura said, with Spanish courtesy, that they were mine;
but he evidently attached great value to them, and, much as I desired
it, I could not, with any propriety, take them.