The City of the Sacred Well

by T. A. Willard

XKAN-XOC, THE FOREST BIRD

There was a time when the wrath of the Rain God was over the land. He had sent the dry wind to work his will and all the country of the Mayas lay parching and dying. The leaves of vines and shrubs and trees first twisted and contorted in their agony of thirst and then crumbled away. The black earth turned to dust, blown about by the winds, and the red earth was baked as hard as the tiles in the roadway. The old men, wise with the knowledge of years and many famines, and whose ears knew the inner meaning of small sounds which most people think insignificant, said that the deep earth cried out and groaned in its hot anguish.

The ah-kin, priest of the Rain God, who lived at the verge of the Sacred Well, told his people that the mighty God of Rain was displeased because more copal incense had not been burned at his shrine, and that he must be appeased at once or no corn, no beans, no peppers would grow in the whole land.

A new maid must be sent to him, one so beautiful that he would wish to keep her as his bride and his gratitude would be shown by gentle and frequent rains that would revive the dying maize. The mortal messenger must be the loveliest virgin in all the country, without a flaw, absolutely without the slightest blemish on any part of her body. Her voice must be as sweet as that of Xkoke, the wood-thrush, so that the sound of it as she spoke to the god in behalf of her people might be as music to his ears.

The great and wise men met in council,—the king, the lords, the priests, the mighty warriors,—and picked men, hundreds of them, were sent to comb the country-side and the cities and the depths of the forest to find a fitting bride for the god. There was not a maid in Yucatan or even in lands far to the south upon whose face one or another of these ambassadors would not look. And only a few maidens, those of surpassing beauty, would be sent to the sacred city for the ceremony of the choosing.

From the humble house of her father in the depths of the Tiger Forest came Xkan-xoc, carried swiftly on a flower-decked litter, borne by strong young men, the sons of nobles. Garlands of flowers and sweet-scented herbs shaded her from the heat of the sun. Her thirst was quenched with the milk of new corn and wild honey. Her food was especially prepared by the vestal virgins of the temple.

And upon the day of the choosing her pic and huipile were made of shining, soft tree-cotton, lustrous as the wings of a sea-bird, that clung to her slender gracefulness. Glinting green stones hung pendent from her ears, while about the lovely slender column of her neck were entwined many small fretted chains of gleaming sun metal. Her eyes were big and dark like those of a fawn; her voice as soft and sweet as the dawn breeze swaying the fronds of the cocoyal palm or ruffling the petals of the hibiscus flower. Tiny sandals of softest doeskin covered her feet as she was led to the temple to be prepared for the sacrifice.

The high priest donned his vestments, the lesser priests brought rich votive offerings and baskets of incense, both copal and rubber. The king and his guard of noble hul-che bearers took their stations and all the people of the city gathered at the edge of the Well.

The first dulcet tones of the sacred flute were heard from the temple of Kukul Can at the far end of the Sacred Way and the shrilling of the sacred whistles joined with the flutes and the reverberating boom of the tunkul, the sacred drum. A sudden silence, a strange ominous stillness—then was heard from the depths of the temple the wailing of all the white-robed virgins. And swiftly the news traveled. Xkan-xoc cannot be sent as the messenger to the Rain God, for, in preparing her for the ceremony, the vestal virgins have discovered a tiny mole or birthmark upon her breast, which had been overlooked previously.

The ceremony stopped and the people dispersed with heavy hearts, for Xkan-xoc might not be sent to the Rain God, and beside her all other beautiful maidens seemed unlovely. Another maid must be selected for the sacrifice and how might the Rain God be moved by a bride, however lovely, after seeing the divinely fair Xkan-xoc?

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CHAPTER X
THE CONQUEST

IN “The Fair God” General Lew Wallace has given a somewhat fanciful but in the main faithful description of the conquest of Montezuma and the Aztecs by Cortes and his Spanish knights and men-at-arms.

The conquest of the Mayas is a similar story of blood and plunder in which the Mayas, although far outnumbering the Spaniards, were no match for the superior knowledge and weapons of the white men. And, as always, where the flag of Spain went the church followed close behind and consolidated and held the conquered as arms alone never could have done.

Bishop Landa says that Gerónimo de Aguilar with some companions was the first to try his luck in Yucatan. He and his men took part in the destruction of the city of Darien in 1511. He accompanied another leader, Valdivia, in a caravel from Santo Domingo. They ran aground at a place called Viboras, on the coast of Jamaica, and the ship was lost with all but twenty men. Aguilar and Valdivia with the few survivors set out in a small boat without sails and without food and were thirteen days at sea, before, by chance, they reached Yucatan. In that time half of the little band died of starvation.

Upon reaching land they fell into the hands of a bad Maya chief; he immediately sacrificed Valdivia and four others to the native gods, and the people feasted upon their bodies. Aguilar, his chief lieutenant, Guerrero, and four or five others were left to fatten for a subsequent sacrifice, but they escaped and reached another tribe which was at war with the bad chief. Here they were kept as slaves, and though they were mercifully treated, nearly all of them died of disease except Aguilar and Guerrero. The former was a good Christian, according to Bishop Landa’s account, and kept his prayer-book, and in 1517 he returned to Spain with Hernan Cortes. Guerrero, however, appears to have been less pious; he allied himself with a native chief and together they conquered many native tribes. Guerrero taught the natives how to fight and how to build fortifications. He conducted himself like an Indian, painting his body, letting his hair grow long, and wearing ear-rings, and married the daughter of a chief. It is thought he became an idolator.

In 1517 Francisco Hernandez de Córdoba set sail from Santiago de Cuba with three ships, for the purpose, some say, of obtaining new slaves for the mines. Others say he went to discover new land. He arrived at length at the island of Mujeres (women), which name he gave it because of the native goddesses of the island—Aixchel, Ixche-beliax, Ixhunie, and Ixhunieta. The Spaniards were surprised to find the women fully clothed and to see buildings of stone and articles of gold. The latter they took with them. Sailing into the bay of Campeche, they landed upon the coast of Yucatan on the Sunday of Lazarus and called the place of their arrival Lazarus. They were well received by the natives, who were struck with awe and wonderingly touched the beards and persons of the strangers.

Near the sea the Spaniards beheld a square stone monument with steps leading up to it on all four sides. On the summit was a stone idol, with the figures of two wild animals gnawing at his flanks, and a huge stone serpent in the act of swallowing a leopard. All were smeared with blood from frequent sacrifices. A little way inland was the city of Champoton, which the chief would not permit the Spaniards to enter, bringing forth his warriors against them. This saddened Francisco Hernandez, but he put his forces in order and caused the artillery of his ships to be fired.

The natives, however, did not cease their attack, although the noise and smoke and fire of cannon must have been terrifying to them who had never seen nor heard such things before. The bloodshed was terrible, for the natives died in hundreds, but still they pressed on, driving the Spaniards back to their ships. Of the Spaniards, twenty were killed, fifty wounded, and two taken alive who were later sacrificed. Hernandez himself received thirty-three wounds.

Returning to Cuba, he told Diego Velasquez, the governor, of the richness of the land and of the abundance of gold, and Velasquez despatched his nephew, Juan de Grijalva, with four ships and two hundred men, on May 1, 1518, to undertake the conquest of Yucatan. One of the ships was commanded by Francisco de Montejo. They cruised along the whole coast and finally attempted to besiege the city of Champoton again, but with no better fortune than their predecessors. One Spaniard was killed and fifty wounded, among them Grijalva.

When the Spaniards returned to Cuba Hernan Cortes became greatly excited upon hearing the news of so much land and such riches and determined to conquer the country in the name of God and his king. He outfitted eleven ships, the largest being of one hundred tons. Among their captains was Francisco de Montejo. There were five hundred men in the expedition, horses, war-gear, and goods for trading or ransom.

On the voyage one ship was thought to be lost, and with the ten remaining vessels an attack was made on the city of Cotoch, which was captured and plundered. Later the ship that was thought to be lost rejoined the rest. Cruising down the coast from northern Yucatan, the fleet came to the inhabited island of Cuzmil.

The natives, seeing so many ships and so many soldiers, abandoned the place and fled inland. After despoiling the city, the Spaniards made a foray into the hinterland and came upon the wife of the chief and her children. They conversed with her by the aid of a native interpreter and treated her kindly. Many gifts were bestowed upon her and her children and she was induced to send word to the chief and bring him before them. When he came, he too was well treated and presented with gifts.

The chief ordered all the dwellers to return to their homes and all of the loot that the Spaniards had taken was restored to its owners and confidence and friendship were established. The natives became converted to Christianity and the image of the Virgin was set up to replace the old stone idols. From the Indians Cortes learned that some white men were near by, in the power of a barbarous native chief. The friendly Indians were afraid to venture into the domain of the chief, but Cortes finally induced them to deliver the following letter by stealth to the white men:

Noble Sirs:

I left Cuba with eleven armed ships and five hundred Spaniards and arrived here at Cuzmil, from where I write you this letter. Those of this island have assured me that there are on this land five or six cruel men and in all very similar to us. I do not know how to give or say other descriptions, but by these I guess and am sure you are Spaniards. I and these nobles who came with me to discover and populate these lands, request you that within six days after receiving this you come to us without other delay or excuse. If you come we shall all know one another and we shall reward the good work that from you this fleet receives. I send a brig in which to come and two ships for security.

This letter was carried by the natives, concealed in their hair, and it reached Aguilar, of whom I have previously spoken. He was not able, however, to make connection with the ships Cortes had sent and after six days the brig and its convoy ships returned to Cuzmil and Cortes immediately set sail with his whole fleet. Soon after embarking, one of the ships was damaged and the whole fleet returned to Cuzmil while repairs were made. The following day Aguilar arrived, having crossed the sea between Cuzmil and the mainland in a canoe. He cried for joy at finding his countrymen and knelt down and thanked God. He was taken, naked as he came, to Cortes, who clothed him and received him kindly. He told of his privations and of Guerrero, but it was not possible to reach the latter, who was then eighty leagues inland.

With Aguilar, who was an excellent interpreter, Cortes again preached the worship of the Cross and made a great impression upon the inhabitants of Cuzmil. The fleet upon its return voyage touched at Campeche and at Tabasco, where the inhabitants gave to Cortes an Indian woman who was afterward called Marina. She came from Jalisco, was the daughter of noble parents, and had been stolen when small and sold as a slave in Tabasco and later in other cities. Thus she knew the language and much of the condition of the country.

After his arrival in Cuba, Cortes and the governor determined to send Montejo to the Spanish court, to carry to the king his fifth of the treasure resulting from the expedition and to secure a grant for the conquest and settlement of Yucatan. When Montejo reached Spain, Bishop Juan Rodriguez de Fonseca was prime minister, with full power over New Spain. The reports rendered to the minister by Diego Velasquez, governor of Cuba, were by no means in praise of Cortes, and as a result Montejo, his emissary, found himself in a most unfavorable position. It was only after seven years of what must have been heartbreaking delay that he persuaded the president of the council and Pope Adrian to approve the mission. The king had been long absent in Flanders, but now an audience with his Majesty was granted and Montejo succeeded in clearing Cortes and in getting the king’s grant for the conquest of Yucatan, and with it the title for himself of governor of the new province.

As soon as possible he outfitted three ships and sailed with five hundred men. His destination was the island of Cuzmil, which was safely reached and where he was well received by the Christianized natives. After a brief time he went to the mainland, where his first act was to plant the flag of Spain with the words, “In the name of God, I take possession of this land for God and the King of Castile.” He then sailed down the coast to the city of Conil. The natives were greatly alarmed and sent word throughout the country of the advent of the Spanish. All of the chiefs for some distance about were persuaded to visit Montejo, who received them with honor and respect. But one chief of great strength was accompanied by a negro servant, who carried, concealed, a cutlass, and at a favorable moment the chief seized the weapon and tried to assassinate Montejo, who defended himself while his men disarmed the native.

This event was disquieting; Montejo realized that in spite of his conference with the natives, they were unfriendly and that it would be unwise to risk his little army against their combined strength. And so he weighed anchor and proceeded farther down the coast, seeking the largest sea-coast city, which proved to be Tecoh. Here, either by friendly overtures or by threats, he gained permission to establish a city which he intended to make the capital of his new dominion. Traveling about the country, he came upon Chi-chen Itza, which seemed to him an ideal location, probably because of its stone buildings and its plentiful water-supply. He at once set about the task of making it habitable. Houses of wood with thatched roofs were put up and with the assistance of friendly natives he began the task of subduing surrounding tribes, placing some one or another of his men in charge of the villages as they were conquered, until he had two or three thousand natives in his power.

By this time the natives awoke to the fact that they were fast becoming slaves to the Spaniards, and rebellion set in everywhere. For a time Montejo with his men was able, by cruel and bloody treatment, to keep the people in subjection; but at last they forced him to draw in all his forces to Chi-chen Itza, where they besieged him. Each day the armed and mailed Spaniards took heavy toll of their besiegers; and each day the Indians were reinforced, while the Spaniards counted every victory a defeat which lost them even a few in killed or wounded. And the food-supply was nearly exhausted.

Finally Montejo perceived that he and his men must escape and return to the island of Cuzmil or they would all be slain. Through the day they wearied the native besiegers with skirmish and sortie and that night they tied a famished dog to a rope attached to a bell and just out of reach placed some food. All night the dog tried in vain to reach the food and all night the natives heard the sound of the bell and thought the Spaniards were preparing a night attack. But the wily Montejo and his followers had escaped from the rear of the ancient “Nunnery” and it was several hours before the besiegers discovered what had happened.

Not knowing which road the fleeing enemy had taken, the Indians set out at once by all the roads to the sea-coast. Some of them actually caught up with the retreating forces, but were too few in number to attack successfully. The Spaniards reached safely the town of Zilan and the Christianized tribe of the Cheles (Bluebirds) and from there they easily made their way to Ticoh, where they were secure for some months.

Montejo saw that conquest to the southward was blocked, and, with the aid of the friendly Cheles and taking the chief of the town of Zilan and two young nobles, the sons of a still greater chief, he traveled with his force up the coast, the young natives of his escort obtaining safe conduct for him through the various tribes. Thus he reached Mexico, which was held by the iron hand of Cortes.

Montejo was next sent to Honduras as viceroy, but the project of subduing Yucatan seems always to have been his dream. Some years later he went to the city of Chiapa and from there despatched his son, at the head of an expedition, to Yucatan, in a further effort to conquer it. The younger Montejo had in the meantime traveled through Mexico and even into lower California and had been made viceroy of Tabasco.

In the years since the attempt of the elder Montejo to subdue the Mayas, Yucatan had suffered greatly, first from internecine strife and then from a famine, so that the younger Montejo found almost no organized resistance. The city of Champoton, where the Spaniards had twice suffered defeat under Hernandez de Córdoba and under Grijalva, and where the first Montejo had not dared to risk a conflict, now offered no battle at all. From there the younger Montejo went to Campeche and established friendly relations, so that with the aid of Champoton and Campeche, gained by promises of rich rewards, he reached the city of Tiho, meeting with almost no resistance.

Here he established his capital, renaming the city Mérida, and so it has remained to the present time as the seat of government of Yucatan. The army of a few hundred men was quartered in Mérida and the subjugation of the country was carried on from there. Captains were sent to different towns as local governors. The young Montejo sent his cousin of the same name to Valladolid, to govern that important city and subdue the surrounding territory. When things had pretty well settled down, the elder Montejo came from Chiapa, first taking up residence in Campeche, which he renamed San Francisco in honor of himself. A little later he moved on to Mérida and became governor in fact, as well as in name, of the land of Yucatan.

The rule of the Spaniards was exceedingly brutal for some years, but it is believed that most of their cruelties were committed without the knowledge of Montejo and certainly not at his command. There is the well-worn excuse that the conquerors were few in number and the conquered numerous, and that diabolical treatment was sometimes necessary, to hold the masses in check. Rebels were burned alive and hanged in great numbers. The important people in the town of Yobain were gathered together in a large house and locked in stocks, then the house was set on fire, so that all perished horribly.

Diego de Landa himself saw a tree upon which were hanging many Indian women from whose feet their little children had been hanged. In another city two Indian women, one a maid, the other newly married, were hanged for no other reason than that they were beautiful and the Spanish captain feared that his men might seek their favor and thereby stir up trouble with the natives.

Perhaps the greatest cruelty of all was the deportation of the natives of the thickly populated provinces of Cochua and Chectemal. Hands and arms and legs were lopped off. Women had their breasts severed and, with gourds tied to their feet, were thrown into the lagoons. Children were stabbed because they could not walk as fast as their captors, and men, women, and children were slain without excuse.

Because of this treatment the native population decreased very rapidly and the towns and cities were abandoned. A serious outbreak occurred in Valladolid, where the natives slew seventeen Spaniards and four hundred natives who were servants of the Spanish. Hands and feet of the slain were sent through the country as a signal for a general uprising, but none took place.

Evidently the priesthood complained to the king regarding the atrocities that were being committed and of the making of servants or virtually slaves of many of the natives. An edict from the king deprived all governors of native servants. Montejo was impeached and sent to Mexico for a hearing, and from there to the royal council at Madrid. And there he died, as Landa says, “full of days and work.”

The younger Montejo left the imposing gubernatorial mansion which his father had built in Mérida and resided for some time in the city merely as a private citizen, much respected by all. After a time he went to Guatemala and then returned to Spain, where he eventually died after a prolonged illness.

As has been said, the church followed close upon the heels of the conquerors and there seems to have been little love lost between the priests and the soldiery, both jealous of power and wealth. With the forces of the elder Montejo was only one cleric, Francisco Hernandez, chaplain of the expedition, who later attributed the failure of the venture to the lack of priests. Before the real conquest by Montejo the younger, it became necessary for Antonio de Mendoza, who was viceroy of all New Spain, to carry out the orders he had long before received from Queen Juana to the effect that priests should be sent to Yucatan—one of the conditions upon which the province had been granted to Montejo.

Mendoza had no choice but to send priests from other Spanish possessions under his command, as there were none in Yucatan. For this duty Fray Jacobo de Testera, who held a high clerical office in Mexico, volunteered. In 1531 he and three other priests arrived at Champoton and, having asked leave of the Indians to enter the country, made an auspicious beginning. But they soon lost the good-will of the natives because they insisted on burning the idols, and, on finding they were making no progress, became disgruntled and returned to Mexico. In 1536 another band of friars essayed the task of Christianizing Yucatan, but after proselyting for two years they returned to more settled Spanish dominions.

The conquest actually effected, after the founding of Valladolid in 1541 and Mérida in 1542, a church was built in the latter city and in 1544 Bishop Bartolomé de las Casas and his Dominican friars came to Yucatan and gradually spread the creed of the Cross throughout the land. But while we speak of the conquest as becoming an accomplished fact with the founding of the two principal cities of Valladolid and Mérida, it was not until more than eighty years later that the whole country was pacified, and during this time the Itzas in the southern part of the country remained unconquered and un-Christianized. These eighty years constitute a long period of guerilla warfare and sporadic attempts on the part of the Spaniards to conquer the stubborn Itzas and efforts of the priests to convert them, and, throughout, showed a lack of concord between the military and the church. At one time two native Christians set up claims as pope and bishop respectively and gained a considerable following.

As has been mentioned earlier in this work, some of the Maya tribes never were conquered; they do not, to this day, pay taxes to or otherwise concern themselves with the Government of Mexico. Catholicism, generously mixed with the old paganism, has, however, permeated their villages.

Whatever we may think now of the means and methods followed by the old padres in bringing the heathen to the Christian faith, we can but admire and reverence their motives, for no earthly reward could possibly compensate for the incredible hardships despite which these zealots persevered. Only a stanch, all-abiding faith, supreme over mundane things, could have carried on.

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CHAPTER XI
THE FINDING OF THE DATE-STONE

“ALWAYS in my earlier days in my City of the Sacred Well,” says Don Eduardo, “the question was in my mind as to the age of the city. Every carved stone I found, I scanned eagerly for some clue and I should say, perhaps, right here, that while we can often gain only an inkling of the meaning of the Maya hieroglyphs and in some cases no understanding at all, the date-glyphs are plain sailing. We can read them, I think, as readily as we would read dates written in English. With but a little training any one may do this.

“But though I looked on engraved stones by the hundreds, there were no dates. Again and again I questioned the natives: ‘When do you think these buildings were erected and who built them?’ Invariably came the patient answer, ‘Quien sabe?’—‘Who knows?’

“Among these Indians was an old fellow whose face hauntingly reminds me of an ancient picture of a Hebrew patriarch that I have seen in some forgotten place. One day we were clearing the brush from a gentle terrace to make ready for the planting of corn. I called the attention of my overseer to several mounds upon a large near-by terrace, telling him that we must surely dig into them as soon as we could find time, to see if they contained any relics. Suddenly my grizzled patriarch straightened up and gazed at the mounds and then came over to me, saying as he pointed to the tallest of the mounds, ‘That one has in it a stone book written by my fathers.’ Here at last was something, of no value, possibly, but better far than the eternal ‘Quien sabe?’ Eagerly I asked him how he came by this idea and he said that in the days of his great, great grandfather this temple mound was known as Mul-huun-tunich, the Hill of the Stone Book. He said that he had been told this by his father and his grandsire had told his father and a high priest had so told his grandfather. I could get no more out of him, but he stuck doggedly to this brief tale.

“I had passed the mound several times and now I gazed at it with fresh interest. It was covered with a tangled growth of vines and thicket and well-grown trees, reminding me of what some philosopher has so truly said—that the most perfect works of men are soon covered by forests which grow an inch a day. If this mound had ever been a stately edifice, all semblance had long since passed. The bat or serpent might find a cavity in its ruined space, but if any carving of god or hero were to be found, it was well hidden from my prying eyes.

“At once I began the task of clearing away the young growth and the stumps of what had been sizable trees and beneath these were other decaying tree stumps. In this ruined area, which is perhaps three thousand feet to the south of the Great Pyramid of El Castillo, is a terrace, rising about twenty feet above the general level. On this terrace, which once had smooth, sloping sides, are ruined buildings with a bit here and there still standing, surrounded with shapeless heaps of fallen stone. The hill of the stone book, as it was called by my old Indian, was on the northeastern edge of this terrace, pyramidal in form and sharply defined.

“My better judgment told me I was wasting time in heeding the vaporings of the old Indian while more important tasks waited, but my interest and curiosity were touched and I urged my men to strenuous effort, resisting with difficulty the temptation to dig at once into the center of the mound. We cleared the undergrowth in patches and burned it, so that the valuable timber would not be injured by the heat, nor the stones in the mound calcined. While most of the men were thus engaged I selected a few picked workers and we began the excavation of the pyramidal mound. We found not only trees growing above buried stumps, but charred stumps even below these. My old Indian examined carefully the cuts upon these deep-buried stumps and logs and said that these marks had not been made by ax, hatchet, machete, or any modern implement that he had ever seen. In all probability this earliest felling was done before the coming of the white man with his cutting edges of metal.

“I wondered who could have cut down the big trees around the pyramid. How could trees have been permitted to grow here or have been burned so close to buildings inhabited or in use? Evidently the burning and cutting, ancient as it might have been, had yet been done many, many years after the structure was abandoned.

“At last we had a space cleared all around the base of the mound and we sorted over the loose stones, looking for inscriptions, but came across nothing of unusual interest. We found the mound to be four-sided and truncated, with broad steps leading up all four sides and with the principal stairway facing the west. The pyramid was in ruins and the upper outline obliterated. Close to the base of the main stairway we uncovered a semi-recumbent stone figure, part man and part animal, of the so-called Chac Mool type. It was still firmly cemented in place and, like the stairway, faced the west. Just in front of this stone figure we unearthed a small elaborately carved stone urn of pineapple pattern, and a similar urn was dug up just to the rear of the Chac Mool figure. The Chac Mool and the incense urns were much marred and pitted by erosion, and the finding of charcoal in fragments and granules all about indicated that a deliberate effort had been made to destroy these priceless things.

“Gradually we cleared the earth and fallen stones and mortar from the main staircase. Many nests of lovely mauve-colored wood-doves were destroyed as we felled the trees. We saved as many as we could, but for several hours the mournful cries of the bereaved feathered creatures sounded from the neighboring forest like the wails of the departed spirits of those who had lived and died beside this old, old temple.

“On the southern slope a huge chaib, a species of boa-constrictor, beautifully marked with splashes of green and brown, was awakened from its slumbers deep in some rocky cavity of the pyramid and came surging down the mound with watchful head held high and graceful body bending the bushes in its path as it disappeared into the thicket below.

“The bees of Yucatan are kindly and have no sting, but the wasps more than make up for the impotence of the bees. The most venomous wasps, the x-hi-chac, build flat nests that cling as closely and unobtrusively to the tree trunks as porous plasters. One of the trees we felled contained such a nest. Lightning is slow compared with the speed of these insects, and I, personally, would just about as willingly be struck by lightning as to encounter the sting of the x-hi-chac. I think lightning would be less painful. Several of the men were badly stung and while I gave them first aid by applying ammonia to their hurts, and provided drinks of a refreshing nature, the victims spent a sleepless, feverish night. They were weak and in low spirits in the morning, but we resumed our task nevertheless.

“Clearing the way a step at a time, we finally reached a level, well-built platform at a height of thirty feet. At the rear of the platform was the jagged outlined wall of what had been a small temple and directly before it were two large Atlantean figures of unusual type. I had seen many squat stone figures in and about the city but never before such large ones or figures carved with such fierce grandeur of expression. They were intricately carved and highly conventionalized. Each was garbed in an embossed head-dress, breast pendants, loincloth, and sandals. Every detail was clearly worked, even to the carved strands of rope holding the sandals—sandals bearing a striking resemblance to those worn by the prehistoric or archaic Gauchos of the Canary Islands, which again suggests the plausibility of Plato’s Lost Atlantis.

“And as we cleared the debris away it became evident that these massive figures, so stiff and majestic, had originally sustained the front or façade of the temple. My curiosity and excitement had now reached a point where every slight delay was nerve-racking and the two grim guardians seemed to me like silent keepers of age-old secrets, ready to come to life and destroy the prying humans who dared invade their sacred domain.

“Little by little we removed the earth and rubbish. Slowly we progressed between the colossal figures, excavating with great difficulty the compacted mortar and stone which had fallen and become almost as a single stone. About three feet back of the statues was a huge stone covered with inscriptions. Was it the stone book? I cast aside all philosophic calmness and dropped to my knees, clawing away with my bare hands at the debris which obscured the inscriptions, until my nails were broken and my fingers bleeding.

“Here indeed was the Huun-tunich, the Stone Book, the Rosetta Stone of my ancient, lovely, and forgotten City of the Sacred Well! I am not ashamed of the fever of excitement which possessed me and communicated itself to my wondering Indians, who had not the slightest idea why the mad white man should become so wrought up over the finding of merely another stone with queer writings on it. But, then, what matter! White men are always a little insane, anyway, and one never knows what folly they will attempt next.

“With sharpened twigs I cleaned out all the incised lines, until the inscription on the exposed face stood forth clearly. Not till then did I attempt to read it. And there, among the glyphs I could not at once decipher, my eye caught a date-sign fairly jumping out to meet me. Cycle Ten, Katun Two, Tun Nine, Uinal One—in other words, 600 A. D.!

“It had been my secret hope that somewhere, somehow, I should be able to find an authentic date in Chi-chen Itza, some inscription which had eluded the eyes of other searchers. The Chronicles mention various dates in connection with the ancient city, but this added proof was needed to carry us over the threshold from probability into the realm of incontrovertible fact, just as the finds in the Sacred Well proved for us the veracity of the legends.

“This date-stone does not by any means indicate that the city was founded in 600 A. D., but that this particular temple, whatever its purpose may have been, was built or dedicated at that time. Imagine some terrible catastrophe befalling the United States, wiping out all our people and leaving our cities to fall in ruins and become covered with forests with the passing of hundreds of years. Then imagine an archæologist, even one as mad as myself, digging into these ruins and coming upon that block of granite which now stands over the entrance to the New York Corn Exchange and tells us in unmistakable terms when the building was erected. His find would be of tremendous historical value—a definite date standing out clearly from the misty past. But still he would not know nor have any clear idea of the date of the founding of New Amsterdam and no clue to the interesting history of those sturdy Dutch patroons who first built a village at the mouth of the Hudson.

“And so it is with my Sacred City. There is not in all the world a metropolis living or dead more mysterious, more dowered with romance. Its age, its origin, even the racial identity of its builders, are each and all sunk in mystery so profound that I doubt if we shall ever fathom them.

“I was so elated over my discovery that I at once promised double pay to each man for the month and declared that we would have a fiesta that all would remember for miles around and describe in later years to their sons. I tried to tell them how important was our find, but the double pay and the fiesta were much more eloquent to them than any words I could utter. I singled out the old Indian whose great, great grandfather had passed down the tale of the stone book. His face was as impassive as the faces of the stone gods about us, as befitted his dignity, but I could see it cost him a tremendous effort not to shout with glee and dance about like a small boy, and he gloried in the fact that he had not led me astray. Drawing his bent frame erect, he said, ‘Did I not say so and did my great grandfather ever lie?’

“Careful measurements showed that the stone had been the lintel of the doorway. Each end had rested upon and was securely cemented to the heads and supporting upraised arms of the huge Atlantean figures, thus forming an integral portion of the main temple entrance. This is not an unusual Mayan arrangement and, as previously mentioned, there is in the Akzab Tzib, or House of the Writing in the Dark, a similar lintel but without a date.

“A very long time must have elapsed since the abandonment of this temple. A seed of the chac-te tree was carried by the winds or the birds and dropped in the entrance, a little to one side of the center. This tree is of extremely hard wood and it grows slowly. It grew to a sapling and at last into a big tree whose roots by their upward thrust toppled over the central portion of the façade. The lintel fell to the ground, but its fall was softened by the pile of powdered mortar and stone which had already sifted down, and fortunately the priceless relic was unbroken. Time passed; the big tree died and decayed. All this we know by the casts of the gnarled roots left in the grouting beneath the temple platform. Once again fertile Nature planted a seed under the tablet, carried to its earthy bed down under the fallen stones by some rodent or fruit-eating bat. And this was the seed of the yax-nic—a tree as hard as iron and as long-lived as its predecessor. It too grew to great size and its roots tilted the stone tablet to one side and, finally dying, left its epitaph written in root-casts or molds. Again ever-vigilant Mother Nature planted a seed, this time of a tree of soft, quick-growing wood, and the roots encircled the tablet as in a mighty hand; and thus we found it when we cut down the tree. Fortunately, the previous trees, which exude an acidic sap, had done the tablet no harm and the last tree had by its clasp rather protected the tablet than harmed it. And how easily Nature might have contrived, with her cycles of life, for the destruction of this treasure!

“The day passed and darkness came, but I could not leave the spot. I dismissed my Indians and took the photographic cloth from my camera and covered the tablet and then piled over it some pliant boughs of trees. But, like the youth who lingers over his adieus to his sweetheart, I uncovered the stone again and sat beside it until the moon was bright overhead. My vagrant fancy carried me back over the centuries and I saw smooth highways crossing and recrossing, and along these highways populous cities with the towering outlines of massive temples and the carved edifices of kings and nobles. I could hear the soft, silvery laughter of women bearing water-jugs, as they met in groups along the tree-shaded avenues, and there were merchants and bearers of burdens traveling to and fro from the market-places, and resplendent warriors and haughty peers and solemn priests. And there was the scent of incense smoke and a high, clear voice was chanting the invocation to Kukul Can....

“I was aroused by the voice of one of my Indians, a quaint fellow who always addressed me as Ah Kin (High Priest)—why I do not know. ‘Ah Kin,’ said he, ‘Master, the voices of the birds are stilled; your food is cold and untasted; I beseech you to come and eat.’ I arose and went with him, but I could not eat; and all night, as I tossed in my hammock, I saw the tablet and its every inscription as clearly as though it were actually before my eyes, and early in the morning I was back at its resting-place. That day we carefully raised it and replaced it firmly upon the heads and upraised arms of the impassive stone guardians—serene, majestic figures that have witnessed a mighty civilization and its passing into the dust of oblivion. Once again their arms hold the graven tablet as of old, but their mute lips which might tell so much are silent and in their changeless gaze is the haunting, immutable introspection of the Sphinx.”

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CHAPTER XII
THE CONSTRUCTION OF MAYA BUILDINGS

WHOEVER views the pyramids along the Nile is inevitably intrigued as to how they were built—how the massive stones were transported and placed in their elevated positions. And likewise at Chi-chen Itza one is bound to speculate as to how the heavy stone-work was transported from its quarries, how it was so intricately carved, and by what predetermined plans it was erected into buildings which have stood for centuries, defying tropical nature.

I have found the Sacred City an absorbing topic upon which to ponder, fitting together the known facts and drawing upon imagination to piece in the gaps, until the mental picture of the building of its ancient temples is an unbroken fabric. My own visualization of the process of building a Maya temple is no doubt faulty in many respects, and I have no wish to precipitate an archæological controversy by claiming it to be hole-proof; I offer it merely for the sake of the reader who has not the opportunity to create his own vision of the subject from a first-hand view of these ancient edifices.

Imagine an army of workers—a hundred, yes, a thousand times as many as would be employed in the erection of a great modern building,—short, squat, powerful, sun-browned men, sweating at their task of quarrying and moving huge stone blocks.

In the quarries the blocks for the monolithic serpent heads, the column sections, and all the larger pieces used in the building are being channeled from the solid ledge rock, or from isolated boulders, by the pa-tunich, or quarry master, and his many assistants. The ring of blows struck with stone or wooden mallets upon chisels tipped with flint or calcite attests their industry. Some workers do not use the mallet and chisel, but score the soft limestone ledge with flint-bladed hatchets, while others ply long wooden poles as wedges and levers. On the quarry floor the master stone-cutters are squaring and smoothing the rough blocks and laying against them, from time to time, their wooden gauges, satisfied only when the stones are smooth and square and of the right dimensions. Under the finished stones are inserted wooden rollers and about them are knotted cables made of fiber or of tough vines, and long lines of men grasp the cables and bend their backs to the task of hauling the big blocks from the quarry to the building site.

Lines of men like toiling ants carry on their shoulders baskets of earth and stones. Slowly the terrace or substructure is built up to the first level, its sides faced with smooth stones, and each side bisected with a broad stairway. And up to this level is built an inclined roadway for the workers and their burdens. And slowly, up and up, grows terrace after terrace, each smaller than the preceding one, and the pyramid takes shape, leaving a flat stone platform at the top upon which the temple will be erected. Here the pol-tunich, the master stone-mason, and his artisans are busy in the finishing of the stones and in their intricate carving. Flint-edged hammers are used to work the grosser outlines, but the finer details are worked out with more delicate implements—gouging-tools of flint and calcite and keen-edged chisels of polished nephrite. Such a chisel Don Eduardo dug up near the base of one of the temples.

The finished stones, one by one, are dragged up the long inclined roadway, to the floor-level of the temple, and put into their places under the direction of the master builder. Stone upon stone, the walls take shape and the column sections are set in place. Then come the workers in mortar. Every crevice is filled and the column sections firmed into place with small stone wedges and thick lime mortar. With a cement-like plaster of sifted lime and white earth mixed with water and the juices of the chi-chibe plant, the workmen fill each crack in the walls and columns and burnish it to stony hardness and exceeding smoothness.

Next come the sculptors—men of renown, artists famed for their skill, who spend months and years with knives of obsidian, nephrite and flint chisels, and tiny cutting-tools of copper and calcite. At last the stone-and-mortar surfaces are covered with deep-carved masks and portraits and battle scenes and hieroglyphs and friezes, until scarcely a square inch of plain surface remains. With pencils of red chac-ti wood and with soft-plumed brushes dipped in brilliant pigments the carvings are further adorned—various shades of brown, the blue-green of the sacred quetzal bird, the emerald of the forest, the azure of the cloudless sky, the ultramarine of the deep sea, the gold of the noonday sun, the velvet blackness of a cloudy night, twilight purples in the long shadows of trees reflected in the pool of the Sacred Well, the gray of aged stone that has battled for countless years with the elements; vermilion of the turkey-head blossom, the rusty hue of red-earth dust. From triple-vaulted roof to temple floor the colors are applied with consummate artistry.

Speaking of the tools used by the sculptors, the finds of Don Eduardo throw a new light upon this previously puzzling subject. Many cutting-edges and rejects of flint and calcite have been found. Some archæologists have stated that chisels of metal were not used, and probably these were but little employed, yet from the Sacred Well were raised several small hard copper chisels. There can be no doubt, to judge from the shape and the marks upon them, that they are chisels. One of Don Eduardo’s most precious finds is a nephrite chisel discovered at the base of the Great Pyramid. Concerning it he says:

“While working one day around the base of the Great Pyramid of El Castillo, taking measurements and digging below the surface accumulations to get at the base line of the structure, I came upon a curiously shaped fragment of worked stone—heavy, close-grained, and dark green in color. Closer inspection showed it to be the edged portion of a cutting-tool.

“The unbroken tool must have been of the typical celt type, about six inches long and three inches wide at the cutting-edge, tapering to a rounded head. The part found was rather less than a half of the whole, but nevertheless the more interesting and important part because it contained the polished cutting-edge. It was an unusual find, indeed. Stone points and cutting-edges of local material, like flint and calcite, are not uncommonly encountered in favored places after heavy rains that wash away the earth covering and expose them to view, but tools fashioned from costly, imported material like nephrite were rarely used and were not carelessly cast aside when broken, for even the fragments had their value and could be worked over into smaller implements or into ornaments.

“The location in which this broken nephrite chisel was found, no less than the chisel itself, has an antiquarian bearing. Here was not only an authentic museum piece, but testimony as to its use, for clearly the chisel was used in making the sculptures of El Castillo and was lost there in the course of the work.

“Nephrite, or kidney-stone, was used in prehistoric, ancient, mediæval, and later times as a remedy for kidney diseases. It was taken, of course, in pulverized form. In prehistoric times nephrite was as needful to the skilled artisan as tempered tool steel is to the modern craftsman. Nephrite was found in lands far distant from the Mayas; and pieces of unworked nephrite were bartered and sold, as was nephrite dust. This dust packed on a rawhide surface became an effective abrasive for shaping and polishing the nephrite tool. Nephrite carried by ancient ways of commerce, by barter and trade and conquest and plunder, reached the Mayas to a limited extent. I have no doubt its value to these ancients was greater than that of gold.”

Century after century has passed and the work of these amazing craftsmen still stands, even to the hair lines of the lintel carvings and the faint traces of pigment still clinging to the smooth walls. The epitaph is imperishable, even though the names of the artists, like their very bones, have vanished.

Those who directed the work of temple-building not only built well, but had an eye to efficiency, also. No stone was wasted; rejects, fragments too small for carving or fashioning into building blocks—all were utilized as filling or ballast for the terraces. The stone chips from the mason’s hammer and chisel were used as grouting. Even the stone-dust was collected and sifted and mixed, in the ratio of three to one, with powdered lime, plant juice, and water, to make mortar. When the temple was completed to the point where the sculptors and painters took up their task, the inclined roadway was removed.

Then when the massive temple, smooth-walled and roof-crowned, stood complete on its serrated pyramid of receding terraces; when the broad stairways were finished and the undulating stone serpents and the paneled terrace faces all were perfectly aligned and the whole majestic structure appeared as frosted silver against the velvet blue of the sky—then only did the master builder consider his work complete.

With the exception of the Snail-shell or Watch-tower, all of the Maya buildings are rectangular. None are lofty, all are massive. Yet in all respects they are excellent in their architecture, of appropriate dimensions, symmetrical, and well constructed. Stones are fitted with infinite pains. Many have even been drilled. It has been shown that sharpened bird bones twirled about on the stone were employed as drills. Stones having drilled holes of six inches or more in depth are not uncommon. Mortar, plaster stucco, and cement were as good as or better than similar materials of the present time and were expertly applied. The use of pigments as understood by these ancient artisans is a lost art and it is doubtful if we have any colors as durable and unfading.

Monolithic columns of great size, chiefly of serpent-head motif, are found everywhere. Built-up columns, both square and round, were used. Inlays, mosaics, and stone screens, bas-reliefs, full reliefs, murals, panels, cornices, balustrades, sills, lintels,—virtually the whole gamut of architectural design and embellishment known to the best of ancient or modern architecture,—were known and used by these builders isolated by two oceans from any foreign influence.

Lintels were made of stone and of sapote, that iron-hard wood of Yucatan which defies the wear and tear of time like the teak of the Orient.

In one respect Mayan architecture might be considered inexpert, from the standpoint of our present knowledge of building construction, and that is their method of roofing their structures and of building arches. Like the old Greeks, they did not know how to build an arch employing a keystone. Only by gradually receding courses of stone did they achieve an arch having a capstone instead of a keystone. The result, in the building of a roof, was a steep-pitched affair, comparatively low at the eaves and high at the peak. The vertical rise from eaves to peak was usually as great as the distance from floor to eaves. Being of stone, this roof was of great weight. Where a considerable expanse of roof was needed, the triple-vaulted arch was used. The Maya arch is not ungraceful, even though it is massive.

In the Nunnery, or La Casa de las Monjas, we see successive stages of building where a part of an edifice is filled in with rock to provide a foundation for a superstructure erected later. This, too, is a very common practice of the old builders and gives the impression that no very well-thought-out plans were employed. I think, however, that none of these buildings was built without a predetermined plan, which was probably drawn out upon some substance in great detail, so that priests and king as well as the builders knew the size and shape and mode of decoration before the building was started. Moreover, people so skilful at drawing and with so considerable a mathematical knowledge might surely have been able to produce in some simple form the plans of these structures. The stones are too well fitted, the dimensions of the buildings too well proportioned, the orientation too accurate to have been the result of chance. Everything bespeaks foreordination, careful planning carried through to completion.

In several of the other ancient cities are found curiously carved stelæ, monolithic slabs of stone resembling the totem-poles of Alaska. These are elaborately sculptured with human figures and glyphs. Many are carved with amazing skill. In his book John L. Stephens describes a number of these stelæ and his descriptions are accompanied by the faithful drawings of Catherwood, made directly from first-hand observation and often with great difficulty. Frequently a small altar is found before these monuments. There is considerable reason to believe, from legend and the ancient Chronicles, that they were the date-records erected every twenty years, and if we could but read the hieroglyphs we might learn the important happenings in each score of years.

From a close study of the architecture of the buildings and their decorations it is clear that there were several stages of culture. Mayan architecture and art followed the rise and fall of the nation, becoming more and more refined up to the golden age represented in the temples of old Chi-chen Itza, gradually deteriorating in the newer temples, improving again under the influence of the Nahuatl conquerors, and sinking into utter desuetude several hundred years before the coming of the Spaniards.

The story of the Mayas furnishes one more epic in the history of the human race; one more cycle of rise and fall; one more meteor flash of brilliancy followed by the darkness of oblivion. There have been in every part of the world similar instances of this groping toward knowledge and culture and their slow achievement, to be followed by decline and savagery, as though the life of a nation were a thing of nature which, like a tree or an animal, flourishes a brief while, then withers and dies.

Is the twentieth century an exception to the age-old rule? Have our ability to commit our knowledge to the printed page and our great advance in the science of transportation set at naught the old rule? Or will our civilization also crumble with the passing of the years?

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CHAPTER XIII
STORY-TELLERS OF YUCATAN

IN wet weather the archæologist may take either a well-earned rest or he may busy himself with cataloguing and packing the trophies of his trusty pick and shovel.

“One day when the rain and the Evil Wind conspired to keep us indoors,” says Don Eduardo, “I found it much more interesting to listen to the yarns of the Indians than to work at routine tasks. All I can say in self-defense is that in Yucatan the subtle contagion of ‘mañana’ does get into one’s blood.

“My Indians are all very superstitious. They believe whole-heartedly in witches and elves, and if one digs deep enough he finds a good deal of veneration for several deities not mentioned in the Bible. One of these is Balam, the jaguar, known in ancient times as the lord and protector of the fields.

“These simple folk believe in ghosts which walk amid the ruins of the Sacred City, and they believe in all manner of fortune-telling and divination. They are particularly partial to crystal-gazing, using a crystal called zaz-tun.

“Among my Indians was Bat Buul, a little old fellow with twinkling eyes black as the seeds of the jabin fruit, and ears that actually wagged when he became excited in telling a story. His big thick-lipped, sensual mouth was ever ready to laugh heartily at a joke, even though the joke chanced to be on Bat Buul himself. Old as he was, he had still the supple quickness of a boy.

“Bat Buul, whose name means ‘bean ax,’ was a native of the neighboring village of Pisté and he was famous as a raconteur in a land where good tellers of stories are highly esteemed. More often than not he was the hero of the stories he told, and as he warmed up to the telling, he would become tremendously excited and his black eyes would snap and burn with the intensity of his narration.

“One of his best stories, that of the xtabay or forest lorelei, has the sweet flavor of those wonderful old Greek myths of nymphs and satyrs and of gods come down from Mount Olympus for a holiday.

“Often one sees glimmering gossamer flecks twisting, twirling as they scurry onward, aimlessly borne by a vagrant breeze. They look like a flock of diaphanous butterflies, but in reality they are the flying seeds of a climbing vine. The vine bears a slender, delicate, snowy flower and the seed-case is an olive-green oval pod filled with thousands of seeds. The seed mass is bisected within the pod by a light, silky membrane. As the ripening progresses the pod becomes chestnut in color and at last bursts open. The membrane with the seeds clinging to it falls out, but is brought up short in its descent by a thin filament that remains attached to the lower end of the pod. The fall detaches the seeds from the membrane, or they are soon blown clear, to be carried at the will of the wind. Each of the tiny seeds has a transparent wing or tissue.

“Curiously, the two halves of the dried seed-pod are perfect natural combs, which are much used by native women, who believe that use of these combs supplied by Nature herself preserves the natural color and luster of the hair. The natives far and wide speak of them as the combs of the xtabay—forest nymphs, dryads, or lorelei—and many, like Bat Buul, claim to have seen the nymphs combing their silken tresses. In the old days, also, the native belles used the combs, thinking thereby to capture some of the elusive beauty of the mythical forest maidens.

“Before I proceed with Bat Buul’s story there is one other explanation necessary to a full understanding of the tale. Far in the hinterlands of Yucatan are Maya Indians still called the Unbaptized Ones and these natives wear always about their necks chains of gold and in their ears big hoops of gold wondrously adorned with filagree. The men, even more commonly than the women, wear these ornaments, which is strange, for among those natives who are at all civilized the men seldom wear ear-rings or neck-chains, though these adornments are popular with the women.

“But the belief is common over the whole peninsula that by wearing a gold chain with a sacred relic or crucifix pendent from it one will be protected from danger. Men engaged in hazardous occupations such as the making of fireworks for fiestas and religious celebrations; butchers, and those who work with mad white men digging in haunted cities will tell you that such a chain is a potent charm against evil and sudden danger. Gallants occasionally wear chains of this sort, as do goldsmiths—rather out of vanity than for defense against ill-fortune. Always, when worn by men, the neck chains are hidden under the shirt.

“Bat Buul, who, on his own admission, has tried his hand at almost everything, is a goldsmith by trade, a maker of rockets when and if these are required, and a beau gallant at all times. Naturally, then, he wears a solid-gold chain of extra length and weight, with a solid-gold cross at the end which has been blessed by the Archbishop of Yucatan in the cathedral of Mérida.

“On this rainy day Bat Buul was resting luxuriously, ensconced upon a cauche in the store of Monica, in his natal village of Pisté. As I entered the store after my three-mile ride in the rain from Chi-chen Itza, Bat Buul was holding forth to an eager group of listeners. In his hand was a thimble glass of that aromatic beverage xtavantum and evidently it was not his first. He nodded to me as I joined the audience, but did not pause in his talk. It was evident that he determined to outdo himself for my benefit, being reasonably certain that if pleased, I would do the gentlemanly thing in the way of refreshment for all hands. As we would say in Americanese, ‘He was going strong.’ I give you his story as nearly as I can in his own words:

“‘I, Bat Buul, am a man of great will-power. I say it—yes, and it is so. I am not large of body, but I am great of heart and very strong. There are those who have sought to prove my strength and they have found it to be so. I do not say these things boastfully, for only vain and cackling fools do that, and if I do say it, I am no fool. No man can deceive me long—no, and no woman, either. Many have tried, but few have succeeded, albeit most of those who have succeeded have been women.

“‘But it is not given to man that he should be hard of heart and unbelieving toward women. No; many women have liked me; some have loved me, and because of this my heart is ever soft to all women; that is—’ here Bat Buul swallowed an entire thimble tumblerful of the perfumed liquor and gazed at us benevolently—‘that is, toward all handsome women.

“‘Well, sir, one day I started for the deepest part of the forest where I had some chac-ti logs that I had cut and left to dry for charcoal which I needed to make powder for my rockets. I had nearly reached the point on the road to Chi-chen Itza where one turns to enter the deep forest, when I noticed that I was beside the place where grow the ghost flowers which come up in the night and wither in a day. I stopped for a moment to look at them, for have I not told you many times that I love the beautiful things of the forest? Then it was I heard a soft, sweet sound like the notes of a bird very, very far away calling to its mate or like a reed flute played by one who is sad.’

“The old man paused and deliberately rolled and lighted a corn-husk cigarette. No one spoke. I have learned that it never pays to urge the native story-teller to get on with his narrative; story-telling is a rite which must be performed just so, and the artistic temperament resents any interruption not of its own making.

“At length Bat Buul resumed:

“‘I looked around me and saw a beautiful woman sitting under a tree. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and she was crooning to herself, and all the while she was combing her long, shining black hair. Suddenly she looked up and saw me with her big, velvet eyes that held a brightness like some deep, cool forest pool upon which the sunlight falls between the leaves. But she said nothing and continued to sing softly in that sweet, far-away voice of hers, while her rounded arms slowly rose and fell as the comb slipped through her glorious hair, so soft and fine that the little breezes one could scarcely feel rippled and floated its tendrils.

“‘I went slowly closer to her and said quietly, in a way that I have of my own, “My handsome one, why are you out here so lonely and all by yourself?” I meant to say more, but she rose and moved a little away from me. Yet her eyes shone more brightly and she stopped singing and said ever so softly and sweetly, “Oh, Bat Buul!” Then she moved farther away. She was—how shall I say?—not thin, not fat, but plump like the wild partridge, and she moved as lightly as feather down. Yes, she seemed to float, so effortless was her retreat. Well, have I not said that my heart is soft toward a handsome woman? And so I followed her, even though she led me quite away from where my chac-ti logs were drying in the sun.

“‘She said nothing, but again began to hum a tiny, wistful, haunting melody and as she glided on she turned her head this way and that to glance at a plant or to inhale the perfume of a flower. And ever she kept an eye on me that seemed to invite me on and on.

“‘Farther and farther we went from my logs, and deeper and deeper into the forest, and she seemed to grow more lovely at each step. Suddenly I found that I had walked right into a thorny clump of tynbins and the tynbin ants were swarming over me with their stings like the pricking of red-hot needles, while she, on the other side, was as cool and fresh as though she had but stepped from her morning bath.

“‘And then I began to wonder, although the pain of the stings was very great. And when a man begins to wonder he is safe, for then he usually finds out why he is in trouble. “Ah,” I thought, “when I first saw this lovely maid she was sitting under a tree, combing her hair, and she called to me.” And I remembered it was a benote, the tree that the xtabays ever seek for shade as they sit and sing and comb their lovely hair and try to bring venturesome men to an awful death. “And so the Xtabay of Pisté has tried to play with Bat Buul this day. Poor thing! we shall see!” But all of this I said very softly to myself, for I am a wily man when dealing with women. Then, as if still unsuspecting, I worked my way out of the thicket. As she turned to elude me again, quick as lightning I slipped my long gold chain from my neck, hiding the crucifix in the palm of my hand. I know women and, after all, the xtabay is a woman, and a good-looking one at that.

“‘Then I stopped as if in surprise and said as I held up the chain, “I wonder who dropped this beautiful chain.” The xtabay stopped singing and looked back at me. Just then a ray of sunlight touched the chain and made it glitter. And the sweet creature came up to me with unsuspecting curiosity and leaned close to look at the chain. Ah, I am the one who knows women! So quickly that she hardly saw the flash, I tossed the loop of the chain over her head so that it rested about her neck, and then held up the sacred cross so that she could see it. For a whole minute she stood perfectly still, then she began to tremble. Her eyes filled with big, glistening tears and she looked at me piteously and said with a sighing sob, “Oh, Bat Buul!”

“‘I felt sorry for her, for I am not heartless and she was one to melt even the hardest heart, xtabay or no xtabay. Yet I gave her only an unrelenting look and an answer that left her hopeless, for I said to her: “Things found by the roadside and unclaimed belong to him who finds them there. That is the law and the custom; and, pray, who is there to claim you from me?” She made no answer, but only bowed her head and cried the harder. Then I gave a little tug at the chain and said, “Come on home,” and she followed without a word of protest and with great glistening tears dripping from her lovely eyes.

“‘And leading her in this fashion, I passed the big tanauha where all the animals of the forest drink their fill even in the driest season. I passed the rock where little Pol Mis was slain by Ek Balam, the jaguar—black pagan that he is! And we came to the benote tree with its green fruit like big arrow-heads standing sharp against the sky—the very tree where I first saw this entrancing nymph who now followed me like a dog on a leash. When we reached the tree she stopped and looked at me with pleading agony in her eyes, such a look as I never hope to see again upon the face of any woman and she said, “Oh, Bat Buul!” and then again, “Oh, Bat Buul!” and in her voice was the sound of strangled tears. A man does not like that sound, ever, for it either hardens his heart and makes him more cruel than he should be or it turns his heart to water and causes him to be more gentle than is just and right.

“‘So I stopped and looked at her. I did not want to, but I could not help it; and as I looked I knew that she was more beautiful than any woman that ever lived, even though she were an xtabay and without a soul, as the priest tells us. She was marvelously formed—not thin, not fat. Her flesh was as soft as a child’s, yet she was graceful and quick in her movements. She was all that a woman should be. She seemed like a bird just ready to fly. And, as I looked, I thought, “What will my friends say and what will the priest say and do?” Her eyes, filled with terror, pleaded with me more strongly than any words could have done.

“‘Ah, Señor, I have the big heart! I took off the chain of gold and covered the crucifix in the palm of my hand and released her. For a moment she did not move and I thought she hesitated and looked at me as though she were really sorry to be free. I was a young man then and not bad-looking, and even an xtabay may know what it is to love. She began to move slowly away, with light gliding steps. Then she stopped and said to me in the voice of the wood-dove talking to its mate, “Good-by, my Bat Buul.”

“‘I could not move, but stood there spellbound and looked at her, and soon she reached the benote tree where the shadows now lay thick and dark. Here she paused and looked at me long and tenderly; and there was no longer terror in her eyes, but, it seemed to me, only regret at our parting. And the sun, which was just slipping beneath the horizon, cast for a long moment a spell of gold that gleamed upon her glossy hair like the sheen of light on polished ebony or the glint of many tiny bits of bright metal; and this is queer, for her hair was like my chac-ti wood after it has been burned very long.

“‘Deeper and longer grew the shadows, and at last I could no longer see her. I leaned a little forward and I was conscious that I was breathing hard as though I had run a long distance, and still I seemed to hear faintly the low, sweet song that she had crooned when first I saw her; and at last even that faded into stillness. I do not know how long I stood there, but it was almost dusk when I turned to retrace my steps. I was a long way from home. As I slowly turned about, I saw something at my feet that shone like dark metal. It was the seed-pod of the xtabay plant, which women sometimes use to comb their hair, and I was about to kick it carelessly aside when I heard a voice, “Oh, Bat Buul!” Just a whisper it was from far off in the forest. Then I knew it was her comb and I put it in my pocket, for she was a handsome woman and I could not throw the comb away. I have the comb to-day, although this happened long ago, when I was young and foolish.’

“Bat Buul paused and sat very still, his eyes seeming to look beyond us and back into the past. He did not touch the refilled glass beside him, even though he knew that the patron was paying for it and that by drinking it speedily he might quickly obtain another. At last he said, with a twinkle in his eye and more to himself than to his audience:

“‘I should like to see that xtabay again; perhaps I should act differently. And, then, perhaps I should act the same, for my heart is still kind to women, especially if they are handsome women.’

---

“As I have said before, one of the most interesting things I have encountered in Yucatan is the native custom of story-telling. Usually the teller of stories is an old man or an old woman with a wide repertoire of folk-lore. Ghosts, giants, fairies; mythical animals such as white jaguars; miraculous humans, and the ancient gods—all appear in these tales, which are told with amazing skill. A little group of Indians will gather about the story-teller almost anywhere, in the courtyard of a house or in the public square of a town, and they will sit by the hour as the speaker goes on without pause from one weird tale to another.

“I understand that in the near-by hamlet of Dzitas there is now a motion-picture theater and the telling of stories has been largely supplanted by the ‘movies,’ more’s the pity.

“The children are, of course, eager for stories, and nearly every village has some kindly old woman willing to entertain the children with oft-told tales. Such was X’Leut Cauich. X’Leut Cauich was old, very old, and yet, even though the outer wrappings, the casings of her mind and soul, were wrinkled with age, her mind and seemingly her soul remained undeniably very young.

“‘T is ever said that youth seeks youth as sparks fly upward, and the saying is a true one. Just so surely as old X’Leut seated herself comfortably before the koben, or three-stone fireplace, in her na (palm-thatched house) and started to make with colored threads and shining needle, on snow-white cotton cloth, the beautiful native embroidery “xoc-bui-chui,” just so surely would the children of the neighborhood spring up as if by magic from the very ground about her and beg for a story. And old X’Leut, because she was a born story-teller, never dreamed of denying them.

“Bit Euan; Phil Canul with his three brothers, all seemingly of an age; Pol Cocom with his big, soft eyes and harelip; Pablo Perez and his sister, white of skin, children of the Spanish storekeeper—all sat crouching, cross-legged, sprawling, each after the manner of his people, around old X’Leut, listening, motionless, with eager eyes and intent expression, to the words slowly spoken, clearly uttered, as they fell from her aged lips.

“For them, and for old X’Leut as well, the outer world—the prosaic world about the palm-thatched na—no longer existed—only the Wizard Potters as they worked, with swiftly moving hands and fingers, the magic clay, making the enchanted vessels of an ancient people.

“She told them of Aluxob ‘The Little People,’ how they searched in the deep-down caves for the kat, the kut, and the ki, the tiny crystals and the clays that the Wizard Potters used in the making of the ancient vessels. She talked with her eyes, her lips, and her hands. With agile feet alternately moving she showed how the ancient people revolved the shallow wooden disks as the potters of other lands work, with their hands, their revolving wheels. She told them of these vessels—vessels with magic worked into their very substance so that at night they changed into living things called Burro Kat and Hunab Pob; living things that tormented by their doings late night wanderers, thieves and drunkards; bad people generally; even children who, disobeying their parents, stayed out late at night or ran away from home.

“Then, as X’Leut finished, rolled up her xoc-bui-chui, poked the fire in the three-stone fireplace, and started the water to boiling in the earthen kettle, each man-child, introspectively brooding, hurried homeward to ask of his astonished mother if there was anything that he could do to put the house in order before night came. Ah! a guileful woman was old X’Leut, with her ever-young soul and nimble hand! A joy to the children and a solace to the tired mothers.”

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CHAPTER XIV
FORGOTTEN MICHAEL ANGELOS

AS I have said, the art of the Mayas, and of Chi-chen Itza particularly, represents several periods of culture. Some of the oldest examples of architecture, stone point-work, carvings, and murals, as well as temple ornaments and personal trinkets display the greatest artistry of design and craftsmanship.

Evidently art progressed until a golden age dawned, comparable in its way to the golden age of Greece. Just as Pericles and Praxiteles chiseled into stone a marvelous grace and beauty which later sculptors have never been able to excel, so these old Maya dreamers and creators have left behind them things more lovely than those of succeeding generations.

Gradually the golden Mayan age waned. Creative genius became more scarce. Sense of harmony and soaring imagination were dimmed. Technique itself became poorer.

And then came the renaissance—the period of Nahuatl influence when Chi-chen Itza probably reached its pinnacle of civic importance and new temples and palaces were built thick and fast. Art was encouraged and new genius arose, akin to that of the ancient masters, yet showing everywhere the influence of the Nahuatl invasion. But while the new art attained a high degree of excellence, it failed to reach the perfection of the older culture.

It is rather difficult to assign to a given period any building as a whole, or any piece of workmanship, because the older city was so frequently robbed of its art treasures in the construction of the newer city. Columns and cut stones and lintels were torn from the older and perhaps then nearly ruined buildings to be used in the newer edifices. As in the House of the Writing in the Dark, we see a lintel of such extraordinary beauty as compared with the rest of the structure that it cries aloud its story of ravishment from a nobler and older temple. Apparently the later builders cared nothing for the beauty of this stone, but took it simply because in size it was appropriate for their purpose.

In speaking of the three eras of Mayan culture in Chi-chen Itza, it is at least reasonable to suppose that the most ancient preceded the coming of the Itzas to the city; legend says there was a flourishing city here before the influx of the Itzas. The second period includes the rise and decline of art under the Itzas, ending with the Nahuatl-Aztec dominance. The third period approaches oblivion—the centuries following the decay of the Maya nations when “campers,” as Don Eduardo calls them, inhabited sparsely the old cities, and these people built nothing of permanence and despoiled much of the old art, knowing nothing of the past history and grandeur of the walls which provided a better shelter than they could build. The little of artistic merit which they created—if indeed, they created anything—is crude and inferior to the work of their ancestors. “Campers” probably lived in the Sacred City for two or three centuries preceding the coming of Montejo and until his advent.

All that remains of the first period is the nearly obliterated old Chi-chen Itza, where future exploration may bring to light many treasures. Add to these the precious carvings that have obviously been taken from the old city for the building of the newer city.

The second period is represented by the many temples and buildings, several in an almost perfect state of preservation, in the newer Chi-chen Itza, and the finds in the Sacred Well.

The third period is represented only in the waste and debris left by the “campers” in and about the structures of the preceding periods.

One striking characteristic of Mayan art is the skill of the ancient sculptor or painter in portraying the human figure and especially the human physiognomy. The faces in murals, friezes, and bas-reliefs are expressive, individual, full of character—the faces of men of intellect and purpose. Nearly always these portraits in stone or paint seem to have a sort of sublimity: an earnestness of mien, an inscrutability, and withal an utter lack of pompousness. None but great artists could so have caught the real character of the person portrayed. Mayan art is a decided step ahead of the art of the Egyptians, and beside it the Buddhas of the Orient seem insipid. There are, of course, grotesque figures and the many hieroglyphs which, it must be remembered, are not portraits but have been conventionalized into symbols far in advance of the original and more primitive picture-writing.

One of the most intriguing things is the constant recurrence of the mask of Kukul Can, often conventionalized to fit the particular wall of a building, frieze, or mural where it is used. And always it is shown with a long upturned snout which some casual observer has called an elephant’s trunk.

To go a bit afield, G. Elliot Smith’s “Elephants and Ethnologists” takes up this subject of the elephant’s head. He believes that several elaborately carved columns or stelæ in Copan, another Mayan city, possibly more ancient than Chi-chen Itza, present credible pictures of elephants’ heads with the keepers or mahouts beside them. These carvings have caused considerable discussion; some stoutly maintain that they portray the elephant and others say the motif is derived from the tapir or from the head of the blue macaw. At any rate, the appearance is that of an elephant, but very likely is intended for the mask and nose of the great Maya hero-god Kukul Can.

Of the many murals in the Sacred City, those in the Temple of the Tigers are the most interesting. On the opposite page is a reproduction [missing] of the scene on the west wall; it is from a tracing done twenty-five years ago by Teoberto Maier, of whom I shall later give further account. Much of the lower part of the mural has since been defaced by vandals or has chipped away through natural causes. The colors are vivid and the battle action enthralling. Of the many human figures no two are in the same pose. At the upper right is the Itza king or ruler, protected by his king of serpents spitting fire and venom at the enemy. A little lower down, and in front, is the chief Itza general with his protecting serpent, and all about are warriors armed with hul-ches, darts, and shields. At the extreme left is the opposing general with his king of serpents and his warriors.[7] Near the bottom at the left are the Itza notables holding a consultation, and at the bottom, center, is the time-keeper with his calendar wheel.

Facing page 221 [missing] is an enlarged view of just a bit of this scene which, because of its larger size, gives a better idea of the technique of the painter.

Another part of the battle scene, covering the east wall, depicts the invading army coming over the mountains to attack the Itzas. At the left in the picture is an Itza general or ruler, supported as usual by his beneficent Ahau Can or king of serpents. He is identified as belonging to the Itzas by his typical Itzan costume. The figure with the symbolized protecting serpent is similar to many others to be seen elsewhere in Chi-chen Itza, in paintings and bas-reliefs. A little lower down is his commanding general, also with a protecting serpent, and all about are the Itza warriors, now, due to mutilation, indicated only by the heads of their spears, pointing upward toward the enemy. In the upper right-hand corner of the painting is an Itzan horn-blower, standing upon a temple. His nationality is evidenced by the knee-protectors he wears.

The invaders wear an entirely different style of clothing and their armament is not like that of the Itzas. For example, although they use the hul-che, their shields are rectangular—a shape never seen in Chi-chen Itza nor in the whole Maya area. Still more striking is the peculiarity of their head-dresses of three blue feathers with yellow tips surmounting the regular feathered head-gear. It is significant that Don Eduardo, some years ago in the excavation of a temple, uncovered a gigantic painted head having a head-dress of three blue feathers with yellow tips. The stone containing the picture of the head was found upside down, and from the situation in which it was discovered it had evidently been so placed originally and had not fallen or been displaced. The reversed position of the head was the Maya method of conveying the information that this foe was conquered.

Evidently the painting in the Tiger Temple was executed to commemorate the victory over the invaders of the blue feathers, and the other temple which Don Eduardo excavated also was decorated with murals that indicated victory.

On each of the shields of the invaders is shown a curious red symbol which indirectly gives a clue to the nationality of these foreigners. In the central part of the state of Vera Cruz are found the remains of a highly cultured people, the Totanacs. The descendants of this ancient clan still reside in the neighborhood and their language contains many Mayan words. Because of the peculiarity of the design, as shown on the engraving of a clay Totanac facing page 225 [missing], there can be no doubt that it is the same identically as appears on the shields in the Tiger Temple. The same peculiar design occurs frequently upon the ancient Totanac sculptures and pottery.

The Totanacs are neighbors to another tribe just to the north, the Huastecas, who spoke the pure Maya language and were a part of the Maya brotherhood. It seems probable either that they were left behind in the great Maya migration from the west or that their country was originally the home of those Mayas who later emigrated to Yucatan under the leadership of the mighty Kukul Can.

Either supposition might be correct, for it was in this locality that the now famous Tuxtla statuette was found which bears the earliest date ever discovered in this part of the world—113 B. C. The earliest date-stone in Chi-chen Itza is the one found by Don Eduardo and its date is more than seven hundred years later. During the interval between the two, or even before, the emigration to Yucatan from the west might have occurred.

Another curious thing in the Tiger Temple painting is the fact that the invaders are shown coming over mountains. Northern Yucatan contains no mountains, not even a high hill. But in the state of Vera Cruz there are mountains. There is little to substantiate any theory that the people of the Sacred City invaded Vera Cruz and it is much more probable that the Totanacs were the invaders.

In passing, another hypothesis of the ethnology of the Mayas is that they were descendants of the Toltecas, a peaceful and cultured people who inhabited Mexico proper before they were driven southward by the Nahuatl or Aztec tribes. In various places in Mexico, Toltecan remains have been found similar in construction and design to those in the Maya areas. Yucatan may have been the final stopping-place of these people, but as they moved ever southward, bands dropped out along the road, and settled.

It is known that many years later Aztec soldiers marched clear around the rim of the Gulf of Mexico and through the jungles to Chi-chen Itza, which was their final destination. Their influence is very evident in the buildings in newer Chi-chen Itza.

Because many of the murals in the Sacred City have reached the critical point of deterioration in the last decade or so, I have made a point of photographing as many of them as possible. Much of the photography has employed the color-separation process. All told, I have taken upward of a thousand photographs, and in addition I have made a large number of drawings or tracings where it was impossible to use the camera. A number of murals which were clear and perfect during my earlier trips to Yucatan, some eighteen years ago, are now entirely faded or chipped off.

From a minute study of the paintings I am reasonably sure that the artists of this past age waited until the walls of a building were completed and the inner surface had been covered with a thin, hard stucco, then they painted the whole wall-surface to an even tone of color, usually a light olive green. Upon this the outlines of their pictures were sketched, either with red chalk or some soft red stone. The outlines were then intensified with a brush dipped in red pigment. From the character of the brush-marks I judge the brushes to have been made of hair or feathers. The next step was the laying in of the colors, the pigment being mixed with some sort of varnish that dried and permitted other colors to be superimposed.

For example, take the figure of a man. After the outline was completed, the whole figure was painted flesh color. When this was dry, further outlining within the figure was done. Then another color was laid over the shield, clothing, and other portions. Some details of the shield might then be ornamented with still another color, and another would be laid on the bosses of the shield and perhaps several colors put into the head-dress. Wherever the red outlines were painted over, yet were needed for completion of the work, new red outlines were painted in.

Facing page 220 [Transcriber: missing] is the reproduction of a tracing I have made of a red outline, showing as faithfully as possible the beginning and ending of each brush-mark. It is in the same free-hand style used by the modern painter.

Bas-relief work was much used in the Sacred City and for this type of art the cracks between the stone-work were filled in with stucco to give an even surface and then the whole surface was polished. The artist cut his designs into both stone and stucco. I cannot say how this work was laid out, but it is reasonable to suppose that it was outlined in red chalk and pigment much as murals were. The incised work is from a quarter to half an inch deep and the figures stand out boldly, especially when the direction of the light is from a particularly favorable angle.

The projecting part of each relief was painted in identically the same manner as murals, one color after another being superimposed. A notable example of this type of art is found in the Temple of Bas-Reliefs, which is just back of the mound of the Tiger Temple, and is unique in the fact that it is situated upon level ground and not upon a pyramid.

Of this building there is still standing the right wall, nearly all the back wall, a fragment of the left wall, and about a fourth of the ceiling. The colors upon the bas-reliefs, with which walls and ceiling are covered, are quite clear except upon the left wall, where for some reason they are much faded but still distinguishable. On the ceiling the colors are remarkably distinct, especially several tones of blue. I recollect that my uncle, who painted the “Spirit of Seventy-Six,” once told me that blue is a fugitive color and that there is no such thing as permanent blue, which, he jokingly remarked, is the reason why painters use a pigment called “permanent blue.” The prevailing shade of blue used in these bas-reliefs is what artists of to-day would term indigo blue in various tones.

Appropriate coloring has been used throughout. The flesh is flesh-colored; garments, war-gear, everything is properly colored. In these as in nearly all the bas-reliefs, the incisions or background are colored a deep red, originally, I judge, as brilliant as Chinese vermilion but now mostly faded to a brick red.

These walls represent the very pinnacle of Maya art. There is nothing of antiquarian interest upon the American continents that excels or even approaches them. The figures are not stiff and unlifelike as are Egyptian figures. On the contrary, they are uncannily faithful portrayals of men in action. They are about three feet high, and on these walls are more than eighty figures of kings, gods, priests, and warriors. Many, particularly the priests, are clad in most wonderful and elaborate vestments. The warriors are more simply clothed and all carry hul-ches such as were actually found in the Sacred Well. Upon the back of each fighting man is a quiver holding five darts. Each dart bears the individual mark of its owner, so that if retrieved it might be returned to him.

The bas-reliefs depict six different scenes, and each runs completely about the room. Separating each scene from the one above it is the conventionalized body of a great serpent.

In all of this work I have discovered but one female figure. Below this figure is an ornamental border about eight inches high on which are engraved flowers and small human figures in curious acrobatic postures.

The front portion of the roof is now fallen in, but I surmise that originally the illumination of the building was such as to bring out the relief work most prominently.

At present one gets a much better impression of this work at about ten o’clock in the morning than at any other period of the day.

In the National Museum at Washington, there is a reproduction of these bas-reliefs, but this modern work has scarcely caught the spirit of the old Maya artists. It should be the immediate aim of archæologists to preserve or duplicate the bas-reliefs in the most faithful manner, for the sake of posterity, for I doubt if we shall ever uncover anything finer in American antiquity.

Teoberto Maler spent a great deal of time in making photographs, drawings, and tracings of the old Maya murals and reliefs, and the world owes him a debt of gratitude for the minute care he took and the faithfulness of his reproductions. Maler, who is now deceased, was no mean antiquarian. He was also an artist and a man of most peculiar personality.

For several years his more or less undirected exploration was done for the Peabody Museum, and then he fell out with the heads of that institution and thereafter worked as a free-lance. For years his livelihood was derived by selling information, photographs, and drawings to dilettant antiquarians. So many of these failed to pay him for such services that the poor fellow became suspicious of virtually every one who attempted to be friendly with him. I called on him four times before I could even get him to talk about archæology. But I always took several bottles of beer with me, so he became more cordial; and as I was especially careful not to question him in any way to indicate an interest in his work, he finally thawed out completely.

An Austrian by birth, he had accompanied the ill-fated Maximilian to Mexico and had finally drifted southward into Yucatan, where he centered his interest on archæology.

One day he presented me with about twenty photographs from his collection, which I was happy to have, although some were discards. Seeing the sincerity of my gratitude, he offered to show me some things which he said had never been seen by any one else. Among these treasures was his excellent tracing of the battle scene in the Tiger Temple. The next day I asked him with some trepidation if I might make a copy of the tracing. He was quite willing and when I suggested that I would travel to Mérida to get some tracing-paper for the purpose he produced a whole roll of it. I spent an entire week making this tracing and several others, Maler working beside me and helping for several hours each day.

I tried to pay him when the work was completed, but he would never accept a penny, saying I was the only man who had ever come to him without trying to get something for nothing, and he repeated this remark, I have been told, to other people. He told me he trusted only two men in the world. Naturally, I was very glad to have won his regard.

One day, some years later, he showed me several golden ornaments which I afterward found had come in some devious way from the Sacred Well. I fortunately made some photographs and drawings of them, for the next year, when I asked to see them again, Maier no longer had them. Some he had evidently sold to a museum abroad and the remainder he had disposed of otherwise.

Maler had a foolish hatred for Don Eduardo and called him “falsifier Thompson,” but the latter had no such feeling toward Maler; in fact, one can scarcely imagine Don Eduardo’s hating anybody.

During one of my visits Maler promised me that the following year we should make a two weeks’ journey into the interior of Yucatan, where he had discovered a temple unknown to the world which contained some marvelous murals. He said that he had discovered an underground entrance to the temple and when he left he had covered up the entrance and planted shrubbery over it so that it would remain hidden from archæologists. At that time I made a tracing of one of his drawings, showing a wall of this temple on which is depicted a water scene, with a volcano spouting fire and smoke, buildings falling into the water, people drowning, and a figure dressed like a warrior, paddling away from the scene, in a boat. Maler was a firm believer in the Lost Atlantis theory and contended that this picture represented the destruction of Atlantis. It was an obsession with him that nothing from this secret temple should come into the possession of what he termed “that infamous museum.”

I shall always regret that Maler died before I was able to make the intended trip with him to this hidden temple, as the knowledge of its location died with him.

Teoberto Maler, soldier of fortune, artist, archæologist, and eccentric misanthrope, yet at heart kindly and lovable, died of a fever three years ago, in his adopted land of Yucatan. All of his personal belongings were taken over by the Austrian consul, and I am told that except for his numerous photographs and drawings there was nothing among them of value.

Among the modern inventions which the antiquarian has to be thankful for, place first in the list the camera, which makes possible faithful reproductions, frequently under most unfavorable conditions. Compare modern photography with the difficulties that beset Catherwood, who made the exceptionally fine engravings with which Stephens’s books are illustrated. Catherwood did his work nearly eighty years ago, using a “camera obscura,” a rather clumsy device which projects an image on a screen so that it may be traced. In making a single tracing Catherwood worked for hours at a stretch in the tropic heat, beset by insect pests, whereas to-day a few moments with a camera would be sufficient.

One of the interesting things shown in the old murals and bas-reliefs is the diversity of costumes. The dress of the figures varies from the simple wide belt, with flaps hanging down front and back, to the very elaborate vestments of the priests. To the belt might be fastened armor of heavy quilted cotton or of wood or even of metal.

The costume of the warrior always included an ornate feathered head-dress and there was wide variation in these head-ornaments. In some cases they were made of wood in the shape of a bird or other animal and the surface was covered with a thin layer of metal such as beaten copper or gold or with well-tanned deerskin or of finely woven cotton fabric embroidered with feather-work. From the top of the head-dress, feathers sometimes descended in graceful curves clear to the ground. The entire head, wings, and tail of a bird were often a part of the head-gear. The head-gear of kings and nobles was decorated with the feathers of the sacred quetzel, or bird of paradise. On a few of the pictured head-ornaments, one or more serpents’ heads are seen, and these may have been a symbol of rank or the coat of arms, so to speak, of a certain family. In other cases the front of the head-piece shows the face or mask of some deity, often the face of Kukul Can.

Fastened about the warrior’s neck is often a cape of cotton fabric so heavily embroidered with feathers that it appears to consist of feathers alone. Some of these capes or tunics are covered with metal scales to ward off the thrust of spear or dart. The Maya love of finery is indicated by the ubiquitous string of jade beads about the neck, ending in a heavy jade pendant or medallion. Such beads are worn by many of the pictured figures.

Around the warrior’s waist is a wide, embroidered belt supporting an ornamented apron. Protectors of feather-work surround the knees, and upon the wrists are curious wristlets. Sandals are made of deerskin or heavy felt and are decorated with geometrical figures; they are laced in front and frequently have high sides like a shoe. Both deerskin and felt sandals have been found in the Sacred Well. A band is worn around each ankle, with feathers projecting from the front. This band is purely decorative and has no connection with the sandal.

Usually the fighting-man is shown either holding five darts in his left hand or having that number of darts in a quiver on his back. In his right hand he grasps the hul-che.

Some of the figures have their arms almost entirely obscured by bands covered with feathers. Other figures wear cloaks or mantles fastened at the throat and reaching nearly to the ground. These are generally embroidered heavily with the feather-work so dear to the ancient Mayas.

Figures are also shown wielding the formidable spear tipped with flint. Some of the spear-heads taken from the Sacred Well are from eight to nine inches long and two to three inches wide, and razor-edged. Spears were usually gaily decorated with feathers attached to the shaft where it joined the head. In the bas-reliefs is shown, also, a spear-head with serrated edges. For fighting at close quarters the battle-ax was used. It consisted of one or several stones or of a metal blade fitted into a wooden helve.

In addition to the armor worn there were shields. Some of the shields were built to fit closely the back and sides of the warrior and were fastened to the broad band of his belt. Other shields, carried in the usual manner, were made and ornamented in several different ways. Usually the base was wood, embossed with metal, studded with jewels or ornamented with feathers. I was fortunate enough to be with Don Eduardo at one time during the dredging of the well and had the thrill of picking from the muck of the dredge the golden section of a shield-front, which had been a large round ornamented disk of considerable size, embellished with carvings of flowers and scrolls.

The net also was used in battle and, as shown in the bas-reliefs, was carried by the spear-thrower, in his left hand. Very likely it was effective in stopping the thrust of a spear. Or—who knows?—it may have been used to entangle the enemy in the manner of the Roman gladiator armed with net and trident.

The warriors went into battle to the resounding blare of horns, and trumpets were used to signal troops in action. There were whole companies of horn-blowers, each man provided with a horn nearly as tall as himself. Horns and horn-blowers are clearly shown in the murals of a second-story room in La Casa de las Monjas.

Our information obtained from a study of the bas-reliefs and murals and from the articles retrieved from the Sacred Well and other finds checks with remarkable closeness the writings of Landa, whose sources of knowledge were chiefly legend and the old Maya writings. Landa says:

They had for their defense round shields which they made of split reeds woven round and adorned with deer-skins. They had jackets padded with cotton and filled with salt. These were of two thicknesses or layers of padding and extremely strong.

Some of the chiefs and captains had helmets of wood. They went to war with plumage and tiger and jaguar skins on—those that had them. They always had two captains, one hereditary and perpetual, the other selected with much ceremony for a term of three years.

On the roads and passes they erected defenses of twigs and wood and sometimes of stone for their archers.[8] If they captured some distinguished man, they sacrificed him, because they did not want to leave alive anyone who might later harm them.

They had hatchets of certain metal which they fastened into handles of wood and these served them as arms and also as instruments to cut wood. These they sharpened by pounding with a stone to harden them as the metal was virginally soft. They had small, short lances with points of hard flint.

In their earth there was not discovered until now any kind of metal with which they might make implements with which to work on their numerous edifices. However, not having metals, they found in the earth flint with which they made materials for their lances which they used in their wars; and the knives for sacrifice were made from flint which the priests had selected.[9]

They had a certain kind of white brass with admixture of gold from which they made their hatchets for different functions and also hawk-shells and a certain kind of small chisel with which they made their idols. The brass and other plates of metal and hard copper plates they used to barter for things from Tabasco for their idols, trading back and forth.

In the illustration following page 241 may be seen the more elaborate costume of the priests. This illustration of a small section of the back wall of the Temple of the Bas-Reliefs represents a religious ceremony. The whole wall is covered with figures of priests and warriors paying devotion to Ahau Can, the king of serpents.

The Great Serpent looms majestically over and about the high priest, who is decked in gorgeous apparel. Mask and helmet cover his face and head, and from his body intricate scrolls extend in all directions, denoting the words or chant to which he is giving voice. In his hand he holds a shield over the surface of which the body of the protecting serpent undulates. From the mouth of the Great Serpent issue scrolls of red and yellow, which may be words or venom.

Perhaps one may realize from this sculpture how keen was the decorative sense of these ancient people. It was ever seeking an outlet for expression. The undecorated space on wall or ceiling must have seemed to the Maya artist an inartistic space. He crowded his areas with ornamentation, yet with so nice a balance, so true a harmony that he achieved a perfect result without giving an impression of congestion.

Other figures show the use of ear- and nose-ornaments and of labrets made of thin disks of gold and of highly polished jade.

Finally, there are the wonderfully worked ornaments of fine flint, flawless and shaped curiously like the parts of a bishop’s crozier.

In the Tiger Temple is a frieze near the top of the wall, extending clear around the four sides, which shows a procession of jaguars. It is a thing of sheer beauty, for the artist has caught in his paintings the very nature of the beast. There he is, in all his slinking, lithe, feline ferocity, conventionalized but losing nothing of his character.

Above and below the row of jaguars is an ornamentation of conventionalized serpent motif which is graceful, accentuating the litheness and grace of the huge cats. The whole frieze is done on a surface of stone polished to such smoothness that it conveys the idea of white marble worked by the hand of an old Italian master.

Another remarkable mural was upon a stone which was found by Sylvanus Morley in the debris of a partially ruined temple in old Chi-chen Itza which he named the Temple of the Owls. It is so named from the fact that many of the fallen columns bear sculptures of owls. For a number of reasons I believe that this is one of the earlier temples, built when Maya art was at its best, and I was thrilled at the quality of workmanship on the stone. The colors were much faded and the entire picture too faint for the camera. I found first, in cleaning the corners or unimportant parts by washing in water, that the paint would stand almost any sort of gentle rubbing. In fact, the only way it could be destroyed was by scraping it off with an edged tool. Washing showed that the colors were somewhat more vivid when the stone was wet and it occurred to me that it could be treated in much the same manner as an old oil painting, which may be greatly revivified by cleaning and then applying a coat of varnish.

Acting on this assumption, I first cleaned the stone with a weak solution of hydrochloric acid, which had no effect on the pigments but did remove much dirt. The next question was varnish. I had some turpentine and a few other chemicals but no varnish. And then I thought of the copal incense that Don Eduardo had taken from the Sacred Well. I took a ball of this and scraped off the calcined outer surface. The remainder of the copal I broke up and placed in an earthen bowl which also came from the well. Then I added a little turpentine and heated the mixture over a slow fire until the copal was melted. Finally I strained the liquid through a piece of cloth and had an excellent transparent copal varnish. I tried it out on several unimportant stones and found that it gave a fine surface gloss. I then applied it very carefully to the painted stone I had discovered, first to the blue border and then to the whole surface. I was overjoyed, when the varnish had dried, to find the colors magically restored, several of them being nearly as bright, I think, as when originally applied, perhaps a thousand years before.

It was now a simple matter to obtain excellent photographs and I took several, both in black and white and with color separations.

This stone, which I named the Stone of Kukul Can, told a complete story. It represented the long-nosed god, the particular deity of the Sacred City, emerging from the mouth of a serpent, just as shown in the old Maya books and in many other places. In other words, it depicted the birth of Kukul Can, the feathered-serpent god. Below the serpent and the figure of the god was shown the bowl of the earth, or the archaic representation of the earth. Here and there were cacao pods, from which was obtained chocolate—then as now an important article of food, a highly prized delicacy among the Mayas and other races. Cacao is one of the fruits the Mayas thought to have been brought them by Kukul Can.

The god held in his hands emblems of life and generation. Above were the celestial heaven and the zodiac. At right and left were the hieroglyphs of the sun and planets. On the upper margin was an inscription. The whole was majestic and exquisitely done. It indicated all of the good things of life,—prosperity and plenty,—bestowed upon his people by the mighty god Kukul Can, born of a serpent.

When I had finished photographing and studying this extraordinary stone, I wrapped it carefully and stored it in Don Eduardo’s hacienda, where it was later ruined when the hacienda was burned by unruly Indians.

This lost stone was an excellent example of the older and finer Maya art and a careful comparison of it, as photographed, with the pages of the Perez Codex, one of the few remaining ancient Maya books (now in the National Library in Paris), shows its similarity to the work therein displayed. The portraits of Kukul Can are identical. The hieroglyphs have the same peculiarities of shading, due to the stroke of the brush being heavier on one side than on the other. If the artist who painted the Stone of Kukul Can did not also illuminate some of the Maya books, he at least belonged to the same period and the same school of artists. I am sure that the great work of Mr. Morley of the Carnegie Foundation, which is now going on at Chi-chen Itza, will uncover many more stones similar to this one and it will be demonstrated that many of the Maya books were produced in the ancient city.

Very frequently in the murals or the bas-reliefs, where figures of men are shown, the glyph representing the man’s name appears above his portrait. Thus we have “Mr. Can,” or, in English, “Mr. Snake,” as in the second cut opposite page 112 [missing]. Above him is the carving of a serpent. This gentleman has the conventional nose- and ear-ornaments and over his head is the double feather of a warrior. From his mouth issues a scroll representing speech. Other figures are “Mr. Duck,” “Mr. Phallus,” etc.

In one of the Codices is shown an eclipse of the sun. It is remarkably well drawn in colors.[10] At the top of the page is what may be called the text, which we are not able to read although we know many of the characters. Directly below is the celestial band, representing sun, moon, and planets. Dependent from this band are three hieroglyphs of the sun in the heavens. The central figure is the sun, and wings at left and right mean movement of that body, or day and night. Under each of these figures is a bird in the act of devouring the sun. The word for eclipse in Maya is chi-bal-kin, literally “mouth-action sun,” or “bitten sun,” and it was the ancient belief, which persisted until fairly recent times, that at the time of an eclipse the sun was bitten by a serpent or by birds or other creatures.

Beneath each picture representing the devouring of the sun are the date-glyphs.

An interesting colored mural from the ceiling of La Casa de las Monjas shows a warrior standing upon a pyramidal structure. In his left hand is the hul-che and in his right a shield and battle-ax. He has just shot two lances to which are fastened firebrands, which have passed over a walled inclosure and are intended to set fire to the buildings within. In one corner of this picture is a building representing the Iglesia (one of the annexes of the Nunnery) or a similar structure, as denoted by the mask of Kukul Can sticking out from the wall of the building. In the foreground, at the left, is a mammoth head-dress, which may be explained by the fact that it was not uncommon for the Maya artist to make a picture and then to introduce into the foreground large figures entirely out of proportion to the remainder of the picture.

As for full-relief carving, one need only see the serpent columns of El Castillo or the Tiger Temple, and the serpent balustrades, to know that the Maya artists were fully as skilful at such work as in producing bas-relief and murals.

Among the pottery, incense-burners, and funerary urns discovered at Chi-chen Itza are frequently exceptionally fine examples of ceramic art. A vase of a substance like alabaster found by Don Eduardo is a thing of matchless beauty.

Of metal-work in gold and copper there are many pieces indicating great skill and artistry. Jade ornaments such as beads and plaques are exquisitely worked and perfectly polished.

Of stone point-work, heads of darts and spears, and blades of battle-axes, as well as cutting-tools and weapons, nothing has been found in America which can compare to the Maya work. The sacrificial knives found in the well are peerless in their artistry.

The art of the Mayas shows the greatest variety in media, style, and technique. Even casual observation of that in the Sacred City shows that many different painters and sculptors were employed; yet everywhere painted or carved figures are natural, true to life, the proportions perfect. The best are comparable to those of ancient Greece; the worst, though crude, are never stiff and mechanical like those of Egyptian art.

Unfortunately there are no statues like the Memnon of Thebes nor the Apollo Belvidere, for the Mayas did not produce statuary or monolithic carving, with the few rare exceptions of Chac Mool figures and serpent columns. Rather their effort was toward detail and precision of figure and design. Some of the carvings are so minute that they are hard to see easily without a magnifying-glass. We can only wonder at the exceptional ability of this ancient people to originate, imitate, and express in stone or pigment or by the goldsmith’s or the lapidary’s art.

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CHAPTER XV
THE TOMB OF THE HIGH PRIEST

JOSÉ ALVARADO, once a common mine laborer, an ordinary peon, became the Silver King of Mexico, so fabulously rich that he offered to pay off the whole national debt of Mexico. His offer was declined by Porfirio Diaz, then President of Mexico. Alvarado inherited from a hard-working father a meager silver-mine and he took up the arduous working of this mine upon the decease of his parent, gaining from his toil scarcely enough to pay for his scant frijoles, chiles, and tortillas, until chance led him aside and caused him to strike his crowbar into an obscure cliff, a mountain of virgin silver.

“Some of my finds in the Sacred City,” says Don Eduardo, “have been as much a matter of sheer chance as that of José Alvarado. And if the truth be told, I fancy a good many pioneer operations, scientific or otherwise, depend largely on Dame Fortune—or Lady Luck, as I understand she is now called in the States.

“Earlier in life I gave rather less credit to chance and more to scientific deduction, and once I made a discovery in the Sacred City which followed so closely my calculated prediction that I concluded I had evolved a formula which, so far as this special class of work was concerned, would eliminate chance entirely. I went at the work of excavation with a new vim and mounting enthusiasm. It was hard, back-breaking toil for me, digging and heavy lifting, yet I was sure of my diagnosis, certain of final triumph. I kept on digging,—endlessly, so it seemed, but with hope unflagging,—until suddenly I brought up against a solid ledge of living rock. It could not be explained away. To me it seemed to say, ‘Well, here I am and here I have always been, and your wise deductions, your clever calculations—where are they now?’ And to prove to me further that I must not ignore the little gods of chance, as I returned dejected and crestfallen along the deep trench, my crowbar accidentally struck a projecting limestone fragment which fell to the bottom of the trench, disclosing a dark cavity, within which were a rich find of pottery and a most interesting skeleton. But for the chance dislodgment of the stone, I should have missed the object of my search.

“While I was engaged in some excavation in the building called Chich-an-chob (literally, “The Strong, Clean House,” called now the Red House) a small but unusually high mound to the southwest of the building was often in my line of vision. Although I could only guess at its outline through the thick growth of tall trees and matted vines that covered its sides, the little I could make out of its peculiar form excited my interest and kept it in my thoughts.

“Eventually the progress of the work brought me to it and I had the opportunity to obtain at least an approximate idea of its structure. I found it to have been originally a small but well-built shrine or temple crowning a steep-terraced pyramid, but now converted by time and disintegration into a mere conical mound. The greatest factor in the decomposition of the shrine, as in the case of many others, was not wind and weather but the wrenching apart of the stone-work by the growing roots of trees.

“The temple itself was similar in plan to the great edifice which towers above Chi-chen Itza. In fact, it was El Castillo in miniature but differing in several important details, among which were corner and lateral stelæ or carved stone monuments, the rear ones bearing inscriptions which seemed to place the shrine in a different category from any of the other buildings I had examined in the Sacred City. Like huge El Castillo, this miniature temple has a main stairway facing the northeast, and similarly the approach is guarded by twin serpent heads, each a finely carved monolith. Protruding from the massive heads are forked tongues extending for some little distance. The serpent bodies, conventionalized into wide, flat bands, serve as balustrades, extending one on each side of the wide, steep stairway, clear to the temple platform. The big blocks of stone and masonry, fallen from the temple level, had rolled down these stairs and carried away most of the stairway, leaving just enough of the handsome, carefully cut steps and balustrade to indicate what had once been a perfect thing. Indeed, the stairway is no longer usable, although a few of the steps remain in place, and the difficult ascent is made by grasping projecting roots of trees and stone fragments and treading in the gashes left in the mound by the avalanche of rock masses from above.

“Gaining the crown of the pyramid, we found there massive serpent columns corresponding to those encountered on the plain below. Well carved, artistic, they were half buried in the fallen walls of the temple, while one of the impressive capitals of the now famous serpent columns, consisting of the conventionalized rattles of the rattlesnake, lay precariously balanced on the very edge of the platform. Its twin companion had long since crashed down the steep incline and its great bulk lay amid the debris and matted growth at the base of the mound.

“In clearing away the forest growth and surface accumulations on the top of the mound, we uncovered the capstones of four large square columns which had once supported the triple-vaulted arched roof of the inner chamber. These capstones indicated by the almost effaced carvings on them that the columns beneath probably were covered with carvings. Believing these to be of real importance, as well as a safe guide to follow in the work of excavation, we began carefully to clear the space about them, and as fast as the column faces were cleared and cleansed I made plaster casts or molds of their wonderfully carved surfaces. When we at last reached the floor-surface of the chamber, we gave these ancient columns an opportunity to dry out thoroughly, after their centuries of accumulated dampness, before we continued work in their vicinity.

“Being a dyed-in-the-wool New England Yankee as well as an antiquarian, I have, naturally, evolved some mechanical aids for my particular line of work in the thirty years I have been at it. Among these contrivances is an instrument which has proved most useful in detecting subterranean cavities near the surface. The device consists of an octagonal bar of steel with a tuning-fork at one end. The other end flares out into a protuberance like the bulb of an onion. By tapping with this crude instrument, using it as long experience has taught me, I have often been able to locate burial vaults and other cavities which I might otherwise have overlooked.

“After the floor of the shrine had been cleared I sounded the whole area with my steel stethoscope and it indicated a large, deep cavity about midway between the first line of columns.

“The floor was made of heavy cut stones, smoothly joined, and with our simple tools it was something of an undertaking to loosen and remove one of these large blocks. But at last we did raise it and found, beneath, a square cavity about four feet wide. At first the depth could not be determined, because the cavity was completely filled with crisscrossed roots. None was thicker than a pencil and most were thread-like, but all were so intertwined that they virtually formed a solid mass. My helpers looked doubtfully at this yellow, spongy mass of unknown depth. ‘Who knows what strange underground poisonous creatures may be hidden in this sickly mass of yellow and brown?’ they asked.

“A stout pole was laid across the cavity and a rope tied to it so that it dangled down into the hole. Finally two of my bravest workers were persuaded to descend the rope, each clinging to it and wielding a dexterous machete with his free hand, hacking away at the spongy mesh of roots. Hardly had they warmed to the work when one of them, in heaving up a root mass, found himself covered with large red scorpions. Angry at being so rudely ejected from their habitation, they crawled over him with upraised, menacing tails, and several did sting him. Both men came popping out of the hole in record time and I at once administered antidotes, from my medicine case, to the man who had been stung and sent him back to the plantation house for the remainder of the day. Another man took his place and the work proceeded, but more cautiously.

A sculpture in bas-relief showing a warrior-priest in ceremonial attire, representing the Maya hero-god Kukul Can, the plumed serpent.

A religious ceremony depicted in the Temple of Bas-Reliefs. This is but a small section from the interior walls, which contain more than eighty figures.

“We had just about finished getting out the root masses when there came from the cavity two terrified yells and two even more terrified men. When they had quieted down enough to talk intelligently they said that after cutting away a root mass, the last one on the bottom, and tying it to the rope so that those above might raise it, they had perched on a projecting ledge and lighted cigarettes, waiting for the rope to be lowered again. As it came down between them and rested on what they supposed was the bottom of the pit below them, they saw the bottom heave into a writhing mass and out of it rose the head of a big snake with shining eyes and jaws that yawned at them wickedly. As one man they climbed the rope and scrambled into the open. I think they would have rolled down the side of the mound and kept rolling right up to the plantation house if I had not grabbed and held them. Eventually their fright subsided and was replaced by curiosity and they stayed on willingly enough.

“Nobody seemed particularly anxious to go down into the pit, so I thought it might be just as well to make some long-range observations before starting any hand-to-hand encounter with whatever was down there. A reflecting mirror threw a shaft of clear, strong sunlight into the well or shaft and my field binoculars, adjusted to a short-distance focus, revealed to me the coiled body of an amazingly large snake. As the shaft of light played about, the big fellow raised his head, waved it uncertainly, and then dropped it again. To judge from the size of the head and the shape of the body, the snake evidently was not a crotalid, or rattler, but rather some species of boa. Boas are not very difficult to handle, especially if you would just as soon have your boa dead. This particular representative of the boa family was, apparently, sleeping off a hearty meal and was still rather torpid, and it was no trick at all to kill him.

“When brought to the surface, the deceased proved to be a chaib, a kind of boa noted for its beautiful skin, handsomely marked with large mottles—greenish yellow and chocolate brown. Our victim was fourteen feet long and had a maximum diameter of eight inches. From his skin, native tanners made me a money-belt and a very comfortable pair of slippers. The chaib is not poisonous and I have never heard of a case where a human being has been attacked by one as South American and African boas are said to attack. Nevertheless this snake bears an evil reputation among the Mayas, who believe that a nursing mother crossing its path becomes powerless in its coils and that the reptile sucks the milk from her breasts, though it does not otherwise harm her.

“After disposing of the snake we resumed operations in the shaft. We discovered that some emanation of a gaseous nature or perhaps a fine dust from the roots produced a violent headache, much like that caused by the fumes of dynamite. I remembered that quarrymen find relief from dynamite-fume headaches by drinking strong, hot coffee, and similarly we found this beverage an effective remedy for our headaches.

“Cleared of invading roots, the cavity was now really a cavity. Descending hand over hand by the rope a full twelve feet from the level floor of the temple, I found myself standing on what seemed to be an accumulation of little stones and plaster, intermixed with small bones which I took to be those of animals that had been the prey of the chaib. There was a good deal of parchment-like material lying about, which I thought at first was cast-off skin of the big boa, but which was actually an epidermal root-covering sifted down from above. Standing at the bottom of the square shaft and looking up at the vertical walls, I saw that each wall-surface was built up of a myriad of small cut blocks of tan-colored limestone, so smoothly polished as to suggest marble. It was unlike any ancient wall-surface I had ever seen. The stones were not inserted in mortar like Florentine wall mosaics; neither were they built up into high relief, like the famous walls of tombs and chambers at Mitla. Rather, each tier of small stones was cut to a bevel, with the upper or horizontal surface projecting some two inches beyond the face of the tier above.

“As nearly as I can describe it, the effect was like the siding, or clapboards, on a house, supposing that the siding were put on upside down, thick side uppermost. The stones were cut with exceeding niceness, and each wall section, though simple, combined with the others to form a most artistic whole. At the four corners, where the lateral bands would have met, they were intercepted by vertical stone bands about four inches wide, running from bottom to top of the shaft.

“At the time I could spare only a passing interest in these walls, for in the debris beneath my feet were fragments of pottery and a projecting human jaw-bone. We painstakingly removed the stone fragments and mortar-dust. Working with trowel, spatula, and whisk-broom, I found that the chamber contained the disordered remains of two graves.

“Evidently one grave had originally been superimposed on the other, and the contents of the two had been thrown together by the force of falling debris from above. The two graves, I think, were once square and separated by stone slabs. Here I found fragments of pottery and splintered human bones, brittle with age and gnawed by rodents. Reconstructing the scene from the fragments, I surmise that each grave contained, besides its human remains, a small, shallow tripod vessel, the outer surface of which was burnished with red pigment, and a deeper gourd-like vessel. I believe that the shallow dish contained food and that the deeper one was filled with drink of some sort—very likely sacca or bal-che, both of which the ancient Mayas believed were acceptable to the soul of the departed and to the gods.

“The skeletons were so broken and disturbed that beyond the fact that they were two in number and that the bones were so old they were fragile as pipe-stems, nothing else was casually to be noticed. The finding of skeletal remains and of funerary urns made it clear beyond dispute that this building was a mausoleum, a tomb of kings or of priests.

“I carefully collected all of this fragmentary material and sent it aloft to be preserved for future study. Then I made measurements of the chamber and jotted them down in my note-book. This being done, I turned my attention to the stone floor of the tomb. My steel stethoscope indicated that below there was a still deeper cavity. With much careful effort we pried up the stone floor-slabs, disclosing another grave. Apparently this burial-vault had suffered but slightly from the concussions and disturbances which had all but destroyed the two upper graves. The walls and bottom were lined with thin slabs of stone covered with mortar. Much of the mortar had flecked off and lay spread out unevenly over the various objects in the grave, but no serious harm had been done either to the skeletal remains or to the funerary vessels. The bones, however, had been gnawed and dragged out of place by rodents.

“A shallow earthen vessel was found in the grave, of the customary small tripod type, painted red, with a blue line around the rim. A bowl-shaped vessel, gray-colored and smooth, was placed at the right of the skeleton, and both vessels were half filled with sifted mortar. Even though the bones were somewhat disarranged, it was plain that the human remains had been buried with the knees drawn up to the chin, and the arms placed over them, with hands clasped. I found the hunched-up remains reclining upon their right side. Whether the body had been so buried or had been buried in a sitting position and had later toppled over, is a matter for conjecture. If this grave or the others had ever held anything of perishable nature it had completely disappeared.

“When the vault had been cleared, I resorted once more to my crude stethoscope, which left no doubt of a still further cavity. Raising the floor-slabs, we discovered a grave similar to grave Number Three, but the contents were interesting variations. The usual tripod vessel was there and also the bowl-shaped container, but the bottom inner surface of the tripodal receptacle was cross-hatched with deep-cut lines, and beside it was a large tripod vessel containing a caking of hard material that proved to be copal incense of finest quality. It was so altered by time that it was crystallized, almost fossilized, but when a small portion was burned it gave off the familiar copal fragrance.

“In one corner of the vault, almost hidden under mortar-dust, was a little heap of verdigris. This proved to be a number of copper bells, like our sleigh-bells in shape but very much smaller, like the bells brought up from the Sacred Well. The outer bells in the heap were so oxidized that they simply flaked away when we tried to clean them, but the inner ones retained their shape and finish even after they were washed and cleaned. Copper bells played an important part in the rituals and in the economic life of the ancient Mayas and of their successors, even down to almost modern times. That old and faithful chronicler Padre Cogolludo says of the olden people: ‘The monies they used were copper bells and valuable according to their size.’ But the probable reason for the presence of bells in this tomb is the fact that in still older history bells were a part of the regalia of Ah Puch, the God of Death, and were attached as anklets to his person. He is so shown in the many hieroglyphs of him.

“The skeletal remains in this grave seemed to point to a re-burial. Either the bones were taken from another tomb and re-interred here or else they were cleared of their integuments and flesh prior to burial. I say this because they were found in a queer bundle-like heap, with no reference to their relative anatomical positions.

“In all of these graves were found traces of wood-ashes, but no signs of burned or calcined bones to bear out any theory of cremation.

“Once again the steel stethoscope was put to use and again it told us that we had not struck bottom. The floor of the fourth opened up into a fifth grave, deeper than any of the preceding ones and more free from accumulations. It contained pottery and a mingled heap of bones, as the grave above had done. But in one corner, just where we had found copper bells in the grave above, we discovered what looked like a dusty pile of glass, which proved to be a handful of beautifully polished and glistening rock-crystal beads some of which were handsomely fluted. This find was the first recorded one of rock-crystal beads or pendants in Yucatan. And amid the dust and debris on the floor we recovered a dozen or more perfectly cut and artfully shaped jade beads of small size. They were found either just above the surface or buried in a fine ash deposit which may have destroyed somewhat their original luster. Even so, they are valuable specimens, especially because of the surroundings.

“The floor of this fifth and last of the several graves was on a level with the base of the pyramid, and I concluded, therefore, that it rested upon ledge-rock formation and that we had now reached the end of our search. In fact, I had noted an upward tilt in the ledge rock and had wondered why we had not already encountered it in the shaft. The ancient builders very wisely took advantage of these rises and outcroppings of ledge rock, in placing their buildings, so as to save filling-material and the labor otherwise required to give the structures a solid foundation.

“Judge of my surprise, despite my silent prediction, when the tuning-fork device again signaled, ‘Good-sized cavity below’! It took more than a casual glance to find the seams in the floor of the crypt, so closely were the stones fitted, and we had considerable difficulty in dislodging and raising them. Instead of a sixth and similar tomb we encountered a flight of steps hewn out of the living rock.

“We had spent many days of constant back-breaking labor in the excavation of the five graves, the noting of data, the preparation of the specimens, and the packing of them in cases. Incidentally, the deeper we went, the greater was our danger of cracked skulls from falling stones and we had all taken to wearing stiff, high-crowned, wide-brimmed Mexican sombreros. The high crowns we stuffed with pochote (tree-cotton). We covered our shoulders with thick pads of gunny-sack, worn like a cape. When not working we threw the flaps back over our shoulders. Occasionally a stone did fall, striking harmlessly upon our improvised helmets and padded shoulders. If, however, it chanced to hit a naked leg there was a howl of mingled pain and rage, followed by words of unmingled Maya expletive. Such accidents happened but rarely and the whole undertaking went through without a single serious mishap.

“Each day, as the work progressed and we went farther and farther down, the light from above became more and more feeble, except when the sun was at the zenith, and much of our work had to be done by candlelight. When we came to the flight of steps we found it so choked with ashes, lime-dust, small bits of stone, potsherds, and charcoal, each in quantity in the order indicated, that at first we could obtain no idea of the dimensions of the chamber below. From the contour of the roof-stones I judged it was not large, but it was so filled with debris that I had to enter it feet foremost and lie upon my side to fill the wicker baskets with material and pass them back to one of my helpers, who in turn passed them on. Thus from one to another they passed, until they could be hoisted up to daylight, where trusted hands and experienced eyes separated the dross and placed the remainder in field safety-boxes for my later inspection.

“In this manner, an endless chain of filled baskets went up and empty ones came down to one man in the mysterious vault, lying on his back, half naked, dripping with sweat, and plastered with grime, but now and then smiling seraphically as he caught the gleam of a shining jade jewel or a finely worked bit of flint. He could not see clearly for more than an instant at a time, for when he was not blinded by sweat the alkaline ash-dust smote his eyes, and the two at times combined to make him fairly writhe. And he would not have changed places with a king, for every once in a while he came upon something more precious to him than kingly possessions.

“At first this work progressed very slowly for, perforce, I was the only worker in the heaped-up chamber, my head and shoulders in the flickering light of wild wax-candles while the rest of my body was buried in the darkness of unknown centuries, my high-booted feet crowding against who knows what noxious cave creatures.

“The mass of material, though hard-packed by time, was mostly wood-ashes; and once these were loosened, a heavy booted foot or even a sandaled one might injure some priceless museum specimen. And so for a while I preferred to work alone in the confined space. At last I had cleared away the accumulation above the second step of the stairway, and I worked a clear space about the third step, using only my bare hands, a sculptor’s spatula, and a whisk-broom. Even the trowel was tabooed. Finally a sufficient space was cleared for my two most trusted aides, Manuel and Pedro, to work beside me and then the work progressed more rapidly.

“For several days things went along in this manner, with our interest and curiosity mounting hourly, so that all who worked with me, down to the last peon, grew feverishly excited and food and drink became mere irritating interruptions. And each day added to our hoard of potsherds, human bones, and shining jade.

“To this day I cannot think of that strange chamber without wonder. Neither can I account for the presence of the material which so nearly filled it. That it was a depository for the contents of previous burial-places, is, I think, a fact beyond a doubt. Ashes, half-burned fragments, even pieces of smooth wall-finish foreign to this particular chamber, potsherds and jade ornaments—all lead to this conclusion. At first I thought that the place had been a crematory, but I was soon convinced that this could not have been so.

“As the work went forward the outline of the chamber became well defined. The opening was relatively high and wide and I could stand there almost erect. The passage, however, narrowed quickly like a funnel, ending in a dead wall. The week was drawing to a close and with it, so it appeared, our task. The work within that deep-down, badly ventilated shaft was not too pleasant. The air was close; the place was frightfully hot, and the big wax candles, dim and smoky, did not tend to make the place more comfortable.

“We three—Manuel, Pedro, and I—were stripped to the waist and looked more like chimney-sweeps than delvers after scientific lore. The work seemed so nearly at an end that we kept doggedly on, the boys digging and sifting while I stopped frequently to make notes. Late in the day, all seemed finished except for a few isolated ash-heaps and a big flat stone that leaned again the very end of the wall.

“Heaving a sigh of relief and wiping away the layer of grime and sweat from my eyes, I said, ‘Well, boys, there’s nothing left but to haul away that big flat stone and sweep up the ashes behind it on the chance that there are some beads or small objects in the mess; then we’ll take a few measurements and call the job finished.’ I grasped the stone slab with both hands and pulled it toward me. It yielded so suddenly that I fell back with it; and my companions likewise fell back, for, instead of uncovering a pile of ashes, it disclosed a big, circular, pitch-black hole and from that unsuspected, terrible hole came a long, soughing rush of cold, damp wind. Our candles went out at once, leaving us in inky blackness. The cold wind chilled our overheated bodies. I was left with an insecure foothold too near the opening to dare a movement in the dark. The two natives were simply glued to their places in sheer terror.

“Finally Pedro spoke. ‘It is the mouth of hell,’ he said, and I heard his teeth chatter as he said it. Even then, with my feet so placed on the sloping wall-space and my body so inclined on the sloping floor that it seemed as if an incautious move might slide me smoothly into that black hole and through it into Eternity, I felt a pleased interest in Pedro’s statement, for to the ancient Mayas, hell, called by them Metnal, was not a burning pit of fire and brimstone but a dank, cold place where lost souls, benumbed with chill, struggled forever in thick, dark mud. The words of Pedro, coming so spontaneously from the heart and coinciding so nearly with the ancient belief, the belief of his ancestors, caused me to wonder.

“For the moment, however, it suited my purpose to have the more Christian idea prevail and I did some rapid missionary work, saying reprovingly in the native tongue, ‘Ehen, Pedro! What did Padre Ortiz say about the hot flames of an ever-burning hell? It is a cold wind and not a hot flame that comes from this hole.’ My logic evidently appealed to them and freed them of a superstitious fear and they became once more calm and resourceful.

“Working slowly and carefully in the utter darkness, we managed to block up the hole with our wide-brimmed hats and we held them in place by toppling the big flat stone against them. I was then able to get to my feet and relight our candles. By long experience in subterranean work, cave explorations, and descents into ancient cisterns, I have learned to take certain basic precautions. As one of these, I wear about my neck, hanging from a stout cord of deerskin, an air-tight metal case within which are a glass vial of proof alcohol and some wax matches. By this means I am freed of the vexation of damp matches and a futile blue line of phosphorescence when a light is quickly and urgently needed. I also carry invariably in such work a small Davy lamp and a hundred-foot steel tape.

“The lamp is a safeguard against possible gas explosions. Lighting it, I once more uncovered the hole, and once more the rush of cold air began. I waited until the air-currents had balanced themselves as nearly as they were likely to do and then proceeded to a further examination of the hole. The orifice was about thirty inches in diameter and after piercing the rock for about two feet it opened into a cavity of unknown size and depth. I could, of course, have dropped a stone into the cavity and timed its fall, gaining at least some idea of the depth. But I wanted to take no chance of breaking anything of antiquarian interest which might be there. Instead, I fastened the lantern to the end of the steel tape and slowly lowered it into the hole, but the thickness of the two-foot wall between me and the perpendicular descent prevented me from seeing what was discovered by the lantern as it went down. So I had the two boys hold tight to my legs while I squirmed through the orifice until, head down, I could sway freely above the pit. The convulsive hold on my legs assured me that I should not drop down the hole suddenly if the boys could prevent it, so I turned my entire attention to the void beneath me.

“By feeling the tape nicks as the lantern rested on the bottom of the pit I found the depth was almost exactly fifty feet. By swinging my body and the tape with the lantern at the end like a pendulum I ascertained that the cavity was bottle-shaped and about twenty feet wide at the bottom. I also ascertained that it was quite dry, the air pure in it and the ventilation perfect. This seemed to be all of the data necessary for the moment, so I had the boys pull me back to terra firma and then cautioned them to say nothing whatever about our latest discovery. And so we returned to the upper air and the scent of orchids and to a hearty supper.

“That night, when I knew the men were resting and chatting before taking to their guitars and their hammocks, I sent for Manuel—wise, level-headed, dependable, my trusted companion through long years of this sort of work. I said to him, ‘Manuel, to-morrow is going to be a very interesting day even for old-timers like you and me and we shall not often see and handle that which I hope we shall discover to-morrow. Now, I want you to see Juan Cancio, Mathildé Uh, and José Uh. I will see Pedro and his brother. Tell Juan, Mathildé, and José to meet us here at five o’clock in the morning with their machetes, with their water-gourds filled and with dinner in the sabucan. And, Manuel, tell each of them that a shut mouth catches no flies. We may find something and we may find nothing but piled earth, and if the latter we do not want the other men laughing at us behind our backs.’

“Early the next morning we hastened toward the mound and with us went stout ropes, block and tackle, shovels, and all the necessary tools for six men. We slid down the rope into the shaft and then made our way down the stairway into the funnel-shaped chamber. Here we fixed a strong post and attached to it a double block and tackle, with the several necessary ropes, so that all of us could safely descend and ascend the fifty-foot bottle beyond the small, dark orifice. With a lighted miner’s lamp on my head and my Davy lamp preceding me by ten feet, I placed my foot in a noose in one of the ropes, swung myself through the orifice, and hung over the pit. Between my teeth was my sharp hunting knife which I always carry in this fashion in entering a subterranean reservoir.

“My plans were well made and it was my intention to be lowered slowly that I might study these grim walls as I descended. I had gone down less than half the distance when I began to turn and whirl in the air like a dancing dervish, with the difference that the dervish whirls on solid ground, to the prayerful cries of his brethren, and he can stop when he wishes, while I whirled in mid-air in darkness and silence, like some dead celestial sphere and as powerless to stop. In our haste we had forgotten to take the kinks out of the new ropes we were using and my rope was avenging itself by beginning to unkink as my weight was felt on its twisted strands. For a few seconds I could do nothing but hang on dizzily. Meanwhile the rapidly twisting rope had caught and jammed in the block, serving as a brake and had entirely checked my downward progress.

“Suddenly a coil of rope from above fell loosely on my shoulders and aroused me to my danger. The men above, not knowing what was going on below in the darkness, were steadily paying out the rope and if the choked block became suddenly free, there was nothing to prevent my falling headlong through that terrible blackness to whatever was below. Hurriedly looping the rope as best I could, to insure my present safety, I yelled to the men above, and a voice came down to me, sounding thick and flat in that black space.

“‘What is it, Master?’ the voice said.

“‘Listen,’ I replied, as steadily as I could. ‘Do exactly as I tell you, for my life is at stake!’

“‘We will do it, Master,’ answered the voice.

“‘Haul up the slack of the rope until I tell you to stop.’

“‘I hear you, Master,’ and the snake-like coils began to recede, to grow small, and finally to disappear. The slack had been taken up. ‘What now, Master?’ came the voice and I knew from the tension in it that the sight of the slack rope had told its own story.

“‘Send me down Manuel and José.’ (They were the lightest and most agile of the men.) I had no more than spoken before they came sliding down the other ropes and shortly I was descending as slowly and carefully as I had planned to do, until the pilot light of the lamp touched ground beneath me, standing as firmly erect as though placed by unseen hands. I glanced at the two men beside me on the ropes and we all nodded our heads approvingly.

“Below, clearly seen in the light of the lamp, was a pure-white vessel which had fallen apart, and from it streamed gleaming, shining objects. We landed as carefully as though stepping on a mound of eggs. Before taking our feet from the nooses we called to the men above to make the ropes fast and to be ready for our signals. Leaving the lantern standing as it was and no longer troubled by air-currents, we lit our candles. Directly in the center of the pit was a large mound and crowning it was the white vase, made of translucent material like alabaster, carved from a solid block and engraved with a leaf design in highly conventionalized meanders, combined with geometrical designs around the rim and sides. It was broken into several pieces, but these were large and the whole was quickly and easily fitted together into the original shape.

“The vase, which had a capacity of about a quart, contained a quantity of exquisite jade beads and pendants, a large plaque with surfaces richly carved and representing conventionalized human figures with religious regalia, a polished jade globe over an inch in diameter and shining clear in spite of the ages of dust, oblong pendants, and thin, minutely carved ear-ornaments. This was but a tenth of what the vessel had once held. The rest we found later in the heaped-up material beneath it.

“At a signal anxiously expected, the other men came swirling down the ropes like firemen sliding down a brass pole to answer an alarm. Then we all went to work. Each of the men had had long experience in similar labors under my supervision. Occasionally was heard a swift intake of breath and a man would hold up some interesting find and then settle back to his task. While they worked I made notes, numbered the specimens, and helped to pack them in the safety-boxes. Thus the work went on. Occasionally we had to stop to kill a tzeentum, a big, flat, crab-like spider. Tzeentum spiders can give an ugly sting producing a fever hard to subdue, and at times they seem to swarm out of hidden crevices. By reason of their flat bodies and quick movements, killing them is not always easy.

“We found temple vases, incense-burners, tripod vessels, cylindrical urns, some of which are perfect, others marred, and many broken. We obtained fragments of large, hard-baked earthen vessels of complicated design. Unbroken, these must have been at least thirty-six inches high. We secured, also, chipped flints of fine workmanship and of unknown use. All these and many other finds came to us from this mound, and after it had been gone over carefully by hand and had then been screened we decided we had left nothing of value and as with one mind we began to think of supper. Pedro swarmed up one of the ropes hand over hand, followed by his brother, and they hoisted the specimen cases and tools. The rest of the workers followed one by one. I was the last to leave the mysterious burial-chamber, which seemed to name itself by occult suggestion ‘The Sepulcher of the High Priest.’ And as I left its dark depths behind me, the mysterious atmosphere, which no one, probably, will ever be able to dissipate, seemed to cling to me.

“When we arrived at the top of the square-walled shaft it was eleven o’clock at night and all the people of the plantation were there, anxiously awaiting us. The families of the men who accompanied me were in a hysterical state. Ropes had been brought and an attempt was about to be made at our rescue. With our specimen cases held aloft and in the midst of a rejoicing crowd we returned to the plantation house and soon the noise died away and we all slept.

“I am asked why I call this shrine upon the mound with the crypt beneath it the Temple of the High Priest. That is a fair question.

“I believe there comes to most sentient beings, after protracted periods of intense observation and deep interest in a given subject, a certain mental domination over the subject beyond a mere recognition of the facts which have been encountered. One becomes possessed of a clarity of vision not psychic but reaching farther than cold logic. Call it intuition or what not; it so frequently arrives at the right answer, spanning the gap that cannot be spanned by the chain of facts, that I have great respect for it when it is honest, genuine, and strongly felt.

“As I left behind me the black depths of the pit, its haunting mystery seemed to permeate me. I had had the same strange feeling come over me before, in research work among the burial-places of Labna and also during and after my discovery of the ruined city of Xkickmook. Never had it been so potent, so definite as when I ascended this wonderful old burial-shaft and came into the moonlight of the living world.

“The feeling, impressive beyond words, was undoubtedly intensified by the vision of the treasures I had so recently seen and handled: the beautiful alabaster-like vase above all comparison with anything of its kind hitherto found in the whole Maya area; the remarkable terra-cotta votive urns nearly three feet high, each bearing the mask of a god surrounded with sacred ornaments; the elaborate incense-burners and other extraordinary pottery; the big, polished, globular beads of jade; the carved jade plaque; the labrets, ear- and nose-ornaments; the tubular rosettes; the thin disks of polished jade; the wonderfully worked, flawless ornaments of flint, shaped like the parts of the crozier of a bishop.

“And linked with these in my mind’s eye were the deeply paneled surfaces of walls and columns, everywhere in the Sacred City, depicting god-like personages with all the regalia of exalted priesthood: neck-chains of big globular beads, breast-plaques of finely carved design, ear- and nose-ornaments, and, grasped in the hand of these dignitaries, a staff crowned with an object resembling the crozier of a bishop.

“To me these pictures and the finds we had just made dovetailed perfectly. Beyond dispute, too, is that fact that many ancient races placed at the side of the departed those things which were most used in life and which they would, presumably, want first in the hereafter. The old Phœnicians, the Egyptians, the Scythians, the Norsemen, the Eskimos, the redskins of the North and West, the Pueblos and the Nahuatls, and the Incas and pre-Incas—all followed this custom. And I know at first hand that the Mayas were no exception, for I have found well-defined graves, never previously disturbed—graves containing child skeletons with toys beside them; graves of women in which were bone needles and spinning-whorls of terra-cotta or worked stone; graves where beside the thick bones of once-powerful men were found flint lance-heads and heads of darts for the hul-che and knife-points of obsidian.

“Beyond question I had uncovered the last resting-place of a priest obviously of very high rank. Reason and logic and facts carry us thus far. But those five hidden graves, each guarding the one below and blocking the way to the deep secret passage and the pit at its end wherein lay the sacred relics of the arch-priest—how may these be explained? It is here that the mysterious assurance came to me—the sure intuition, if you will—that this was not merely the tomb of a great priest but the tomb of the great priest, the tomb of the great leader, the tomb of the hero-god, Kukul Can, he whose symbol was the Feathered Serpent. Evidence is lacking, I can offer no scientific proof, and yet I am certain that ultimately further discoveries in the Sacred City will bear out my intuitive belief.”

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CHAPTER XVI
THE LEGEND OF THE SACRIFICIAL PILGRIMAGE

WITHIN the province of Mani the water-holes, the satenejas, were dry. For many weeks no rain had fallen and the growing corn had withered and died. The people were perishing of hunger and thirst and Ah Pula Xia, overlord of the province, saw that something must be done and swiftly or the tribe of Mani would be no more.

And so he caused the great summons to be sounded, the command to every man, women, and child in the whole province to appear before him—the command that had not been heard for twenty years. The uliche, drumsticks with heads of rubber, striking upon the tunkul, caused the earth to tremble with the loud booming of the summons, while swift-footed holpopes, or runners, carried the message to the most distant parts of the nation.

At the appointed time Ah Pula ascended to his kingly seat under the spreading shade of the great yax-che, the sacred tree of the Mayas, and grouped around him were his councilors and chiefs; the ah-kin, the high priest, the kulel, the aged prime minister, the nacon, chief of the warriors. Behind each of their leaders were grouped the officers of lesser grades, each clad in his richest vestments and holding the badge of his office. And flanking these nobles were the tupiles, or guardians of the law, in long lines; and each bore the white wand, insignia of their authority. Beyond, as far as the eye could see, clear to the horizon where the level plain met the forest, were massed the commoners, the whole nation of Mani.

Slowly Ah Pula, the batab, rose from his throne, and as he rose the tall lances, the great battle-swords, and the hul-ches clashed together in one mighty salutation like the sound of giant trees crashing to earth in a hurricane.

The gaze of the batab roved over the assembled multitude and with one hand upraised he commanded silence.

“O friends and councilors, sons and brothers! Those armed for war and ever ready to defend the province! Priests of the Sun, who bring to us the words of our gods and transmit to them our prayers! Listen to my words and listen closely, that your answering thoughts may be well chosen and weighty, light-bringing and life-giving. Thus and thus only may we survive the calamity that threatens.

“Five times have the seasons come and gone. Five times have we planted our fields of corn since the strange white men came to our land. We did not invite them nor seek them. They sought us, these strange white men coming in strange craft from a far land. They came and we did not welcome them as did the Cheles and the Peches, nor did we meet them as enemies when the Cupules, the Cochuahes, and the Cocomes fought against them. Three times while they were here we planted and gathered abundant harvests. Three times have we planted our fields since their departure. Twice we have failed to gather enough even for seed for the following season and the last planting, the third one, is now parched and dying.

“How, then, shall we feed our people? How shall we fill the breasts of the nursing mothers and warm the cooling blood of the aged and feeble? In this time of need even the wisest and strongest require the wisdom and counsel of their brothers.”

Ah Pula Xia the king sat once more upon his throne, that ancient seat of authority shaped in the form of a jaguar. Turning, he said to the ah-kin, the high priest, in measured words, “O Father of the Temple, Brother of the Sun, tell us from the store of thy sacred knowledge and from thy god-given wisdom, why have the gods been deaf to our prayers? What have we done that they have forsaken us and left us to be scourged so sorely?”

The pontiff, tall, spare, and lined of feature, with eyes burning bright in their deep sockets, rose from his seat and faced the king. His words came forth so clear and simply that even the youngest and the dullest of his hearers could not fail to hear and, hearing, understand:

“O Batab, ruler! O Halach Uinic, father of thy people, hear what the outraged gods say through my lips to thee and thy people:

“‘Unknown beings from a strange land and worshiping pagan gods have polluted this earth with their tread, have deafened our ears with their foreign tongue and defiled our temples with prayers to other gods. They have entered as guests into your towns and villages and you have received them. They have lived in your homes and you have suffered it. Your servants, at your command, have given them food and drink.

“‘The gods of our fathers are slow to wrath. They waited in patience your repentance, but you repented not. Then did the gods turn against you their wrath. With quarrels and dissensions they divided the evil white men. With pestilence and strange diseases they decimated them. Smitten by enemies, harassed by insects, and poisoned by reptiles, these white men faded in strength and numbers, until the few that still lived returned to the unknown land whence they came.

“‘All this was by the command of your gods, the gods that now you have forgotten. But though the serpent passes, his trail still remains. Because of these things that you have done the gods are punishing you. They have forbidden the clouds to form and they have forbidden the rain to fall. They have forbidden the grain to germinate and the roots to sprout in forest or field. They have caused hosts of insects to devastate your stores and eat up your substance. They have brought upon you terrible diseases that your wise men and physicians cannot cure.’

“You ask what can be done to appease the anger of the gods. Now, the knowledge has come to me, through the ancient records and writings handed down from high priest to high priest since time began, that once before in the history of our people was the wrath of the gods, and especially the wrath of Yum Chac, the Rain God, kindled against us when we forgot his precepts and disobeyed his teachings.

“In that olden time beautiful maidens were sent to him as messengers, to plead for his forgiveness and to carry with them rich offerings of viands, flowers, and precious jewels. Thus was his ire appeased and fecundity restored to this unhappy land.

“My words are these: ‘Let us follow the ancient example. Let us go in solemn procession with maidens as chaste and lovely as the opening buds of the white pitahaya, to carry our plea to the god, and with our prayers let us send food and drink in fine vessels, the ripest fruit, the fattest grain, and our richest jewels. Thus may we hope to avert the divine wrath and restore to life our starving nation.’”

The kulel, the prime minister, then stepped forward. His form was bent, his hair gray, and his face seamed with lines of deep thought. His voice, though low and calm, was heard distinctly amid the crowding ranks of the common people.

Said he, “O Batab, ruler of the people, we have listened to the words of our pontiff and his words befit his high office. We listen to them with the respect due him as high priest and as the mouthpiece of the gods. To hear these words and the command they convey, is to obey without question.

“He who is ordered by those above to go upon a journey, surely goes if he is faithful. But he who goes upon such a journey without due preparation is not a good servant, for, by reason of his unpreparedness, he may be delayed, led astray, or otherwise impeded in carrying out the will of his master.

“Therefore let us think what this act of expiation requires us to do, and then consider how to do it with the least delay and without waste of life and effort. What we seek to gain is evident, for we all feel the pangs of hunger and have seen our nearest and dearest fade away and die. We have seen the grain and the fruit wither. We have seen our scant stores devoured by clouds of insects. We have seen our people wander into the deep forest seeking food and they have never returned.

“What we most desire is to appease the dread anger of our gods, that we may have once again food and health and happiness.

“We are all agreed that we must make sacrifice at the Sacred Well, the Chen Ku of Chi-chen Itza. The question is, then, how shall we reach the Sacred Well and how shall we make our sacrifice? The way is long, full of thorns, and covered with sharp stones. The thorns are the lance-points and the stones the pointed darts of the Cocomes, the Cochuahes, and the Cupules, our ancient enemies, through whom we must pass to reach the well. Either we must gain their permission to pass in peace and friendship or we must push our way through them by force of arms.

“My voice is for peace with these our lifelong enemies. I have said.”

Then came the nacon, the chief of all the fighting men, powerful, thick-set and sturdy. As he arose the warriors clashed their weapons in a deafening roar and then all were silent, awaiting his words.

“O Batab, ruler,” he said, “we have listened with reverence to the words of our high priest, with awe and submission to the words of our gods that came from his lips. We have heard with respect the measured, temperate wisdom of our aged kulel. He has said that we must not delay our sacrifice and yet his voice is for peace.

“I, too, say that we must not delay, but why need we who are among the greatest and strongest in the land, ask of any one permission to sacrifice and worship? Who gave the Cocomes the right to say who may worship in the temples or make sacrifice at the Sacred Well? Is not Chi-chen Itza the holy city of the gods, our gods as well as theirs?

“Let us open wide the path to and from the Sacred City and keep it open with the points of our spears, the keen edges of our swords, and the swift terror of our hul-ches. I have spoken.”

The batab, with the ah-kin, the kulel, and the nacon turned toward the assembled people and the batab cried in tones that rolled over the thickly packed mass and beyond into the trees of the forest:

“What is your voice? What is the word of my people?”

With a noise like thunder came the mighty chorus:

“We want food! We are dying. We go into the forest to dig for roots to fill our empty stomachs and we find none. The land is accursed and even the birds no longer fly over it and the snakes even no longer burrow within it.”

The batab pondered deeply and long, then raised his head and said:

“This we will do: We will first ask of the Cocomes that they allow our people to pass to make sacrifice at the Sacred Well. If they consent we will make a great pilgrimage and a sacrifice that shall be remembered through the ages to come, for it will be the seal of friendship and of peace between old and bitter enemies. If they refuse us their permission to pass freely and to make our sacrifice, we will then take that right, as they of old took it, by force, and by force we will hold it for all time.

“Now, this very night we will send the message to the Cocomes, so that we may know without delay what course to follow. Until then let each of you in his own way so prepare that whatever comes we shall be ready.

“At once, summon the swiftest runners to take the message to Nachi Cocom, Batab of Zotuta, and through him to his allies, the Cupules and the Cochuahes!”

Nachi Cocom, Batab of Zotuta, King of the Cocomes and leader of allied provinces, sat in his great council chamber. About him were his chiefs and nobles and those of his allies, the Cupules and the Cochuahes. Upon the high walls of the council chamber were war-banners and trophies of many hard-won battles. On broad wooden platforms, one at each end of the building, were heaped the captured weapons, war-masks, and armor of those who had fought against the Cocomes or their allies and lost.

Gathered around the entrance were keen-eyed warriors armed with lances and swords and hul-ches. Lounging but watchful, they first gave the warning, high-pitched and long, that echoed through the city and carried even to the houses nestled in the fringe of the forest: “Hek-utal le macoboo! Here come strangers!” Down the winding path came the messengers from the Batab of Mani, carrying his word to Nachi Cocom, Batab of Zotuta.

The messengers were three brothers, picked men, holpopes all three; good men to look upon and worthy of their office. For Mayas they were tall but well proportioned and lithe, as supple as young jaguars. Wide of brow and clear-eyed they were. None could doubt their fitness to be the messengers of the king. Striding up to where the Batab of Zotuta and those of his council sat, each fearlessly and proudly made his obeisance and gave his salute—the sign of a holpope bringing a message. To the chief holpope, the eldest and tallest of the three brothers, the batab said, “Welcome, holpope, and those with you. Speak!”

Said the chief holpope:

“To thee, O Batab of Zotuta, I bring a message from the Batab of Mani and thus runs the message:

“‘To the Batab of Zotuta and its provinces I, Batab of Mani and its provinces, send greeting.

“‘We are brothers, in that we were both born and are nourished from the same earth-mother, this land of Mayab. Therefore I, Ah Pula Xia, Batab of Mani, do now and by these my chosen messengers send to you, Nachi Cocom, Batab of Zotuta, this brotherly greeting and with it a brother’s request:

“‘The gods have smitten us sorely for our sins, you and me and all our people. I, Batab of Mani, with my people desire to make peace with our god by a pilgrimage of atonement and solemn rites of sacrifice, that we may once more receive the blessing of the Rain God, your god and ours.

“‘We have had our brothers’ quarrels, but the quarrels of brothers can be forgotten. We have had our hard-fought battles, but wars that have been fought are things of the past, things to forget. To-day we are scourged together, you and I and all our people. Let us, then, forget the past with its bitter memories and come together like brothers, forgiving and forgiven. Let us unite in a great and solemn pilgrimage of atonement and sacrifice to the angered god, in his temple at the Sacred Well of Chi-chen Itza. Thus will his wrath be appeased. The rains will follow the clouds in the heavens and fecundity will come once more to the earth, now sterile, baked, and dead.

“‘For this we ask your word and your promise that my people may pass undisturbed and unharmed to pray in the temples and to make sacrifice to the Rain God in the Sacred Well at Chi-chen Itza. I and my people await your answer.’”

Nachi Cocom sat motionless in thought, neither asking nor receiving counsel from those about him; and such was their fear and awe of this indomitable and cruel ruler that none dared speak as he sat with crafty eyes staring at the ground before him. At last he raised his head and fixed the messengers with his inscrutable gaze and said:

“Messengers from the Batab of Mani, listen closely and carefully that your words to him be my words to you.

“‘From the Batab of Zotuta to the Batab of Mani, greetings! You say that we are brothers, in that this land of Mayab is our common mother. You say that we are together and alike scourged by an outraged god. These things are true. The land, our common mother, has felt the curse of the white man’s tread. By this act was she violated and we, her sons, permitted it—you by acquiescence, I by impotence.

“‘But all this is past, you say, and we must now find means to avert the disaster which threatens to overwhelm us both—a calamity that can be avoided only by a pilgrimage and sacrifice to Noh-och Yum Chac at the Sacred Well of Chi-chen Itza.

“‘Be wale!—so let it be!

“‘You say that brothers quarrel and then forgive; that the war that is ended may be forgotten.’

“Now,” and here he bent forward and spoke in deep earnestness, while about his thin lips wreathed a twisted smile that made those who knew him well recoil in terror, “tell my brother, Ah Pula, Batab of Mani, to send his pilgrims, the maiden messengers, the sacrificial offerings, and the priests, when and how he wishes. When they come they will find me and my people ready and waiting to give them warm welcome. No spear shall be cast, no weapon raised against them. We will guard the pilgrims and send them on their way to worship and to make sacrifice to that god with whom they so urgently wish to make peace—to your god and our god, for are we not the offspring of a common mother?

“They will need to bring neither food nor arms, for I, Nachi Cocom, and my people will provide these things. Thus can your people come on more quickly to ask the forgiveness of the god for traitorous acts, snake-like deceptions, and cowardly submission to strange white men.

“I have spoken. Messengers of Mani, eat, drink, rest, and then speed back the word of Nachi Cocom to—” and here again he smiled sardonically—“to his brother Ah Pula Xia.”

Thereupon the batab rose and departed, and his councilors likewise left the chamber.

But the chief councilor spoke in a whisper to his brother, leader of the warriors, and said:

“No man may know but the batab himself what thoughts are deep buried in his mind, but I know and fear that thin-lipped smile, and as he spoke to the messengers of Mani a strange feeling came over me like ek muyal, the black cloud. I had a fear of something, intangible but terrible; something he is planning that will bring down upon us the annihilating wrath of the gods.”

“Brother,” his companion answered, “do not voice such thoughts nor even think them. I have forgotten that you spoke. Remember that the will of the batab is supreme. We may not question it. I also felt your fear, but say no more!”

Swiftly, tirelessly the messengers of Mani sped on their homeward journey; over sunlit plains, threaded by the smooth worn paths of the jaguar and the wild boar; through cool forests whose shade beckoned enticingly; past wells of crystal-clear water where thirst cried to be quenched. But they stopped not at all until, as the sun sank slowly down into the west, they passed between the great parched corn-fields of Mani and at last reached the palace of the batab.

So quickly had the holpopes returned that the batab said of them, “They are birds, not men.”

And the nacon answered: “If they are birds, then are they eagles, for these three holpopes in the battle with the Uitzes killed three warriors and took three prisoners.”

The batab cast an approving glance at the deep-chested, thin-flanked young holpopes and said:

“Let it be proclaimed from the temple that for their services in time of peace and for their brave acts in battle these three brothers shall henceforth be of the eagles and shall bear the regalia and wear the mask of the eagle in the sacred rites.” And so it was from that time on. The three brothers, known as the Three Eagles, wore the feathers and mask of the eagle in the sacred festivals and until after the coming of the later white men the figures of the Three Eagles were to be seen carved upon the walls of a temple in Mani.

Great was the enthusiasm and greater the joy at the message sent by the Batab of Zotuta to the Batab of Mani and the tale of the warm welcome given to the holpopes and the warmer one promised to the pilgrims.

Ah! could they but have seen the venomous look and the twisted smile that was hidden behind the unctuous softness of those pleasant-sounding words!

In the province of the Cocomes great preparation was made for the expected guests. At frequent intervals along their destined path from one village to another were placed arches made of saplings tied together and bent to the ground. Those at the entrance of each village were adorned with fresh vines and bright flowers until the curve of the arch was a solid mass of green leaves and fragrant blossoms. There were scarlet clusters of cutz-pol, or turkey-head, white sac-nute blooms, the frail blue jungle morning-glory, and the golden trumpets of the xkan-tol flower.

As the pilgrims reached each new village the head men and the most beautiful maids of the district came to meet and welcome them, the head men with the symbols of their authority and the maidens with gourds of cool sacca to quench the thirst of the travelers. And with songs of welcome they invited the tired but happy pilgrims to rest and then to feast in the village. As they neared Zotuta, where dwelt the batab, he and his councilors came forth to welcome them. The whole city, even to its most distant outskirts, was seething with the hum of preparation. Wild turkeys, wild pigs, green corn, big tubers, white, flaky, and succulent—all were being cooked underground with heated stones and surrounded with fragrant herbs after the manner and custom handed down from ancient times.

On came the pilgrims, heralded by groups of children and women singing and chanting words of welcome. At the feet of the pilgrims were strewn clusters of flowers and along the way were bowls of incense, so that the fragrant smoke pleased their nostrils. First came the priests and the nobles. Then came the lovely maidens chosen to be the messengers to the great god at the bottom of the Sacred Well, and these girl brides of the god were carried upon litters richly adorned and smoothly transported by trained bands of bearers. After them came the devotees, their arms filled with rich offerings. And last came captive warriors, men of fighting renown, esteemed for their valor to be worthy of sacrifice to the Rain God.

Thus with solemn joy and chanted welcome the pilgrims entered Zotuta, not only as pilgrims on a sacred mission but as an embassy bearing offerings of peace and good-will between brothers long estranged but now reconciled and reunited by the god to whom they would soon offer prayer and joint sacrifice at the Sacred Well.

Soon came the feasting, the religious games, and at last the solemn ritual of the Sacred Dance. The hours passed too pleasantly and sweetly to be heeded, until drooping lids could no longer stay open and the pilgrims were conducted to the group of houses that had been set aside for their use.

In the cool darkness that precedes the first gleam of dawn, that time when the whole world sleeps, the Cocomes in the houses beyond the palm-thatched dwellings where the pilgrims lay and the pilgrims themselves—all were buried deep and sound in slumber. Then silent, shadowy forms swiftly surrounded the quiet houses where the pilgrims rested in fancied security.

Red tongues of flame, smokeless because of the dry materials upon which they fed, shot up from each house corner and like snakes crawled along the thatched roofs. Before the sleepers could arouse to their danger the big structures were roaring and crackling, each a huge funeral pyre.

Shrill shrieks of women, hoarse cries of men, choking, gasping moans, frenzied prayers, imprecations, and inarticulate sounds filled the morning air and the barred doors and burning roof-poles were shaken furiously.

The voice of Nachi Cocom of the crafty eyes and the thin-lipped cruel smile was heard above the crackling of the flames and the shrieks of the dying pilgrims. His black eyes glittered venomously, like the eyes of a deadly serpent when it strikes home its fangs, but his voice was smooth and oily as he said:

“Ehen! pilgrims, brothers, brothers of a common mother! How fares it? It would seem to me, standing here and looking on, that you have changed your minds and that you are making sacrifice to Yum Kax, god of fire, and not to Yum Chac, god of rain! But what does it matter, brothers of a common mother? Both are gods and both are worshiped by brothers that spring from a common mother. You are now saved the trouble of visiting the Sacred Well.”

As he said these words, as if by a common signal, the blazing roofs sank slowly in, the cries of agony ceased, and shortly all was still.

Once again the batab spoke and the twisted smile was on his lips as he said:

“Rest now in peace, brothers. This is the warm welcome that I promised you. Long years ago, I promised you such a welcome, but you had forgotten. And Nachi Cocom never forgets.”

The batab turned and strode from the place, the baleful glitter still in his eyes, but the populace—people of Zotuta and those from distant villages, drawn by the pilgrimage and the feasting—fled from the city, and many rushed into the jungles and were never seen again. Only the soldiers of the batab, with callous obedience to their orders, remained to watch over the smoldering funeral pyres.

It is said that the Rain God, incensed at this act, deserted the Sacred Well with all his court and, leaving the land and the people to their fate, made his home in a far distant and unknown region. The people, abandoned by their god, ended by fighting with one another like rabid animals. The shrine on the brink of the Sacred Well was no longer carefully tended, and it fell gradually into ruins, piece by piece. The beautiful carved cornices and roof-stones were wedged apart by the growing roots of trees and toppled into the still, dark waters below. When, in after years, the white men came again they found a few miserable Mayas living in carelessly made huts under the shadow of the great ruined city, and these natives shunned the Sacred Well and believed it to be haunted.

Thus passed the power and majesty of mighty chieftains and thus died the Maya nations.

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CHAPTER XVII
THIRTY YEARS OF DIGGING

RIGHT here in America, only a short journey from the United States and closer to them than our Panama Canal, are the remains of at least sixty ancient ruined cities—marvelous places about which we know almost nothing, nor of the people who built them.

We know infinitely more of the ancient Egyptians—of their buildings, their customs, their beliefs, their history, and their writings. Virtually every hieroglyphed surface left by them which has been uncovered has been pored over by many archæologists and its meaning deciphered beyond question.

For a hundred years antiquarians from every civilized land have spent their lives in studying the ancient empire of the Nile. Millions of dollars have been expended in scientific, minutely careful exploration. No slightest clue to further knowledge has been ignored, and tons of books, written in every language, have been printed, so that the man on the street anywhere may go to his nearest library and, if he will, read all there is to know on the subject.

And here at our very door, on our own continent, are the remains of an early culture not one whit less interesting than the Valley of the Kings. Possibly it is not so old, but on the other hand it is more steeped in mystery because of our profound ignorance. We know next to nothing about it: who were its builders; where they came from; their history, creeds, or customs. We can read but a few scraps of the writings of which they left such an abundance—enough, in all probability, to fill in many of the empty spaces in our knowledge if we but had the power to decipher them and extract their meaning. Even our hard-won and sadly limited information concerning this culture has never been given to the general public. To get it one must read Spanish and French and German, as well as English, and the average public library contains possibly three or four books on the subject.

Until last year no well-planned, completely equipped exploration backed by ample finances had ever been undertaken. Archæologists have delved in many of the ancient Maya cities—puny expeditions pressed for time and cash. The work backed by the Peabody Museum has been the most consistent, but even that has suffered often from lack of finances, and much of Don Eduardo’s work has been done at his own expense.

Happily, I think the American public and American antiquarians are waking up to the neglected opportunity. The expedition sent out by the Carnegie Foundation is most promising. It has well-laid plans; it is under the leadership of Sylvanus G. Morley, a thorough-going archæologist and one of the foremost in knowledge of the ancient Maya culture. He has made the study of the subject his life-work and has achieved fame through his finds in the Maya area. He has uncovered many important date-stones and is the most eminent authority in this specialized activity.

The new exploration is being carried on at Chi-chen Itza on a big scale and most methodically; and, best of all, it is prepared to continue twenty years if necessary, to the ultimate completion of its work. Fallen temples will be rebuilt, stone by stone. Every scrap of knowledge that can be extracted from the excavations and study of what is already uncovered will be noted and correlated. There can be no question that this work will add very largely to antiquarian lore.

I await with eagerness the delving into what Don Eduardo calls “old Chi-chen Itza,” the completely ruined and tree-covered part of the ancient city, which lies to the south of the newer and less damaged buildings, for it is there that the most ancient architecture and the noblest carvings are to be found and, with them, other remains of the highest Maya culture—the relics of that earlier golden age which had already fallen to decay before the Nahuatl dominance resulted in the buildings of a lower order in the newer city.

The Spanish conquerors discovered many of the ancient cities and wrote about them in their annals; and the world promptly forgot about them for two hundred years. Then vague stories about them began to drift back to civilization, carried by adventurous wanderers who had seen or heard of them. At the end of two hundred years we knew considerably less about early Mayan culture than was known by Landa and Cogolludo and the other Spanish padres who followed in the wake of the conquering Spanish flag. It remained for Stephens to lead the way once again and show us the wonder and mystery of the old cities. The great Von Humboldt came and was deeply impressed. Le Plongeon labored like ten men for years and tragically broke under the strain, leaving little to advance the world’s knowledge from the much that he discovered. Then came Maler and knowledge of a hidden city—knowledge lost to the world when he died.

To Don Eduardo must be given credit for bringing to light in the past thirty years the things which gave a real forward impetus to this particular phase of American archæology. Many of his finds, consigned to the Peabody Museum, are not yet accessible to the general public, having been held in reserve by that institution, doubtless for sound reasons which are unknown to me. For thirty years Don Eduardo has followed unswervingly the ambitious, adventurous dream of his boyhood. Literally, he has followed the rainbow to its end and unearthed the pot of gold. His dream was to make the Sacred Well yield up its treasures. That he has done and more.

Edward Thompson—or Don Eduardo, as I have called him through these pages, because that is the name by which I have known him so long and well—is no richer in a material sense than if he had never raised the fabulous treasure from the great Sacred Well of Chi-chen Itza. But he has had what money cannot buy: a life of notable achievement; a cherished dream realized to the full; a thousand gorgeous memories, each packed with such adventure and thrill as we less favored folk have never experienced.

He has made the well of sacrifice yield its secrets. The skeletons of the girl brides of the Rain God; the bones of sacrificed warriors; the copal incense and the religious vessels; the jade ornaments and objects of gold; the hul-ches; the sacrificial knives—each is a link in the chain of evidence which makes fact out of legend. His finds prove the existence of the ancient belief in the Rain God and the fact that sacrifices were made to him. They prove that this great water-pit actually was the Sacred Well. They make plausible the legend that Chi-chen Itza was the Sacred City, the center of the cult of Kukul Can.

The finding of the date-stone, by Don Eduardo, may, to the casual reader, seem insignificant, but from the scientific point of view it is tremendously important, for it gives us one more indisputable fact. From it we know that the city existed in the seventh century, A. D. We do not know how much older than that it is actually or how long it flourished thereafter. There remains the incontrovertible date from which we may, in time, proceed forward or back to a further knowledge.

His discovery and excavation of the Tomb of the High Priest is a brilliant achievement. It lays bare more facts and opens up new avenues for speculation. Time alone can prove whether it is, as Don Eduardo so sincerely believes, the tomb of the hero-god, the great leader, Kukul Can, around whom all Mayan theology revolves.

And now Don Eduardo is no longer in his first youth. He is still far from decrepit, but the time has come when it is fitting for him to step aside from the active and strenuous work of exploration and he has leased all his holdings, including the Casa Real, to the Carnegie expedition. I know that he takes a profound pleasure in the feeling that this expedition is going to finish thoroughly and completely what he has so ably started and carried on under handicaps that will not beset the newer work.

To the layman Don Eduardo’s achievements may seem small as against thirty years of ceaseless endeavor, but do not forget the days and weeks and months of profitless effort that must be spent in this sort of work. It does not move forward like the building of a railroad, the manufacture of goods, or the planting and reaping of fields.

Thirty years are well spent if their labor helps in the least to shed even a feeble ray on the nearly obliterated pages of the past. And each rising sun brings fresh the hope that to-day will be the day of a great discovery, the finding of a key that will unlock the door to knowledge concerning a wonderful people whose monuments are to us as a few torn pages of some master manuscript without beginning or end, but still of such absorbing interest that one cannot rest until the missing pages are found.

As antiquarian thirst grows—as it surely must, for few things in the world contain a deeper human interest than antiquity—attention will certainly turn more and more to the still unsolved mystery of ancient American and, particularly, Mayan culture. Instead of one great scientific exploration there will be scores. Each of the ruined cities is worthy of research. There are magnificent temples to be restored; priceless finds to be bared; and that vexing riddle to be completely solved—the clear reading of the Maya glyphs.

And with all of this must come inevitably the tourist to a new and delightful land, and through him will grow a new and keener appreciation of America.

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APPENDIX
LIST OF MORE IMPORTANT GOLD AND JADE OBJECTS FOUND IN THE SACRED WELL

One basin of fine gold, twelve inches in diameter with shallow rounding bottom. About a pound in weight.

Four other basins, bowls or cups, smaller in size, uncarved, but of massive material and very artistic in contour.

None of the above basins were twisted, cut or broken.

Seven gold disks, embossed or beaten, about ten inches in diameter.

Eight gold disks, embossed or beaten, about eight inches in diameter.

Seventeen gold disks, embossed or beaten, about six inches in diameter.

Ten gold disks, embossed or beaten, small sizes.

One handsome penache, forehead band or tiara, over eight inches long by four inches wide, of beautiful openwork, the design being entwined serpents with plumed head-dress.

This is the finest piece of gold work ever found in the Maya area.

Eleven reptile and animal figures, probably brooches and similar ornaments; all massive gold and finely worked. Frogs, bat-like figures and monkey-like objects, most of them cast (not beaten work), massive and of pure gold.

Fourteen small gold objects shaped like candlesticks.

Ten human or monkey-like figures of gold.

Twenty gold rings, mostly of thin but pure gold.

Sixty other objects of unknown use but of gold material.

One hundred bells of various sizes but all gold, even to the clappers.

Forty other unclassified objects, either of pure gold or of gold and bronze; sandals, disks, ferrule-like objects, pieces and strips evidently portions of shields and regalia ornaments.

Forty gold washers or scales, one and a quarter inches in diameter, with holes in the center.

One solid-gold mask seven inches in diameter, the eyes closed as if in sleep or in death and over the right eyelid the same kind of slanting cross that we often see carved on the so-called elephants’ trunks.

One gold hul-che (throwing-stick) of entwined serpents.

Seven jade plaques or tablets, broken but restored, three inches by four inches.

Nine jade tablets, two inches by four inches by one quarter inch thick. The jade tablets were evidently broken intentionally before being thrown into the well.

One hundred sixty beautifully carved large jade beads and pendants of large size, virtually perfect.

Seventy carved jade ear-ornaments, nose- and labret ornaments, from two inches in diameter down to one half inch, all finely cut and polished.

Fourteen jade globes, one and a half inches in diameter, all very finely polished and several finely carved with well-executed figures and other designs.

One small but very finely worked and polished jade figurine, four inches wide and four inches high. It represents a seated figure of the Palenquin type with elaborate head-dress. It is perfect and is one of the finest, if not the finest figure found in the Maya area.

Many hundreds of small jade beads of all sizes and shapes, all polished; many of them artistically carved and shaped.

One flint-bladed sacrificial knife with the handle formed of golden entwined serpents. It is the only perfect one taken from the Sacred Well and probably the only authentic and perfect knife of this kind in any museum on the American continents. At least it is the only one in the Peabody Museum.

Several parts of other knives, such as handles, flint blades, etc.

Many beautiful flint spear-heads worth many times their weight in gold, worked down to the thickness of a steel spear-head with edges as sharp as a razor, the finest ever found anywhere in the world.

A thousand other articles of great value to archæology.

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