The next important item on the Mexican peones' bill of fare is Chile. This is the chilli; the pepper-pods of that name, a species of capsicum; the guinea-pepper. The pods are eaten either green, which is their unripe condition, or ripe or sun-dried, when they acquire a scarlet colour. In the first state they are only slightly piquant and are consumed largely, cooked with cheese or pork, which latter favourite dish is known as Chile con carne. When red they are exceedingly piquant, but are largely consumed with the frijoles and tortillas. They might certainly form a useful article of diet in England or the United States, where they are practically unknown, except in the form of chilli pepper.
Potatoes come next in the diet of the peones. The Mexican potato, however, seems often to be small and of inferior quality, and probably the soil and climate are not favourable to its production. Camotes and sweet potatoes, however, are excellent.
The national beverage of the Mexican is the well-known pulque, a fermented and intoxicating drink made from the maguey, and elsewhere described. Coffee is much esteemed by the peones, and purchased when circumstances will allow, and tea also, although in lesser degree. Milk and butter are scarce, and rarely used by the peones, but cheese made from goats' milk is a favourite article of diet. Meat is often used—when obtainable—dried, in strips, generally of beef. Mutton, or carne de borrego is consumed to some extent, and goats' flesh more frequently. The Mexican peon is not necessarily particular as to the quality of this meat. If a cow or bullock perishes upon the plain from drought or accident, the villagers soon get wind of the fact and the carcase is cut up and appropriated in short order. Indeed, the flesh of horses is not despised at times! And, as may be supposed, there are no troublesome municipal restrictions or health officers in such places to interpose authority against the practice, and the struggle for life, especially upon the great plateau, is keen.
Of course, as we rise in the social scale a large variety of foods are consumed, of excellent quality and unstinted quantity, such as we have described in speaking of the upper class. Even here, however, a Mexican "Mrs. Beeton" would have to describe a number of novel and appetising dishes of national character, and peculiar to the country.
The peon, like his superior the educated and wealthy Mexican, is excessively fond of tobacco. His cigarette is his great solace and enjoyment. No manufactured and papered article is the peones' cigarette. The dried husk of the maiz is taken and cut into pieces of the required size. Into this he sprinkles a small portion of strong tobacco and rolling it into a thin roll in a certain dexterous way, smokes it without necessity of gumming or fastening the edge. These cigarettes have a distinctive and agreeable taste and aroma, and the foreigner who has grown accustomed to them will certainly find nothing superior in the machine-made cigarettes of the United States or Great Britain—especially the former. The upper-class Mexican does not use these cigarettes of hoja de maiz, or maiz husk, but unceasingly smokes either the imported Havannas, or the Mexican paper-covered varieties, which are generally excellent.
The peon does not generally use matches to light his cigarette. He produces an eslabon, or small steel link, which he strikes upon his piece of flint, deftly dropping a spark upon his rag tinder, and so creates the means of ignition. Matches cost money—why spend unnecessarily? Or, seated at the camp-fire, he takes a glowing wood ember for the purpose, and indeed the traveller finds that this method of lighting a husk cigarette imparts a peculiar flavour or sense of satisfaction, unknown before. The peon who accompanied me on my expeditions picked up the cartridge cases, especially the brass ones, which I had ejected from the rifle, or carabina, after firing at bird or animal, and preserved them carefully. What for? "It forms an excellent tinder-box," he replied, asking permission to retain it.
The Mexican peon, like the Cholo of Peru, has become deeply imbued with the Roman Catholic religion, as expounded by the priests of Spanish-America. His was a nature to which the realistic ceremony and outward show of this system strongly appealed, and the superstition which in Spanish-America is an inseparable adjunct of this religion among the poorer class—and indeed to a certain extent among the upper—is at times scarcely distinguishable therefrom. To speak first of the religion. This manifests itself in their excessive reverence displayed towards the priests, the adoration of saints, and the naming of objects and places after these, and in the devout method of expression employed even in their ordinary tasks. Shrines and crosses are found everywhere—upon inaccessible hill-tops and in the depths of mines. As we ride along the dusty road our eyes rest suddenly upon a cross set by the way-side, apparently without any explanation of its presence at that spot. We turn to our mozo, or servant, who himself is only a more or less intelligent peon, and ask him the reason. "Señor," he will make reply, "may God preserve you: a highwayman—un bandido—was overtaken and shot here some years ago," or some kindred explanation wherein death has befallen some one by the wayside, whether by accident or punishment. There is much that is attractive and good about this religious sentiment—far be it from the philosophical observer to scoff thereat.
Yet the frequent occurrences of these crosses along the mountain-roads are terribly indicative of past disorders, and of private and political revenge, and even murder. Inquiry reveals that highway robbery and assassination, private feuds, love, drunken quarrels, and—frequent as any—pronunciamientos and revolutions are responsible for the deeds of bloodshed upon the spots where the emblem of Christian love and brotherhood is raised up. A certain lonely hill, which it was my fortune to pass on one occasion, was marked by three decaying crosses set among the stones and thorns at its base. I inquired the reason of their presence there from my servant, a faithful old peon who was a native of the vicinity. "Ah, señor," he replied, crossing himself devoutly as we drew rein and gazed upon the melancholy spot, "three caballeros died here—pasado por las armas[31]—twenty years ago." "For what reason?" I inquired. "That no one has ever known," he answered. "They were roused from their sleep in yonder town"—pointing to the white cluster of buildings and trees on the far-off horizon which we had that morning left—"taken by a file of soldiers under arrest, with orders—it was said—to conduct them to the capital." "Well?" I said as he paused; and the old fellow looked round as if fearful that rocks and cactuses had ears and might report his utterances to some jefe politico, and continued, "A volley was heard, and the officers afterwards reported that the prisoners had attempted to escape and had been shot down." Drawing closer to me he added, "But, señor, it was not true. My brother happened to be on this very hill and saw it, and the prisoners had been stood up in a line and shot."
31 That is to say, shot.