Chapter XXIV: Steamer Mascot--Conclusion, 270 (5)

Morelia has much civic pride, and above all else she is proud of her music; proud of her bands. Once a year the musical _Morelianos_ have a competition among themselves, and the band declared the winner is sent to Mexico City to contest with bands from other cities for the musical pre-eminence of the Republic. Great interest is taken in these musical contests. For several years the champion band of Morelia has carried off the national prize. To play in the band is a mark of distinction, and the band leader is a local dignitary. The chief band plays in the _plaza_ throughout each afternoon. This park is filled with fine trees, with many flowers, and has several fountains and comfortable seats, where you may sit and listen to the plash of the tinkling waters and the moving melodies of the band. These seats are free to all. Then, too, there are chairs for which the city sells the privilege, and the chairs are rented for _cinco centavos_ (five cents Mexican, equal to about two cents United States) per hour, for a plain rough-bottom chair; _vicenti-cinco centavos_ (twenty-five cents Mexican) for a big chair with arms. You pay your money, you sit in your chair and enjoy the music as long as you care to listen. Poor _peones_ sit on the free benches; those who have the few _centavos_ to spare rent a plain chair. The rich merchants and _haciendados_ rent the big chairs, and sit there with their families gossiping and applauding the music and watching the circling throngs who walk around the square. The _señoritas_, three or four abreast, with chaperons, walk on the inside of the broad pavement. The dashing _caballeros_ and _rancherros_, the dudes and the beaux, in their bravest adornment, walk three or four abreast in the other direction on the outside. Young gentlemen may never speak to young ladies upon the streets, but they dart burning glances at them, and the black eyes of the _señoritas_ are not slow in their response.

I spent one morning viewing the markets and watching the city life on the streets. In Mexico your social standing is marked by the shoeing of your feet, the covering of your head; your boots and your hats are the two things a Mexican first looks at when approaching you. The Mexican loves to thrust his feet into long, narrow toothpick-pointed shoes; the smaller and daintier the happier he is. For a hat, the costly _sombrero_, for which fifty to one hundred dollars are often paid, covers the man of means; sometimes a hat may cost twice this sum. It may be of felt, or of expensive braided straw with a band of woven gold or silver threads about the crown. Generally, a large gold or silver monogram several inches high is on one side. I wore a pair of broad-soled, oil-dressed walking shoes, with big eyelet holes for the laces. Substantial and comfortable, they would have been quite correct in the States, but the passing throngs upon the streets stared with frank perplexity at these, to them, extraordinary shoes. My sturdy foot gear became the comment of the town. As I sat in the park in the afternoon, several groups of the young and fashionable came up, and pausing, gazed intently at my novel footwear. My hat, a comfortable slouch of the trooper type, also seemed to them of wonderfully little cost--“Only five dollars for a hat!” “_Ciertamente! El Señor_ must have paid more than that!” The American trousers, not fitting tightly to the leg, were also remarked. It is complained, that the young men of wealthy Mexican families, who are now attending Cornell and Harvard and Yale, instead of going to old Spain or to France, return in these American clothes, and insist upon wearing these loose American trousers to the scandal of conservative fashion. Among the ladies, however, the American hat has not yet conquered the _mantilla_, and for this I have been thankful. The graceful _mantilla_ is so attractive and sits so daintily about the black-braided brow of the _señora_ and the _señorita_ who pass you by!

It is against the laws of Mexico for the religious orders any longer to live within the Republic, but at Morelia there are said to be several of these orders existing clandestinely. A group of ladies, whom we met at the station of departure, all quietly gowned in black, wearing black _tapalos_--like a _reboso_ but of more costly material--about their heads, were pointed out to me as a _subrosa_ company of nuns.

Morelia is the seat of an Archbishop. The cathedral is a beautiful duplicate of that of Valladolid, in old Spain. It is kept in perfect repair. Within, it is resplendent with gold and silver and richly colored walls and roof. It possesses many beautiful statues of the saints and one of the finest organs in the world. The rich Archbishop is said to be worth more than six millions of dollars (Mexican). He is said to own thousands of fertile acres of the best lands in the State of Michoacan. (All of this worldly wealth the Archbishop holds _subrosa_, contrary to the letter of the law.)

There are several hundred churches in Morelia. Here Roman Ecclesiasticism looms large and makes itself attractive to the people. We attended a night special celebration of the Mass in a fine, large church, dedicated to _Nuestra Señora de Guadeloupe_. The church within and without was illuminated with thousands of electric lights. A full orchestra was employed, violins, cellos and mandolins, flutes, cornets, horns and trombones, a fine organ as well as a piano, while several hundred men and boys cassock-clad, chanted and sang in wonderful harmony with the exquisite orchestral music. Many of the voices revealed the highest cultivation, and some of the male sopranos rose strong and sweet and clear as the tones of a Nordica.

As we stood near the portal of the church, listening to the music and watching the multitude of worshipers, an Indian, wild as the Cordilleras of Guerrero, whence he came, timidly entered and paused in the marble portal as one transfixed. His hard, rough feet were without sandals. His red _zerape_ hung in shreds over his tattered, once white garments. His shock of black hair had never known a comb; and even though at last he doffed his _sombrero_, it was some moments before he pulled it off. He came from the outer darkness. He stood in the blazing glare of the thousand lights, forgetting to cross himself, listening to the mighty melody of the great chorus and many instruments, staring at the brilliant scene. His eyes grew large, his face stiffened, his breast heaved. He conceived himself transported to Paradise! My Protestant missionary friend watched him as did I, and then turning to me, observed, “Can you wonder that the Protestant missionary is not in it, when he undertakes to compete with the sumptuous splendor and organized magnificence of ritual and edifice in the Roman Church? Our only chance is to open schools for the children, take them young and instruct them early, and then, perhaps, when they grow up, some few of them may have learned to adhere to the simple doctrine and plain practice of our Protestant teaching.”

The Jesuits here sustain the fine college of San Nicholas for men, where Hidalgo once taught and Morelos learned, and which, founded in 1540, boasts that it is the oldest institution of learning in the Americas. The Jesuits also maintain a large school for young women. They are endeavoring to resist the tide of progress which is so fast Americanizing the land. But even here the upgrowing generations are giving steadily increasing support to the policies of the enlightened and liberal men now guiding the destinies of the Republic.

XVI

Morelia and Toluca--The Markets--The Colleges--The Schools--The Ancient and the Modern Spirit

TOLUCA, ESTADO DE MEXICO, MEXICO,
_December 14th_.

Yesterday afternoon at four o’clock I left Morelia by the National Railroad and reached here at three o’clock in the morning. Tio continued on to Mexico City, but I stopped over to spend the day with my friend, El Padre, the missionary, who has been one of our party to the _Tierra Caliente_.

From my hotel Jardin, in Morelia, I rode down to the station in a most ancient little car pulled by a single mule; the electric tramway has not yet arrived at that capital.

It was yet dark when I was awakened for Toluca. When I left the train the air was cold, frosty. The city was silent, but it was well lighted with electricity, and a modern electric tram car awaited me at the station. Toluca thus gave me at the hour of my night arrival the impression of being more modern than Morelia, and this impression was borne out upon later acquaintance.

Toluca is one of the more vigorous of the growing cities of the republic. It is a community of some twenty-five thousand people, the capital of the State of Mexico, and lies one thousand feet higher in the air than Mexico City. It is near the center of a fertile valley, forty or fifty miles in length, and ten to twenty broad, while ten miles to the southwest towers the snow-capped Volcano de Toluca, lifting its gleaming cone fifteen thousand feet into the heavens, its melting snows giving an abundant supply of pure water to the town.

The religious differentiation between Toluca and Morelia is marked. Morelia is one of the six cathedral cities of Mexico, and is the seat of one of the six Archbishops. Morelia is also the center of Jesuit activity in Mexico. In Morelia, the Spanish-Mexican takes off his _sombrero_ when he passes the cathedral; the Indian kneels down in the street and crosses himself. The several hundred churches are kept in excellent repair. Ecclesiasticism dominates, the layman is subordinate. In Toluca, on the contrary, Church rule is pushed aside; while there are a number of churches, they are old and most of them dilapidated. The foundations of a great cathedral, laid many years ago, are now overgrown with grass and bushes. No money has been forthcoming from Tolucan pockets to build it up. The governor of Toluca is among the most progressive and liberal men of the republic. His administration maintains large schools and academies for the instruction of young men and women, where the sciences are taught, where enlightened thought rules, and where particular attention is paid to the English language and literature. Several of the instructors are from Chicago.

There are many fine residences in Toluca, with handsome private grounds. The public buildings are new and imposing; the Alameda Park, with its groves and gardens and multitudes of birds, is as beautiful as Chapultepec.

There is also great business activity in Toluca and a number of successful manufactures.

The morning of my visit, I noticed an unusual crowd upon the streets. It surged toward me. It was respectful and quiet. The swarthy company were pressing to look wonderingly upon two little Swedish girls, with the bluest eyes and pinkest cheeks, and braids of the most golden hair--perfect types of the Scandinavian North. They were the children of workmen imported from Sweden and now teaching Tolucans the skilled manufacture of iron.

The rich valley, with its climate of perpetual spring, is the home of a large Aztec and Otomy Indian population. These live in many towns built of stone and adoby, containing two and three thousand souls, even yet speaking their ancient Aztec tongue, knowing only Spanish enough to trade. They are mostly agriculturists, and raise large crops of wheat and corn, which are borne to market upon the backs of men and mules and _burros_. We met many such burden-bearing cavalcades entering the city, and generally driven by Indians of the wildest types we yet have seen. The sturdy and rugged men are of a stronger race than the inhabitants of the _Tierra Caliente_ along the valley of the Balsas. These Indians run, not a man of them walks. They take a quick, short step, a sort of jog-trot, which carries them forward a great many miles a day.

The climate of Toluca is colder and drier than that of Mexico City, the town being so much higher above the sea. The temperature at night, all the year round, is said to be nearly at frost, falling as low as thirty-nine degrees (Fahrenheit). In the markets to-day I have seen oranges, limes, tamarinds, apples, guavas, hawberries, three sorts of bananas, strawberries, and several other fruits I did not know, as well as fresh peas, beans, lettuce, turnips, beets, potatoes, sweet potatoes, yams, and several other edible tubers. I have also just purchased some of the celebrated Toluca lace, made by the Indians, and some pretty head shawls, (_tapalos_), of native make. An Indian pottery, made here, is also attractive--a brown and yellow ware, made into jars and water jugs, some of which I am sending to Kanawha.

What a land this country of temperate highlands would have become if only our Puritan and Cavalier ancestors had discovered and taken it! But the descendants of Puritan and Cavalier have at last found out the charm and richness of this great country and, little by little, are beginning to come into it, sympathetically collaborating with its people. Mexico will yet become a most potent factor in the world’s affairs. Progressive Mexicans hope for the day when Mexico will become even more closely knit to the great Republic of the North. Reactionary Mexicans, the conservatives of the Roman Church, dread and deprecate the impending change. El Mundo, chief newspaper of the ecclesiastical party, continually declaims against what it denounces as the “Peaceful Conquest,” of _Los Americanos_.

In Toluca there was no extensive celebration of the twelfth of December, “The Coronation day of the Virgin of Guadalupe, the Indian Madonna,” to every Indian the greatest festival of the year. In Morelia, on the contrary, just as in Patzcuaro, the town was lit up from one end to the other with electricity, with gas jets, with lanterns, with multitudes of candles, with torches. The cathedral and the many churches were trimmed with bands of fire along each cornice, up and down each belfry and tower, and all the hundreds of bells were clanged discordantly. The bells of the churches of Mexico are not swung and rung, nor have they any clappers hanging in their throats. The bells are made fast in one position, are struck with a ponderous hammer, and distract the stranger with their incessant dissonance.

The illumination of Morelia is said to be paid for from the Archbishop’s chest, although each layman is expected to set out his own candles before his door. In front of the cathedral a company of priests touched off elaborate fireworks. During the day, hundreds of Indians came into the city, even as I saw them entering Patzcuaro. They camped along the streets, cooked at little fires along the curbs, and slept wherever they happened to be. These Indians were chiefly afoot, the women brought their babies upon their backs, even the old folks were sometimes being carried along upon the shoulders of the younger men. The thronged and excited city was early awake. In fact, it never slept. And there were not only the swarms of Indians, but also groups of dashing _haciendados_ in their high _sombreros_, short velvet jackets, and tight-fitting, silver-laced and buttoned _pantaloones_, all mingling and promenading and celebrating the _fiesta_ of Mexico’s patron saint.

In Morelia no one has yet dared to sell a foot of ground to the Protestant missionaries. To do so would mean the seller’s ruin.

In Toluca the Protestant Church (the Baptists) have purchased buildings and opened a fine school for boys and girls, which is become the pride and life work of El Padre.

So many smooth and cunning scoundrels have fled to Mexico, there to hide from American justice, that the Mexican has begun to doubt us all. Hence it is doubly gratifying when one finds here honored and esteemed the better type of our enlightened citizenship like El Padre, and some others whom I have met.

XVII

Cuernavaca--The County Seat of Montezuma, of Cortez and Spanish Viceroys, of Maximilian--A Pleasant Watering Place of Modern Mexico

HOTEL ITURBIDE, MEXICO CITY,
_December 17th_.

This is my last night in Mexico City. I shall leave here to-morrow, Wednesday, at 9.30 P. M., by the Mexican Railway for Vera Cruz. I will reach there in time for breakfast, board the Ward Line’s steamer, _Monterey_, and sail about noon for Havana, via Progresso, Yucatan.

I delayed my departure until the evening, in order that I might visit Cuernavaca and have a glimpse of that famous watering place and the rich valley wherein it lies--where Montezuma and his nobles held luxurious court, where Cortez made his winter residence, and Maximilian erected a lovely villa for his Empress Carlotta; and which is, to-day, the favorite resort of fashionable Mexico. My passes would have taken me a hundred and fifty miles further along the river Balsas--two hundred miles above where I saw it at Churumuco--but limited time prevented my going so far, and I contented myself with the lesser journey.

I took the train this morning for Cuernavaca, at the large station of the Mexican Central Railway. I sat in a drawing-room car, as new and comfortable as though just leaving Chicago or New York. Quite a party of the ladies of the American Colony went down with me; along with them were several gentlemen, who seemed to belong to the diplomatic corps, and among these was the Swedish Consul, with whom I made conversation in German and French.

The railway leaves the city on the east side, curves to the north, and circles around the northern suburbs, until it begins to climb toward the southwest.

As we rise--a four per cent. grade--the fertile and beautiful valley of Anahuac, in which Mexico City is situated, spreads out before me. The big white city, its red and black-tiled roofs, its many domed and towered churches; the numerous lesser towns and villages scattering out into the bowl-like valley; the shimmering surfaces of lakes Tezcoco, Xochimilco, and Chalco, and bordering ponds; the plantations of dark maguey; the orchards of citrous fruits; the innumerable gardens, floating gardens some of them, from which are gathered the fresh vegetables daily displayed in the city’s several markets; the dark green groves of the splendid cypress of the Alameda and of Chapultepec, as well as the palace itself, perched high upon its rocky base; the circling ranges of lofty mountains, and, in the far southern distance, the mighty volcanoes of Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl, snow-crowned and glittering with dazzling refulgence in the light of the morning sun,--all these made a picture as grand and imposing as any landscape I have seen or may ever see, and as astonishing in its contrasts of light and shadow, of green semitropical valley and icebound heights.

For several hours we crept slowly upward,--the views and vistas ever changing. Everywhere there were plantations of maguey, and everywhere at the stations Indian women were selling fresh _pulque_ to the thirsty travelers of the train. Then, little by little, as we were lifted above the warmer airs, we came into the altitude of the oaks, extensive forests of well-grown oaks, and then yet higher we came into splendid forests of pine. The mountains now lost the smoothness of surface, which marked the lower slopes. We came into wide reaches of volcanic ash, tufa, beds of lava, all rough and sharp pointed, with deep cavernous clefts between, apparently lying just as they fell and flowed and hardened uncounted centuries ago.

Upon reaching the summit, attaining an altitude of over ten thousand feet above the level of the sea, we traversed for many miles a grassy tableland, where were herds of the long-horned cattle, and flocks of the thin-wooled sheep with their keepers. Running parallel to our track extended the ancient Royal Turnpike, built long ago by Montezuma and maintained by Cortez with the labor of his conquered Aztec slaves, and still called “El Camino Real del Rey.” On the very summit of the height of land stood the ruins of an old roadhouse and towered fortress. Here Cortez placed his soldiers, and here garrisons of troops have ever since remained to guard the public, to protect the royal mails, to preserve the dignity of the Republic, and even to-day to save the railroad trains from being held up by modern bandits as bold and merciless as their predecessors of bygone centuries. It is the tradition concerning these heights that they have always been the rendezvous of tribes and bands, whose immemorial privilege and occupation it has been to kill and rob. Gruesome are the tales to-day related of the murders and plunderings which once were of almost daily occurrence, and sometimes do yet occur along this famous road. Even now, I notice the camp of soldiers in permanent quarters beneath the shadow of the crumbling tower. Diaz, of the iron hand, takes no chances with the turbulent residents of these mountain solitudes! All along we are among the ancient lava beds, while always lifting into the deep azure sky far out to the left, glitter the snow-clad summits of Iztaccihuatl (_Ista-se-wahtl_) and Popocatepetl. They appeared to be close to us, and yet we never came any nearer to them,--although we steamed toward them almost half a day.

The descent was rapid--we came down nearly five thousand feet in an hour and a half--into a most lovely verdant valley, two thousand feet lower than Lake Tezcoco. Here grew great crops of sugar cane, bananas, coffee, and oranges, limes and pomegranates--a profuse verdure. The valley, from ten to twenty miles in width, stretched away in broad sweeping curves both east and west, while through it flowed the upper waters of the River Balsas. Here the river takes its rise from the fountains of the melting snowfields upon the volcano’s distant flanks. The valley is one of the most fertile and salubrious in all Mexico. Cortez seized upon it almost as soon as he had wrested _Tenochtitlan_ from Montezuma’s grasp. What he did not take for himself, he divided out in liberal gifts among the great captains in his train, granting to them immense _haciendas_, farms fifty miles across, embracing lands of unbounded fertility, even then smiling beneath the care of skillful tillers of the soil. The best of these monstrous estates are still owned by families descended from the _Conquestadores_. The lands originally were all subject to the law of entail, and the laws are still upon the statute books. Here are famous prehistoric ruins, among them those of the ancient pyramid and temple of Xochicalco and many hieroglyphics dating back to an antiquity more remote than the memory of even the Aztec people. Here also are the caves of Cacahuamilpa, equally famous. The great ruins, lying a day’s journey from the city, I did not have a chance to see.

My glimpses of the town of Cuernavaca were but flashlight peeps. The station, where we finally arrived, after descending by a long series of zig-zags and sweeping curves, lies a good mile outside the city. Here a motley assemblage were gathered to greet our advent, an array of _cochas_, _voitures_, and _cabriolets_, drawn by dusty, uncurried mules and horses. Remembering my experience, when last arriving in Mexico City, I hurried to an antique vehicle, drawn by a pair of mules, and bargained with the young _cochero_ that he should drive me to and about the city of Cuernavaca and bring me back to the station. This after some haggling, he agreed to do, all for one _peso_ (Mexican silver dollar). I climbed into the dusty equipage. The _cochero_ swore at his mules in sonorous Spanish, and cracking his long-lashed whip, started them on a full run down the wide _camino_, amidst a cloud of white dust. Thus we entered the city and thus we proceeded through streets narrow and broad, until we had traversed and circled and driven through the chiefer part of it. He never stopped his swearing, he continually cracked his whip, and the mules never slackened in their wild gallop throughout the happy hour he was in my employ. There are no sidewalks in these Spanish towns. Men and women bolted from our onward coming, children fled into open doorways, and dogs and chickens and lank hogs scattered before us as chaff before the wind. We rattled past the one-time palace of Cortez, afterward of Carlotta, Maximilian’s ill-fated mate, and now used as the State Capitol. We circled the pretty _plaza_ with its flowers and palms and tropical gardens and splashing fountains. We viewed the monstrous cathedral, all dilapidated. We drew rein a moment before the shrine of the Virgin of Guadeloupe, kodaked it, and swung along in front of the old church of the Franciscans.

My _cochero_ seemed to gain enthusiasm with each bounce of the _cocha_. He clamored continually in voluble and quite incomprehensible Indian-Spanish. The narrower and more ill-paved the street the more violently did he lash the mules like one possessed. A pair of pretty _señoritas_, on their balcony smiled upon me as we passed, and I kodaked them in courteous acknowledgment of their good will; we beheld where the famous baths of Cuernavaca have for centuries been taken, and I had pointed out to me the magnificent and extensive Borda Gardens, where flowers and fruits, fountains and cascades, marble basins and miniature lakes express in utter riot the prodigal and exuberant fancies of an ancient half-mad millionaire; and still proceeding, never stopping, we at last whirled back amidst even greater clouds of dust to the railway station, just in time to catch the train. Another motley throng was gathered there. Half of the town seemed to have turned out to see the other half depart. Along the platform were many Indians selling fruit and compounding those curious peppered sandwiches, which so delight the seasoned palate of the Mexican. By this time the lining of my own mouth having become somewhat inured to these fierce foods, I let an old Indian crone make for me a particular combination of bread and oil and pepper and cucumbers and highly-seasoned and minced meat, only daring to eat it, however, when I had entered my car again, so that I might be in close neighborhood to copious supplies of water. The Mexican delights in this sort of burning sustenance, and for him it can never be made too spiced and too hot. On the platform of the station there were also many Mexican ladies of quality, come to say good-bye to husbands and brothers, who were returning to the capital. None of them wore hats, but the graceful _mantillas_ were universally in use, and, generally, the gowns were black.

Cuernavaca with its baths and mineral waters is the favorite of all the resorts, easily accessible to the fashionable Mexican. Here also almost continually resides a large colony of the European ladies whose husbands do business in Mexico City, the high altitude, thin air, and chilly temperature of which rarely agree with the health of the women who come there from the lower sea levels. The men can stand it from the first, if their hearts and lungs are sound, but the women are often sent to Cuernavaca, there to sojourn until they become acclimated to the conditions of these highland plateaus. The harsh climate of Mexico City is particularly cruel to all convalescents; hence invalids also come here to regain their strength. Thus, there is much travel upon the railway between the capital of the republic and its most salubrious, nearby resort.

It was afternoon when we drew out of Cuernavaca for the long climb to the height of land. As we ascended, the evening shadows were lengthening and creeping out from every cleft and hollow along the mountain sides; and toward the east, splitting the blue sky, towered Popocatepetl. The most profound impression of my sojourn in Mexico, a memory which will follow me through life, is that of the mighty, glittering, distant, yet ever-present, snow-bound cone of Popocatepetl.

As we crossed the height of land and began our descent, the long evening shadows filled the great valley of Anahuac, while forth from every vale and hollow crept little bunches of cloudlike mist, until at last, with strange and weird effect, the assembled vapors shut from my vision the whole extent of the valley beneath, and made it seem as though we were plunging into the unfathomable depths of a white sea. The land, the lakes, the towns, the villages, and the city were hid beneath the impenetrable, fleecy cloud-billows.

It was dark when we entered the city. I took a _cocha_, and I am here again in my stone-walled chamber of the hotel. I entered the city from the north, I now leave it by the east, along the route which was traversed by the invading conquerors from old Spain, when four hundred years ago they came up from the placid waters of the sea, a dreadful apparition, bringing death in their mailed fists, and pestilence and cruel enslavement to a proud and ruling race.

XVIII

The Journey by Night from Mexico City--Over the Mountains to the Sea Coast--The Ancient City of Vera Cruz

VERA CRUZ, MEXICO,
_December 19th_.

Last night was to be my final one in Mexico, and as a troupe of Spanish actors was billed at one of the larger theaters, I went to see the play. There are a number of playhouses in the city, and paternal government is laying the foundation for an opera-house which, it is announced, will be one of the most _“magnifico”_ in the world. The theater we attended was one of the largest, and the actors, Spaniards from Barcelona, were filling a season’s engagement. In purchasing tickets, the first novelty was the separate coupons which are issued for each act. You buy for one act or another as you prefer. The Mexicans rarely stay the play out, but linger for an act or two and then depart. There are tiers of boxes around the sides, in which were many men and ladies in evening dress, the belles and beaux of the city. We sat among the occupants of the seats upon the floor, the greater part of whom were men. The first noticeable difference between the audience here and that at home is that every man keeps on his hat except when occupying a box. It is bad enough, we think, for a woman to retain her hat or bonnet, but imagine how it is when you are confronted by multitudinous high-peaked broad-brimmed _sombreros_ of the most obtrusive type. The excuse for the wearing of these great hats upon all occasions is, that in the chilly air of these high altitudes, it becomes a necessary protection.

The faces about me were dark; even the men in the boxes were of darker color than would be those of the pure Spanish blood. The women are also dark, their color much darker than that of the usual mulatto in the States. This is due to the large infusion of Indian blood among the Mexican people, even among the leisure classes.

The actors were of the Spanish swarthy type, but among the actresses, there were, as always, two or three with conspicuously red heads, the Venetian red so pronounced and popular among the London shopgirls. These red headed belles received the entire attention and applause of the male portion of the audience. The audience also smoked incessantly, the gentlemen large Mexican cigars, the ladies their cigarettes. The right to smoke is an inalienable privilege of both sexes in Mexico, the women using tobacco almost as freely and constantly as do the men. The acting was good, and some of the fandango dances brought thunders of _bravos_. The pauses between acts were long. In one of the intervals we sauntered out upon the streets, where a mob of ticket brokers so assailed us and bargained so successfully for our remaining coupons, that we sold them at an advance over the figure we had paid. The plays begin early, about seven o’clock, and the doors stay open until midnight, the constantly changing audiences giving to the actors fresh support.

On a previous night we visited another theater, where a more fashionable company gathered to see the well-known Frenchman, Frijoli, in his clever impersonations of character. Here were assembled Mexico’s most fashionable set, among them a party of distinguished South Americans attending the Pan-American Congress, the ladies from Brazil, Argentina, and Chili wearing costly diamonds, and being in full decollete attire.

Here also the _sombrero_ reigned supreme in dress circle and on parquet floor, and smoking was everywhere indulged in.

Yesterday was to be my last day in Mexico. I started out in the morning to lay hold of a good opal and try my luck in buying _mantillas_. From the young woman in the shop where I had had my kodak films prepared, I learned the location of an establishment where _mantillas_ were sold. She could not talk to me in my own tongue. I was puzzled what to do, then an idea came to me. I took out a pencil and paper. I handed them to her. I indicated by signs that I would have her make a picture. Quick as a flash she interpreted my thought. She laughed, and drew for me a perfect little map, showing the shop wherein I stood, the street it opened out upon, the streets and blocks I should follow until I came to the place where the _mantillas_ were, and she marked my final corner with an “X.” I bowed to her profoundly, saying, many times, “_Muchas gracias, mil gracias, señorita_,” and, with paper in hand, started on my quest. I had no trouble in finding my way. I finally halted before a big French retail dry goods store. All dry goods establishments here are either French or Spanish, just as the hardware and drug stores are all German; the native Mexican is not keen in trade, and but few business houses are his.

It was a large concern, and many customers were passing in and out. A number of clerks, all men,--I have seen no woman clerks anywhere--were standing behind long tables, while the public moved up and down between. I repeated the word _mantilla_, and was shown to where were many shelves filled with flat pasteboard boxes. Several of these were taken down and the beautiful pieces of lace shown me. As I stood there, in a quandary what to select, a pleasant-faced, short, stout man with a dark-haired woman approached me. As they neared the table, she turned to him and said in good United States, “O, here are the _mantillas_ we are looking for.” Her appearance attracted me, and so, turning to her and lifting my hat, I bowed and begged her aid. He and I then exchanged cards. He was a Dr. S., of Washington, for many years physician to Mrs. T., whose wedding I attended two years ago, making geological studies in Mexico, and soon going to Central America. We were at once friends. He was gathering information for the Smithsonian Institution. The lady was his wife. She aided me in selecting two lovely _mantillas_ of black silk. Later, they accompanied me in my search for opals, and helped me choose several fine stones. Afterward, at their hotel, the Jardin, they showed me their collection of photographs, and many of the mementoes and curios they were collecting. In the afternoon we dined together at my Creole restaurant. At last, we parted, with mutual regret.

The train which bore me from the city left the station of the Mexican Railway (“The Queen’s Own”), about nine o’clock P. M. It is a standard gauge railroad. I had a comfortable lower berth in the Pullman. The car was crowded. Several young officers in their smartest uniforms were saying _adios_ to a number of black-eyed _señoritas_ and their mammas. The young men at parting, wrapped wide scarfs about their mouths, almost hiding their faces up to their eyes, a common practice used against pneumonia. The night air was cold. I wore my overcoat, and shivered where I stood upon the rear platform of the car watching through many miles the city’s receding lights. We traversed the valley toward the east, and then began to climb the lower slopes of the mountain range we must cross before we should finally descend to Vera Cruz.

When I awoke in the morning we were yet three hours from the Gulf. We had crossed the mountains in the night; we had ascended three thousand feet, and come down eleven thousand feet, through wild and beautiful scenery; a journey never to be taken by night, unless necessity demands. We were more than two hours late, having been detained at Orizaba, while we slept. This was fortunate for me, for it gave me the daylight hours to view the lowlands through which the road passes from the mountains to the sea.

Back of us, high, high into the cloudless blue sky, glittered the snowy peak of Mexico’s greatest volcano, the lofty, mighty Orizaba, now known to be higher than Popocatepetl, and much like it in the contour of its cone; a most imposing sight as it shone in the light of the rising sun. Wherever we turned, wherever we went, mighty Orizaba followed us. We never lost sight of it, we could not escape its stupendous bulk. I am fortunate to have seen four of the chief snow-capped volcanoes of Mexico, and to have fine photographs of them all--Popocatepetl, Ixtaccihautl, Nevada de Toluca, and Orizaba.

The lowlands we were traversing are wholly tropical; we were among extensive plantations of bananas, palms of many sorts, coffee orchards, and impenetrable jungles. The sun was as hot as upon the _llanos_ along the river Balsas in Michoacan.

It was half-past nine when the train pulled into the station at Vera Cruz. A big negro, black as night, dressed in immaculate white duck, collared me the very instant my feet touched the ground. He spoke in soft, smooth English, with marked British accent. He introduced himself as “Mr. Sam.” “I am a British subject from Jamaica,” he said, “and representative of the Hotel Metropolitán.” He offered to conduct me to that institution. He assured me it was “the finest establishment upon the coast.” As that was my predetermined destination, I permitted him to precede me there, carrying my bags. The sun was fierce, the atmosphere dull and heavy. We walked through filthy streets, streets never yet cleaned in all the four-centuries’ life of Vera Cruz. The ill-paved and stinking gutters were filled with slime. The streets were bordered with low-built stucco houses. We entered an ill-kept plaza where grew lank bananas and cocoanut palms, a low government building with a graceful tower bounding its eastern side. Here we came to the hotel, an old stone edifice two stories high, with a loggia overspreading the sidewalk, and a curtain hung between the pillars and the street to keep the hot sun from the footway which ran beneath. “Mr. Sam” instructed me in what I should have to do. First, I must follow him to the American doctor, and in the presence of the American Consul, procure a certificate of health. Then he would take me to the “Fumigation Office” of the Mexican government to have my baggage examined and certified as free from yellow fever and contagious disease. Then he would take me to the office of the Ward Line Steamship Company to have my ticket, which I had bought the day before in the office of the company in Mexico City, examined and certified, and then he would arrange that “The Express Company,” for a stiff fee, should convey my through baggage from the station of the railway to the steamer _Monterey_, lying at anchor out in the open Gulf, although the day previous it had all been checked through from Mexico City to Havana. Later, he himself would row me out to the vessel and put me in my stateroom, free from further molestation of red tape. “Mr. Sam” proved himself true, extracting from me, however, sundry _centavos_ along the way. He did not intend me at any time to escape. Nevertheless, I did shake myself free from his superintendence for one short hour, and strolled alone about the ancient town. It is a city of filth, stinks, and squalor--just the home for the perpetual breeding of pestilence. It is no wonder that the plague of yellow fever has for centuries stalked remorselessly in its midst. But the Mexican Government, stimulated by the example of the scientific cleanliness of Cuba, is now laying a modern sewer system, and has employed English engineers to construct extensive dock facilities, and is transforming Vera Cruz into a clean and modern city. There is thus hope for both the health and the commerce of Vera Cruz.

I visited the famous cocoanut palm grove in the Alameda Park, and seating myself upon one of the stone benches, watched the flocks of tame vultures which abound in Vera Cruz, and are the regular street scavengers of the town. Protected as they are by city ordinance, they run about like flocks of chickens. They scarcely move aside for the passer-by. There is not much of interest in Vera Cruz, although the city contains several ancient churches, Spanish towers, and one mediæval fortress, built in the early period of the Conquest.

After lunch at the hotel, where I was sadly overcharged, “Mr. Sam” rowed me a quarter of a mile to the steamship _Monterey_. My baggage was brought out by the “express company” in a lighter along with that of other fellow-travelers of my train, and although we were through passengers from Mexico City to Cuba and New York, yet extra charges were made for this necessary service, an evident extortion.

I had reached my ship about half-past three in the afternoon; we were scheduled to leave at four; we did not sail until long after the appointed hour, so slow is the “lighterage” process of taking on cargo. The largest vessels can lie at the new piers, but either to save port charges, or, as they claim, “to avoid the possibility of yellow fever,” these boats anchor far out in the harbor and compel all passengers and freight to be brought on board.

Our motley cargo included sheep and cattle for Havana; a menagerie, lions, tigers, monkeys, and an elephant carefully hoisted and standing in a specially constructed crate in the forward hold, uneasy and swaying his body in great terror; and also many and divers crates and bales of merchandise.

We carry a large company of cabin passengers for Progresso, the chief port of Merida, in Yucatan. Among them I have noticed a group of gentlemen who upon the train seemed to be suffering greatly from the cold. I learned that they are rich planters from Merida. One is a senator in the Mexican National Congress. He is a large, thick-set man, with high cheek bones, blue eyes, light-brown hair, a white man much burned and browned by tropical suns. I thought he might possibly be a German or Scandinavian. Imagine my astonishment when I am advised that he is a full-blooded “Yucataka Indian!” He is one of that strange tribe of blue-eyed, light-haired people, whom the Spaniards never conquered, and whom the Mexican government have never yet been able to subdue, and in recent years have only been won over through Diaz’s subtle diplomacy. Whence came this tribe is one of the unsolved riddles of history. Possibly some Viking crew, drifted far out of their northern waters, may have been the forefathers of this blue-eyed, unconquerable race.

We are weighing anchor. The propeller blade begins to turn. On our port side rise the white walls of San Juan de Ulloa, the famous fortress and now state prison of Mexico,--an island of itself,--within the cells and dungeons of which yellow fever perpetually removes the imprisoned wretches sent there to die.

To starboard lies at anchor the Mexican navy--a small-sized tug. Our voyage to Cuba is begun.

XIX

Voyaging Across the Gulf of Mexico and Straits of Yucatan from Vera Cruz to Progresso and Havana

STEAMSHIP MONTEREY, AT SEA,
_December 21st-24th_.

It was late in the day when we set sail from Vera Cruz. The shoreland faded; the grove of cocoanut palms in the Alameda with their feathery tops waving in the evening breeze, were the last green things I saw. As the sun sank suddenly behind the great volcano, the western horizon was filled with golden and scarlet and purple coloring, and Orizaba’s summit was flooded with roseate splendor. The stars burst out, the moon crept up from the dark waters. We were on the Mexican Gulf, and the tropical heavens glowed and burned with a brilliance unknown to the latitudes of the middle north. The waters, churning in our wake, flashed and glowed with the phosphorescence characteristic of tropic seas. The wind freshened and, by the middle of the night, the knowing ones hinted that more than the usual commotion of the sea might be expected before the dawn. In fact, a cablegram had been received, sent from Galveston, warning us that a “Norther” was on its way.

I sat up till late, enjoying the rising gale and drinking in the delicious air.

After so long a sojourn upon high, dry, parched land, it was a delight to be again upon the sea. The restless waters tossed our sturdy boat as though it were a cork. I slept soundly, despite the rolling of the ship and the hammering of the surging billows against the shell of my cabin, and I was among the first to respond to the six o’clock bells summoning the hungry to their _desayuno_. These vessels follow the customs of the majority of their passengers and serve meals in Spanish fashion--_desayuno_ from six to seven--coffee and rolls to whosoever may care to partake of them--and, about ten o’clock the _almuerzo_, the regular breakfast, a hearty meal; then the _comida_, the middle of the afternoon; while later between seven and eight o’clock _cena_ is served, a light repast, a cross betwixt the English tea and supper.

All day the wind blew steadily from the northwest, and the Mexican travelers spent most of their time doubled above the rails like bended hairpins. During the afternoon the gale increased. Great banks of cloud, black and ominous, rolled down upon us, and, toward the close of the day, torrents of rain descended. Few passengers, by this time, remained upon the decks, and the group who gathered with the captain at the evening meal could be counted on the hand. As night drew on the winds boomed louder and terror took possession of the unseasoned landsmen from Yucatan. But I felt no symptoms of seasickness, and the splendid sea-strength of this vessel gave me a sense of safety and repose. I wedged myself into my berth, so that I might not be thrown out, and lulled by the roaring of the storm and the rolling and plunging of the ship, fell peacefully asleep. When I at last awoke, the sun was long up, and the clouds were mostly drifted to the south. We were double-anchored in the open roadstead off Progresso, four miles from the shore. South of us, all along the coast, we could see the crests of the gigantic surf beating upon the sandy marge of Yucatan. No boat of less strength than our own, might dare to ride out such a storm; no vessels can venture to us from the shore until the waters subside. There are no harbors along the entire coast of the Yucatan peninsula. The only ports are Campeche and Progresso, and ships must lie three or four miles out in the open sea and passengers and freight must be taken on and off in lighters, greatly to the disadvantage of commerce. Above the white lines of the foaming breakers, we can see the tops of the waving cocoanut and royal palms, and between them the white buildings of Progresso. Back of Progresso, some thirty miles, lies the city of Merida, but a few feet above the level of the sea, the commercial center of the world’s heniquen or sisal grass trade. An enormous export business in this grass has sprung up since the beginning of the Philippine war, when the Manila hemp trade fell away. Natural conditions here favor the growth of the fiber, it increasing with little cultivation and great crops being raised. Millions of dollars have been accumulated in late years by the fortunate planters of Merida, and no city in Mexico has so suddenly advanced in wealth.

During the afternoon we saw our first shore-boats, and we are promised that to-morrow, even though it be Sunday, the cargo shall be taken off. Two small boats have ventured out, and into one of them have been thrown the mails which an awaiting train will quickly take to Merida, but until morning no passengers will be permitted to go ashore, nor will any freight be landed.

To-day we have seen our first sea birds, and a very few flying fish, while, since early dawn, there has traveled around the ship a continuous procession of sharks, their sharp dorsal fins constantly showing above the waters. Some of the passengers have been fishing for them, but as yet none have been caught and, I am told, they are very shy. While they will accompany a ship all the way to Havana, yet so suspicious are they of the fisherman’s line that they are rarely captured.

This morning I stood looking down upon the deck next below me, watching a company of thirty or forty little boys aged from ten to twelve and fourteen years, one little girl among them, seemingly sister to one of the younger boys. They were mostly sitting in groups of four and five tossing _centavos_ and shouting with delight. They were gambling away the few coins in their possession. A couple of sailors came up, seized two of the little boys and stood them up in front of each other. The prisoners seemed to comprehend the intention of their captors, and immediately fell to fighting desperately, until one knocked out the other, just as a couple of game cocks will go to fighting when placed in opposition. As soon as one of them had been vanquished, his sailor patron shoved him to one side, as something now quite useless, and grabbing another boy, set him in front of the victor. Then, at it they went again, and many of the children stopped their play to look on. The Mexicans about me were betting on the fights and apparently enjoying the pastime. I inquired who were these children, and learned them to be a company, who had mostly been stolen from the streets of Mexico and neighboring towns, and was told some had been bought from the state orphan asylums, at ten dollars a head, upon the payment of the price no questions being asked as to their destination. They are being taken into practical slavery to be speedily worked to death by the heniquen planters of Yucatan. They are delivered to the plantations and there perish rapidly from poor food, harsh treatment, yellow fever, and the bites of insects which burrow into their unprotected legs and arms. They are said to die off like flies, the effort of the buyer being to get out of them his money’s worth in work before they die. The children know nothing of their fate, until they are delivered to their death. The little fellows before me were in great glee through all the voyage; each had been presented with a few silver coins, the first many of them had seen in all their lives, and the joy of possession set them to gambling merrily all the day through. This traffic in children is said to have been long established and to be winked at by the Mexican authorities. Later on, we watched them climb down the side of the ship and enter the lighters, shouting with glee at the prospect of going to “the lovely new homes in the country,” where their captors pretended, would be their journey’s end.

It was late Monday evening when we set sail from Progresso. All day long we were discharging cargo into the lighters, which swarmed around us, while after the passengers and cargo departed larger vessels brought out bales of heniquen, which were quickly stowed below.