We descended among oak-trees, when suddenly the track ran down a precipitous volcanic rock, utterly impracticable for the mules to follow. Evidently we had strayed on a side trail; and while we guarded the mules, a man was sent back to look for the main track, which luckily was found after a short time. The worst of it was that the animals had to be led back one by one, along the side of a dangerous precipice, and it was a wonder that none of them rolled down the steep sides. I was glad when we could safely proceed on our way.
It is disagreeable to travel with a pack-train after nightfall, even on a moonlight night like this, but particularly when without a guide and on an unfamiliar track. The journey seems interminable. The fear of losing one’s road, or having something happen to the animals, or dropping some part of the pack; the uncertainty regarding what camping-place one may find; and the anxiety lest the backs of the animals may become sore, while the men are getting hungry and in as bad a temper as one’s self,—all tend to demonstrate the advisability of going into camp when the sun is still well above the horizon.
Another harassing consideration, which, however, does not apply to this part of the country, is the possibility of arousing a suspicion that pack-trains which travel at night carry treasures.
After a continuous journey of ten hours and a half we arrived without further mishaps at Lajas at 9.30 P.M., the middle of the night in that part of the world. One of my men, who had a habit of singing whenever we entered a village, had been ordered to keep silent, that the people in this lonely place, susceptible as they are, might not become alarmed at the sudden arrival of such a party.
A few houses lay scattered about in the dim moonlight, and I with my chief man rode ahead. “Ave Maria!” called out Catalino, knocking at the door of a hut. “God give you a good night,” he continued, but there was no response. After having in this way tried several huts, we at last succeeded in getting an answer, and learned where Crescencio Ruiz lived, to whom the priest in Pueblo Nuevo had given me a letter of introduction, and who was a kind of secretary to the Indians. We now directed our steps toward his house, aroused him from his slumbers, and after some parleying brought him to the door. He was a small-statured, kindly-looking man, a half-caste, who displayed a friendly manner and showed me where I could camp near his house. As he was very talkative, it was late in the night before I could retire.
The name of the village is San Francisco de Lajas, the word laja (flat stone) referring to stones which abound in the neighbourhood. The Indian name, “Eityam,” has the same meaning. The next day many Indians came fearlessly and curiously up to see me. They wore the ordinary dress of the working-class of Mexico, except that their flat straw hats were trimmed with black and red woollen ribbons and some flowers. The women had flowers and leaves in their hair, which they wore in Mexican fashion, in two braids. Some of the men had their hair put up in one braid and fastened at the end with a narrow hair-ribbon, but most of them had it cut short. I was surprised to see many baldheaded men, some not over thirty years old. Surely it must be more healthy for the hair to be worn long.
Fortunately for me the Indians had just come into the pueblo for a week to repair the old adobe church, in which work Don Crescencio greatly assisted them. This man, nine years ago, was sent to the place as a teacher by the Mexican authorities in Durango. On his arrival he was met at the old curato by 140 children, none of whom had ever seen a Mexican before, and, of course, they did not understand a word of Spanish. They soon went back to their homes, and five days afterward the preceptor was left without a pupil. He induced the parents to make the children return, and 48 came back. Out of these, five remained with him for six months. At the close of that period they were able to read and to write their names. Of late years, however, teaching has been given up altogether. The fact is that the Indians do not want schools, “because,” as an intelligent Huichol afterward told me, “our sons lose their native tongue and their ancient beliefs. When they go to school, they do not want to worship the Sun and the Water any more.” The white teacher’s aim should be to incite the desire for instruction rather than to force his pupils to listen to his teachings; not to destroy the Indian’s mental world, but to clear it and raise it into the sphere of civilisation.
Tepehuane Sling made from Maguey Fibre.
Width, 10 cm.
But Don Crescencio remained with the Indians as their “secretary” (escribano), attending to whatever correspondence they had with the authorities, and gradually becoming their factotum and adviser. As he was an honourable and straightforward man, his influence was all for their good. To swell his meagre income, he carries on a small trade, going twice a year to Durango to replenish his stores; and so invaluable has he become to the Indians that they send, some men along with him to watch that he does not remain with the “neighbours.” He has learned the language tolerably well, and has risen to such importance that the gobernador, as I saw myself, visited him every morning, asking his advice in every movement.