| LIFE AND TRAVEL IN MEXICO: MULES, PEON, AND CACTUS. |
I journeyed, on one occasion, with a padre, or village priest; not, however, in a public diligencia, but in a vehicle of similar nature which I had chartered to convey me to a distant point. As I was starting some Mexican friends of a neighbouring hacienda approached the vehicle, accompanied by a stout padre. "Would I do them and the padre the great favour of taking the latter in my coach, which would save the worthy representative of the Church a long, hot ride?" they asked. "Of course I would; nothing would afford me greater pleasure," I replied, although in strict truth this was an expression of courtesy rather than of actual fact, for the padre looked very heavy, and I had desired to journey rapidly without a change of mules. The reverend gentleman was of a type commonly met with in Spanish-America, of little education and predominant native physiognomy, but jovial withal. A basket containing good and liberal provisions to sustain the padre upon his arduous journey was put into the coach by his friends, and simultaneously put at my service, as a matter of course. From the covering of the basket protruded the tops of various bottles of wine and beer, which my travelling companion eyed with satisfaction, and indeed before we started he insisted upon opening one—of cognac—and giving us a copa all round. This habit of drinking brandy in the early morning is a common one in Latin America—it is said to ward off malaria!—but is not an acceptable one to the temperate Briton.
Well, the coach started. The peon who held the mules' heads—a necessary precaution—let go, and the half-broken animals bounded forward along the rough and dusty road, in a way which rendered both the padre and myself quite speechless for a space. However, they soon settled down into their rapid jog-trot, and I found my companion quite loquacious. His mission had been to marry a number of peones at the hacienda, who, at such places, where the visits of a representative of the Church are apt to be few and delayed, have to wait for the Church's blessing for some time, and then receive it in batches. This delay, however, does not necessarily cause a postponement of their matrimonial relations in other respects—as, indeed, the reverend father informed me! Other interesting matters and views of men (and women) and their customs the padre unfolded as we went along, drawn from his professional experience, and recounted, perhaps, with more freedom to a foreigner who understood his language, and doubtless rendered of more facile delivery by the frequent investigations of the contents of the bottles which he made as the day wore on.
As evening approached my coach halted at a small village at the foot of a range of hills which intersected the desert, in order that the mules might water. The inhabitants of the place, eager for the least distraction, approached; and, learning that a padre was within the vehicle, the women and girls crowded round to receive the good man's benediction and kiss his hand, which he graciously extended from the carriage window. But the throng was considerable, and our stay short, and it seemed that many of them would not be able to kiss the brown hand of the priest. And now I absolve myself from having done it on purpose! My own hand lay upon the sill of the window upon my side of the coach, and suddenly I felt the pressure of a pair of lips upon it! Looking out, I saw that some of the girls and women had come round to that side of the vehicle, and, doubtless, supposing that I was also a padre, had begun to kiss my hand. A certain feeling of pity or delicacy caused me to refrain from removing it—let them be happy in thinking they were also the recipient of some attention; and so I left it there. No one peered into the gloom of the vehicle's interior, or the supposed padre would have been discovered as a clean-shaven young Englishman, dressed, not in priestly black and cassock, but in riding garments! And when the vehicle started I did not consider it necessary to inform my companion of the rôle I had unwittingly played.
But the day's adventures were not over. In crossing the dry bed of an arroyo a wheel gave way and the coach overturned, fortunately for me on the side of the padre! Had it been otherwise the weight of the good priest might have caused me much inconvenience; but as it was I fell upon him. It was in no irreverent spirit that I afterwards cogitated that, at least on one occasion of my life, the Romish Church had interposed between me and injury! And as the priest was not hurt, I could afford to impart this view to him.
The poor peon class is there much under the influence of the priest, especially the women, and, indeed, among the upper classes the confessional and other priestly operations are attended with as much rigidity as in past centuries, although the male sex has very greatly emancipated itself therefrom, and receives any allusions to the priest with a shrug of the shoulders, or, at times, with coldness or open hostility towards that worthy. The Church has fallen into disrepute in Mexico, and it is impossible that it should ever regain its former preeminence. The humble peones arouse the foreigner's pity. Poor people! they are bound by centuries of class-distinction and priestly craft transplanted from an old-world monarchy. These people are generally affectionate and respectful; they will undergo hardship and toil to serve us if we have by justice and tolerance won their respect and sympathy; and with a faithfulness that is almost canine. Their feasts, ceremonies, griefs, are quaint and full of colour and the human touch. Their simple state of life and humble dress take nothing from their native courtesy. Behold yon sandalled and manta- (cheap calico) clad worker. He will never think of addressing us without taking off his grimy and battered hat, nor will he speak to his acquaintance or fellow worker save as "Don"—Don Tomás, Don Juan, or whatever it may be. His first salutation in the morning is always to ask how we have slept. Indeed this is a common form of salutation with all classes in Mexico, "Como ha pasado usted la noche?" And it is but an indication of that importance which they attach to sleep. None would think to disturb our siesta, no matter who might be waiting to see us, and nothing short of actual danger to us would cause us to be awakened before the usual hour, or aroused after we had retired.
The great enemy of the peon and Indian class is alcohol. Whether it be the mild intoxicant pulque of the plateau—for the beverage will not keep in the tierra caliente—or whether the fiery aguadiente, or cane-rum, or the potent mezcal, also made from maguey, the habit of drinking to excess is the ruination of the working class. Wherever it may be, whether under the shade of a tree in the noonday sun, or riding an attenuated horse across the plains, or at the dwelling of some compadre or other acquaintance, there is a bottle protruding from pocket or saddle-bags, and the odour of spirits in the air. The remedy lies largely in prohibition, but, alas! the country's legislators are generally great landowners, and part of their revenue comes from the growing of the maguey, or of the sugar-cane, and in the making and sale of pulque and aguadiente.
The dress of the peon is picturesque, and to the foreign observer ever strikes a note of almost operatic strain. As the sun sets the peon dons his poncho, or serape, as the red blanket which is his invariable outer garment is termed. In the cool air of the morning or evening he speaks but little, covering his mouth with a corner of the serape, for he has a constant and, as far as the foreigner can observe, unfounded fear of pneumonia. The crowning point of his dress is the great conical, broad-brimmed hat, which is the main and peculiar characteristic of the inhabitants of this land; a national and remarkable headgear which is met with nowhere else. There is ever a brigand-like local colour about the Mexican peon, and indeed of some of the upper classes in their national dress. The peon, or the vaquero,[32] as he stalks muffled through the streets or plaza, or lurks within his habitation with a corner of the serape thrown over his shoulder and a knife stuck in his belt, is a subject which might have stepped from the boards of a theatre! Although he is respectful in his demeanour, and often devout in his language, the open greeting and confident demeanour of the Anglo-Saxon is absent. Who can blame him? The oppression of centuries weighs upon him; he has been doomed to ignorance and poverty ever since his Iberian conquerors set foot upon the soil which was his, and the descendants of this same conquering race do little but perpetuate his melancholy state. In the years since the Republic was established he has been constantly dragged from his peaceful labours to serve this or that revolutionary malcontent, and so made to destroy rather than create industry. And to-day he is the subject of such unequal wealth and class distinction whose change it seems impossible to hope for. Yet there is some progress.
32 Cowboy.