The road to Kabah, our next stage, passing by Ticul, lies as usual through a flat tract of land, varied here and there by plantations of henequen and maize. We reach the hacienda of Uayalceh about nine o’clock, where we make a stay of a few hours to breakfast, visit the plantations and the house, consisting of an immense pile of building surrounded by cloisters, reared on an elevated eminence, presumably the site of an Indian palace; it being doubtful whether the Spanish builder would have gone to the enormous cost of constructing so vast an esplanade. A gallery, extending over the whole length of the building, is reached by twenty steps, where a hammock, comfortable arm-chairs, and a writing-desk raised on a platform are found, from which the mayor-domo can watch unobserved the proceedings of the establishment. This hacienda works its own henequen, employing some 1,200 hands; a strict discipline is observed, and apart from the monotonous chant of the youngsters, the low murmuring of the women, no sound is heard save that of the machinery or the wheel at the Noria, in constant movement for the requirements of the whole establishment. It is altogether a lively and interesting scene.
The large enclosure fronting the house is planted with bananas, the whole zapotee family, cocoa and orange-trees growing to the size of ilexes, alternated with roses and the rich variety of the tropical flora, filling the air with their sweet, penetrating fragrance, and extending to a wood which surrounds the factory.
Our excellent breakfast is served in a portion of the cool open cloister, washed down with a bottle of Spanish wine and a delicious cup of coffee. We pay our moderate bill, proffer our thanks to the mayor-domo for his civility, and resume our march, alighting at the hacienda of Mucuiche to visit a cenoté, and reach Sacalun late in the afternoon, where we stop awhile to rest our hot, panting mules.
It was formerly a place of some importance; but its chief attraction lies in its cenoté, 65 feet deep. Steps with a balustrade lead to the surface of the water, while the great stalactites which hang down from the vault and almost meet the stalagmites rising from the ground, form an imposing and weird scene. Yet it was here that I experienced the most charming adventure that I met in the whole course of my travels; and, although two-and-twenty years have elapsed, the dear, sweet remembrance of that day is as fresh as ever.
I was on my way to Uxmal, when through some egregious stupidity of the driver I was obliged to put up here for the night. There was of course no inn, and I found a bed at a poor widow’s, who took in casual travellers like myself. The accommodation was of the scantiest: a hammock, a small table, a chair or two, was all the furniture of a room which was at the same time the kitchen, the parlour, and the sleeping chamber. The widow apologised for having nothing better to offer, but it was easy to guess from her noble manners and appearance, that she had known better days. I watched my dinner being prepared; the table neatly laid, everything so scrupulously clean, that I could have found it in my heart to be indulgent had the cooking been execrable, but all was as good and nice as would have satisfied the most fastidious palate. Two lovely maidens helped their mother and served at table; my eyes sought the younger, whose transparent skin, pearly teeth, hair of raven wing’s blackness, magnificent, languid eyes, fairy-like form moving over the ground with an indescribable undulating movement, moved me body and soul every time she gazed in my direction. Her look of innocence and simplicity added to the charm which seemed to emanate from her whole person, accepting with child-like pleasure my open admiration, while a soft blush spread over her countenance as she met my enraptured gaze. Their story was this:
The hacienda had been burnt down, her husband massacred, and she had been obliged to fly with her little ones to escape a worse fate, to find on their return the place a heap of ruins. She told of their lone, joyless life, of a still darker future, and tears coursed down her cheeks furrowed by care and privations rather than age.
I was young, impulsive, I wished I were rich. Why should I not.... In a moment, ancient monuments, the world, my possible career, all was forgotten in face of these tearful countenances and their undeserved misfortune. Why not accept the love, the happiness, which were offered to me? And how delightful to relieve their misery, to feel that a whole family would be made happy and comfortable by me and through me! All this and a great deal more I expressed, and was amply repaid by the angelic smile of the young girl, and the mother’s grateful acknowledgments. Night, however, brought calm to my disturbed imagination, and I resolved on a speedy flight, as the only means of escape from a too fascinating but dangerous position. The next day I announced my departure, and I never saw her again. And now, after so many years, I was back in the same place again. I sought the house, to find that my youthful love-dream was no longer here, but had gone to live somewhere in a large city. I came away sad at heart, disappointed; yet better so. In two-and-twenty years, Time, in all probability, had not spared her, more than he had me.
Ticul, whither we are bound, is reached in the evening, where, thanks to the kind offices of our friend Don Antonio Fajardo, a house has been secured for our accommodation.
Ticul is built on the lower slopes of the Sierra, which runs in a line from north-west to south-east of the peninsula. It is a small place, with a few good houses and shops; everything has a look of newness, as if built but yesterday, save the church and the monastery falling into decay, in which lived the delightful padrecito Cirillo, whose pleasant gossip has been so charmingly recorded in Stephens’ Journal. Almost the only inhabitable apartment is now occupied by Cirillo’s brother, a dear old fellow, whose cheery, smiling face it is a pleasure to see. We make the “Tienda,” where we have our meals, our receiving-room; our visitors are the schoolmaster, some Government employés, the Mayor, and Dr. Cuevas, an eminent archæologist, who presented me with a stick of zapoté, cut out of a lintel found at Kabah. Our evenings pass pleasantly enough, in agreeable conversation regarding the ruins found in this district.
