Chapter XXII
Resumption of the Journey Southward—Pinus Lumholtzii—Cooking with Snow—Terror-stricken Indians—A Gentlemanly Highwayman and His “Shooting-box”—The Pernicious Effect of Civilisation Upon the Tarahumares—A Fine Specimen of the Tribe—The Last of the Tarahumares.
From this trip I returned to San Carlos, mainly over the highlands south of the barranca, and shortly afterward was able to continue my journey toward the southwest. The cordons here, generally speaking, have a southerly direction, running parallel to each other.
Reaching at one place an elevation of 8,800 feet, I had a fine view of the entire central part of the Tarahumare country, seeing as far as Cerro Grande, at the northern end of the llano of Guachochic, in which direction the country, as a matter of course, looked quite flat. Nearest to us were wild-looking arroyos and cordons, covered in the lower portions with oak-trees, and higher up with pines. We were in the midst of vast pine forests, and even the country north of us looked like one uninterrupted forest of pines.
The Tarahumares have names for six kinds of pines. One species, first met with near Tutuhuaca, was new to science. Though not a large tree, it is very ornate, owing to its slender, whip-like branches, and its hanging needles, from eight to ten inches long. It grows here and there in groups at high altitudes, on decomposed volcanic tuff. The needles are boiled by the Indians and the Mexicans, and the decoction used as a remedy for stomach troubles. It is not disagreeable to take, the taste resembling that of anise-seed. The Tarahumares prefer the wood of this variety of pines for the making of their violins. I found this species as far south as the sierra above Pueblo Nuevo, in the State of Durango.
Pinus Lumholtzii.
The vegetation of the Sierra Madre is incomparably stronger and more luxurious than that of the cold North. The pine-trees in higher altitudes, for instance in Norway, appear miserably puny and almost stunted when compared with the giants of the South. Trees of 100 to 150 feet high and 10 to 15 feet in girth are frequent. We noticed some species of pines the needles of which were over a foot long.
The region through which we were passing seemed uninhabited, and there were really but few Indians living here. The cordon nearest to the one on which we were standing was covered with snow, and we climbed without difficulty to a point 9,300 feet high. There was no water, but snow three inches deep in some places, yielding all the water we required, though it had a slight flavour of the pines. The Mexicans did not like it, and said they would not eat food cooked with snow; but after I had shown them that the water obtained in this way was very good, they also took to it.
On our arrival at some Indian ranches, the people screamed with terror, ran away and hid themselves. There was something so unusual about their fright, that the interpreter and I went out of our way to investigate the matter. I saw two children making their escape among the bushes as best they could, a boy leading a three-year-old girl all the time, never deserting her. We found the children and a young woman on top of a rock. After we had succeeded in allaying their fears, they answered our questions readily. It appeared that two men from this place had recently been hanged by some people from Cienega Prieta, the ranch for which we were making. One of the victims had been revived, but the other had died. My Indian boy Patricio knew about the outrage, too.
I had at the outset been warned against robbers south of Guachochic, and advised never to sleep in houses—a thing I rarely did, anyway, for other reasons. One man especially, Teodoro Palma, had an unsavoury reputation as a “gentlemanly highwayman.” In the desolate region where his residence lies, his father had maintained a band of valiant men, who made regular plundering expeditions, driving cattle away, etc. It was a common tale that travellers who had to pass his place were invited to come in, but never came out again. The bodies of the victims, it was said, were buried at night in the cemetery of the Indian village of Chinatu, a few miles distant. Times had changed since then, and the son was more guarded in his operations, but still sufficiently active.
In order to avoid a long detour to the east, I had chosen to follow the track which passes this place, though travellers generally give it a wide berth; besides, I thought best to take the bull by the horns. When I reached the robber’s stronghold, I did not find Don Teodoro at home, though he was expected to return the next day. In the mean time the superintendent showed me around the house and sold me some necessary provisions.
The house looked forbidding enough. A wall of adobe, eighteen feet high, ran all around the establishment, shutting it in securely. It was provided with two small towers, which had loop-holes for rifles.
In the house was a small chapel, in which Don Teodoro and his father before him had frequently knelt to pray. The altar was decorated with the pictures of many saints, and in the centre was a painting of the Christ-child, a crucifix, and an artificial apple.
When the lord of the manor arrived the following day, I immediately went to see him. As I passed through the enclosure he was scolding the superintendent, but on perceiving me he stepped forward to receive me. This modern Fra Diavolo was about thirty years old, rather short of stature, but unusually well built. He wore an embroidered brown jacker and a blue waistcoat, and around his neck was thrown a many-coloured scarf. On one side of his sombrero was a scarlet rosette. Under it gleamed brown, piercing eyes. His hair was cut short. Altogether he was quite good-looking, except for a cruel, sensual expression of the features. His entire manner, erect carriage, and quick, decisive movements told me he was a man of violent temper and extreme determination.
He led the way into a room, and I handed him my letter of recommendation from the Mexican Government, and explained what I was doing in the sierra. After he had read the letter, he said that he was my friend. I told him that I had heard there were robbers in the vicinity, and in case I was molested I should apply to him for assistance, since he was a very influential man. Of course I knew as long as he did not rob us we were quite safe. I then photographed him and his house, and he evidently felt quite flattered. He accompanied me for a mile down the road, and then, taking me aside, handed me back the paltry sum I had paid for the provisions, saying he did not accept payment from his guests. This was rather embarrassing, but there was no way out of it, and I had to accept it. I afterward sent him a copy of his photograph to even up matters.
The guide with whom Don Teodoro had provided me pointed out to us a place where his master last year killed and robbed a man. “He is a poor shot,” he added, “except at close range, and he generally travels at night.” In 1895 Don Teodoro Palma himself was killed by the Indians. If half the rumours about him are true, he certainly deserved his fate. He never dared to go down to the lowlands, because “he owed so many dead,” as the saying goes. A few years before my visit, an American had been killed and robbed in the vicinity, and his countrymen in Chihuahua offered a reward for the apprehension of the murderer, dead or alive. Don Teodoro knew that a certain friend of his had perpetrated the crime, and in order to secure the reward he invited him to his house and shot him down in cold blood.
I arrived safely in Guadalupe y Calvo, a once flourishing place, but now quite dead, since the mines have ceased to be worked. There are large Mexican ranches southeast of the town, and whatever Tarahumares live hereabout are servants of the Mexicans and frequently intermarry with the Tepehuanes.
I thus traversed from north to south the country over which the Tarahumares once held sway. To-day we find this tribe, approximately, between Guadalupe y Calvo and Temosachic; roughly speaking, between the twenty-sixth and twenty-ninth degrees northern latitude.
Civilisation, as brought to the Tarahumare, is not fraught with benefits for him. It rudely shakes the columns of the temple of his religion. The Mexican Central Railroad crushes his sacred plants without thought of its anger, which is vented on the poor Tarahumare by sending him bad years and ill-luck. While the Indians deny themselves the pleasure of smoking tobacco in the daytime for fear of offending the sun with the smoke, the white men’s furnaces and engines belch forth black clouds of smoke day after day, keeping the people out of the sight of Tara Dios, and thus preventing him from guarding them. In the engine itself they see the Devil with a long tongue and a big beard.
Worse than that, the foot of civilisation destroys his home; for the whites draw the boundary line of his country closer and closer. The better class of Mexicans keep to themselves, and seldom, if ever, bother about the Indians at their doors, whose mode of living and way of thinking are so different from their own. The class of whites on the borderland of such civilisation as the Tarahumare comes in contact with is not the kind that will or can improve him, being ignorant and unscrupulous. The Indian civilised by them is a very unpleasant person to deal with. He has learned to cheat and to steal, and he no longer carries out his contracts and agreements. Having learned the value of money, his greed is awakened, and he begins to look out only for his own profit.
The first white men with whom the Indian gets acquainted are the traders who speak his language, and whose sole aim is to enrich themselves at his expense and compel him to deal with them. If the Indian does not want to sell, the lenguaraz loses his patience, throws a few dollars toward him, takes the ox, and goes off. Many will go still further. They force the native to borrow from them, whether he wants the money, the cloth, the mescal, or the use of the horse, or not. Many Indians would refuse mescal, satisfied with their native stimulants, but see no other way of getting rid of the unwelcome and obtrusive white than by yielding to his demand. The agreement is made that he must return the so-called loan on a certain date, two or three months hence; the Indian, of course, having no almanac, easily makes a mistake in his calculation, and the date passes. The dealer has gained his point. He saddles his horse, looks up the Indian, and makes a great to-do about all the trouble he is put to in collecting the debt, charging not only enormous interest for overtime, but adding exorbitant travelling expenses and fees. He succeeds by threats and intimidation in getting his damages adjusted in such a way that, in return for the paltry sum he lent the Indian, he now drives off two or three oxen.
The Indians, being honourable in their dealings, do not at first contact with the whites suspect rascality, and many stories are told illustrating the ease with which they have been cheated.
Once a Mexican bought a sheep from a native on credit, and, after killing it, paid for it with the head, the skin, and the entrails. Another man did still better. He paid for his sheep with the same valuables, and “spoke so well” that the Indian was content to remain in his debt as the final result of the transaction. On another occasion a native was induced to sell eleven oxen, almost his entire stock, to a Mexican. It was agreed that the latter should pay two cows for each ox, but not having any cows with him he left his horse and saddle as security. The Indian is still waiting for the cows. When I expressed my surprise at the ease with which he allowed himself to be swindled, he replied that the Mexican “spoke so well.” They are so delighted at hearing their language spoken by a white man, that they lose all precaution and are completely at the mercy of the wily whites, who profit by their weakness.
Some tough lenguaraz is not ashamed to cheat at games until the Indian has lost everything he has. One poor wretch lost several oxen in one game of quinze. Other sharpers borrow money from the natives and never pay back the loan, or else impose fines on the Indians under the pretext of being authorities. Some foist themselves upon the Tarahumares at their feasts, which they disturb by getting drunk and violating women. Where the Indians are still masters of the situation they catch such an offender and take him before the Mexican authorities, insisting upon his paying for all the requirements for another feast, as he has spoiled the value of the one on which he intruded. In the central part of the country, near Norogachic, they may even kill such a transgressor.
It is generally through mescal that the Indians become peons. When the Indian has once developed a taste for mescal, he will pay anything to get it, first his animals, then his land. When he has nothing more to sell, the whites still give him this brandy and make him work. And there he is. To work himself free is next to impossible, because his wages are not paid in money, but in provisions, which barely suffice to keep him and his family alive. Indians are sometimes locked up over night to force them to work.
The children of such parents grow up as peons of the Mexicans, who deal out miserable wages to the descendants of the owners of the land on which the usurpers grow rich. Before the occupancy of the country by the new masters, the Tarahumares never knew what poverty was. No wonder that the Christian Tarahumares believe that hell is peopled so thickly with Mexicans that there is not room for all. Some have been crowded out, and have come to the Tarahumares to trouble them. The Indians in some districts have been cheated so much that they no longer believe anything the white men tell them, and they do not offer food any more to a white stranger if he is what they call “deaf,” in other words, unable to speak and understand their language and explain what he is about.
They make very good servants when treated right, although they often want a change; but they will return to a good master. I once had a Tarahumare woman in my employ as cook. She was very industrious and in every way superior to any Mexican servant I ever had. When not busy with her kitchen work, she was mending her own or her two children’s clothes. While very distrustful, she was good-tempered and honourable, and spoke Spanish fairly well, and her eyes indicated unusual intelligence. A white man had deserted her to marry a Mexican woman, and she grieved much, but in time she became reconciled to her fate, though she declared she would never marry again, as all men were bad.
Civilised Tarahumare Boy.
The Tarahumares have made excellent soldiers in fighting for the Government. In one of the civil wars, their leader, Jesus Larrea, from Nonoava, a pure-bred Tarahumare, distinguished himself, not only by bravery and determination, but also as a commander. In private life he was civil and popular.
The majority speak their own language, and in the central and most mountainous part, the heart of the Tarahumare country, they are of pure breed. Here the women object to unions with outsiders, and until very recently light-coloured children were not liked. Mothers may even yet anoint their little ones and leave them in the sun, that they may get dark. The consensus of opinion among the tribe is that half-castes turn out to be bad people and “some day will be fighting at the drinking-feasts.” A few instances are known in which women have left their half-caste babies in the woods to perish, and such children are often given away to be adopted by the Mexicans. In the border districts, however, the Indians have become much Mexicanised and intermarry freely with the whites.
Be it said to the credit of those high in authority in Mexico, they do all in their power to protect the Indians. But the Government is practically powerless to control the scattered population in the remote districts. Besides, the Indians most preyed upon by the sharpers cannot make themselves understood in the official language, and therefore consider it hopeless to approach the authorities. In accordance with the liberal constitution of Mexico, all natives are citizens, but the Indians do not know how to take advantage of their rights, although sometimes large bodies have banded together and travelled down to Chihuahua to make their complaints, and have always been helped out—for the time being. The efforts of the Government to enlighten the Indians by establishing schools are baffled by the difficulty in finding honest and intelligent teachers with a knowledge of the Indian language.
Where the Indians have had little or nothing to do with the whites, they are obliging, law-abiding, and trustworthy. Profit is no inducement to them, as they believe that their gods would be angry with them for charging an undue price. As a matter of fact, they sell corn all the year round, whether it be scarce or plentiful, at the same price, though the Mexicans charge them very different prices. The almighty dollar has no devotees among these Indians. They have no need of aught that money can buy, and are swayed by persuasion and kind and just treatment more than by gold. If they have a few coins, they place them in a jar and bury them in some remote cave, taking from the horde only a little when they have to buy some necessity of life.
Juan Ignacio and his Son, Pagan Tarahumares.
Among the pagans in Pino Gordo I met the finest specimen of the Tarahumare tribe, a shaman, called Juan Ignacio. Although he had never been as far as Guadalupe y Calvo, and only twice in his life to Babori-game, and had thus spent all his life in the mountains among his own people, he showed a courtesy and tact that would have graced a gentleman. He took splendid care, not only of myself, but of my men and animals as well, giving us plenty to eat, sending his man to chop wood for us, etc. He was possessed of the nicest temper, and was truthful, a rare quality among Tarahumares, as well as square in his dealings. His uprightness and urbanity commanded respect even from the lenguarazes, and they did not rob him as much as the other Indians of the district; consequently he was quite well-to-do.
While living among the heathen, of whom there are vet some three thousand left, I had no fear of being robbed of any part of my outfit. The Indians themselves would not touch anything, and there were no strange Mexicans about. If they had come, the Tarahumares would have immediately warned me. Everything was perfectly safe as long as I had an honest interpreter. The Tarahumare in his native condition is many times better off, morally, mentally, and economically, than his civilised brother; but the white man will not let him alone as long as he has anything worth taking away. Only those who by dear experience have learned to be cautious are able to maintain themselves independently; but such cases are becoming more and more rare.
It is the same old story over again, in America, as in Africa, and Asia, and everywhere. The simpleminded native is made the victim of the progressive white, who, by fair means or foul, deprives him of his country. Luckily, withal, the Tarahumare has not yet been wiped out of existence. His blood is fused into the working classes of Mexico, and he grows a Mexican. But it may take a century yet before they will all be made the servants of the whites and disappear like the Opatas. Their assimilation may benefit Mexico, but one may well ask: Is it just? Must the weaker always be first crushed, before he can be assimilated by the new condition of things?
Future generations will not find any other record of the Tarahumares than what scientists of the present age can elicit from the lips of the people and from the study of their implements and customs. They stand out to-day as an interesting relic of a time long gone by; as a representative of one of the most important stages in the development of the human race; as one of those wonderful primitive tribes that were the founders and makers of the history of mankind.