For the rest of the day we passed through a pleasant green country, well watered and well wooded, and late in the afternoon rejoined our pack-train, and reached the little settlement of Cachapa, where, relying on the friendly shelter of the school-house, we drew up before its mud walls, and proceeded to stack our boxes in the verandah, whilst Gorgonio went off to hunt up the schoolmaster and get the key of the door. He soon came back in company with the Indian Alcalde, to tell us that the schoolmaster had gone away for a few days; and it seemed as though we were about partly to repeat our experience at the school-house at Jícaro, with the difference that this time, according to the Alcalde, it was the schoolmaster who was “muy delicado” and would greatly resent such an intrusion into his house. The schoolmaster had evidently established himself as a power in the village, for the Alcalde was immovable, and to all our united supplications that he should give up the key merely replied that “it was more than his place was worth.” The case appeared hopeless, when, oddly enough, the situation was changed suddenly by our finding among our keys one which unlocked the padlock of the academy of Cachapa. I am afraid we crowed over the Alcalde, who looked terribly depressed, but continued to deny us admittance, and loyally obeyed the master’s orders, protesting to the last that the maestro was “muy delicado”; but victory was on our side, and I think the heart of the Alcalde was softened by the sight of my husband who lay on the ground almost speechless with headache: so a treaty of peace was made, in which we solemnly promised to make good any damage and generally to make matters straight with the schoolmaster, should he return. I may add that this well-guarded house in no way differed from other school-houses, except that the furniture consisted of two rough benches only, and the walls were guiltless of whitewash.
Our next day’s journey was through a pleasant country with long stretches of pine-wood, and it was altogether delightful. I must own that my preconceived notions of the Tropics were being a good deal upset; it had surprised me to find pine-trees growing throughout the Altos, for the pine had always been associated in my mind with Norway and California, and I had looked upon it as an essentially northern tree; to-day I learnt that it needs a tropical sun to bring out all the fragrance of its scent. Late in the afternoon we came to the edge of the hills and looked down on the little plain of Copan, which was closed in again on the far side by ranges of pine-clad hills. In the middle of the plain on the right bank of the winding stream stands a grove of tall forest trees covering the principal part of the ruins which we had journeyed so far to see. We soon scrambled down the last mile of the rugged path and rode on into the modern village of Copan—a small collection of red-tiled dirty hovels grouped round a plaza which was glorified by the presence of a fine stone altar, covered with the fantastic carving in which the ancient Mayas excelled, and we drew rein before the hut occupied by the Niña Chica, an old friend of my husband’s and the presiding genius of the village.
The arrival of our party had awakened the village from its siesta, and we were soon the centre of an admiring group of rag-clad men and women and bright-eyed and wholly unclad children. As soon as the Niña Chica emerged from her hut and recognised Don Alfredo she expressed her delight in the most flattering terms, throwing her arms round him, as he sat in the saddle, in a fond embrace. In her youth the Niña Chica must have been a beauty, and even now in her old age her wrinkled face has a fine look, and she carries herself with an imperious air, in queer contrast to the dirt of her dress and the squalor of her surroundings. She seemed determined to take complete possession of my husband, and began to pour into his ears, with the greatest volubility and wit, the gossip of the village and the history of all that had happened during the eight years that had passed since his last visit. It required some tact and skill to disengage ourselves from the attentions of this dirty but attractive old lady, and it was only achieved after many promises to visit her again soon and talk it all over.
After crossing the small stream, the laundry of Copan, we rode on for half a mile, part of the way through a plantation of sugar-cane, to a stone wall which has lately been built round the ruins. Passing through a gateway we entered an enchanting grove of grand old trees which cast their shade over the remains of temples, monoliths, and altars. At last we had arrived and were in the actual presence of the strange stone monuments whose reproductions in plaster I knew so well. The bridle-path led over the steep side of a foundation mound into the Western Court, where I found myself face to face with an old friend, who has stood on guard for centuries at the foot of a great stairway. The stately grove of giant tropical trees was of itself strangely impressive, and the glimpses of the grim figures on the monoliths and the strange scrolls and grotesque ornament on the scattered fragments of stone, amongst which we picked our way, added a sense of unreality which was bewildering. Since passing through that little gate in the wall we seemed to have slipped back into a remote past and to be treading the Valhalla of gods and heroes whose patient followers and worshippers had raised monuments which were to outlast the ages, where the spirits of the mighty dead might still haunt the scene of their ancient glory.
It was a distinct effort to return to commonplace things, and to call to mind the fact that the afternoon was far advanced and that I had duties to perform as chief cook and housekeeper. In the middle of the plaza stood the house we were to occupy, an airy structure something like a large bird-cage, which had been built by a party of Americans who for the last two years had been at work in the ruins. The walls were made of rough sticks placed side by side, about an inch apart, and bound together with lianes; the roof was thatched with sugar-cane leaves, one large opening in the wall served as doorway, and windows were certainly not needed, as every breath of air sighed through the gaping walls. One end of the house had been screened off and the walls thatched to the ground so as to form a dark room for photography. Our American friends had left a convenient shed and cooking-place near the house, and I soon had supper ready, and then we settled ourselves for the night.
CHAPTER XIV. COPAN.
SQUARE ALTAR, COPAN VILLAGE.
It only needed one night’s experience to convince me that the cross draughts of our airy residence were not suited to our constitutions, and when on rising to make my toilet in the morning, the transparent nature of my dressing-room was borne in on me, my mind was made up, and I ordered the tent to be pitched without delay. Thenceforward we had a thoroughly comfortable bedroom. One end of the tent was left open for ventilation, but we were well sheltered from draughts, and furnished with good thick blankets as a protection against the sharp fall of temperature in the early morning. I only wish one could always secure the same conditions of climate, temperature, and fresh air, for it seemed to me ideal.