We press on as best we may, and some hours later we reach a rancho where fresh eggs, poultry, and a beverage made of Indian corn, somewhat restore our jaded frames. Here we cross the river on to the right side, and arrive at Cabecera early in the evening, and put up at two old dames’, who regale us with chicken broth and fried fish, which, seasoned by hunger, we find delicious. The next day early we are at Tenosiqué, three miles distant, where we take up our quarters in a vacant hut, but, do what we will in the way of scraping and sweeping, we cannot get rid of mosquitoes, garrapatas, and other insects, which eat us alive. As to the food, an old man does his best, and I still remember that to give us some salad he had recourse to turnip-leaves; these naturally enough were hard to the bite, and hardly improved with bitter orange juice by way of vinegar. But the dearth of any green food made us gulp it down with a will to like it, and we almost succeeded.
This poor hamlet dates back to 1535, when a Spaniard, Don Gil by name, settled here. It seems to have kept its native character to the present day; for Don Saturnino tells me, that thirty years ago it had still a cacique, “tropiles” (subs), and a picoté. Of late it has acquired some importance, from its being the great entrepôt of ebony wood, sought for in the remotest parts of the State.
A BIT OF TENOSIQUÉ.
We hear the most conflicting reports with regard to the ruins I wish to explore, lying some fifty miles distant on the other side of the Sierra, on the left bank of the Usumacinta. They were visited twelve years ago by the mayor of this place, “when they were still held in high esteem by the Lacandones. A guard was placed over the temples and on stated days religious ceremonies were performed, but since the fall of a favourite idol, whose head lies now among the rubbish, the building has been abandoned.” Cheered by this piece of good news, I direct all my energies to procure men, mules, and horses; the former we obtain with the promise of double pay, as for the latter we have to wait for their return from Peten. But when they arrive at last and I see their wretched condition, and the ghastly wounds which cover them, I feel great misgivings as to their performing the arduous journey which is in store for them. Their owner assures me that with a week’s rest the animals will be all right. I must needs accept his word for it, hoping the best, for there is nothing else to be done.
To reach the ruins, a space of some five leagues of forest will have to be cleared on the right side of the river, which will take us opposite the ruins, but a canoe must likewise be made to ferry us across. For this purpose I despatch some men in advance, while we fill up the weary time of waiting by trying to catch some fish. Curiously enough, a number of sea-fish is found here in the Usumacinta, 100 miles from its mouth; and when swollen by rain it brings from distant Guatemala large quantities of lobsters, together with pumice stones.
We set out on the 15th of March, 1882, and are soon in a tangle of wood and beset with obstacles of every kind; while the mules get unloaded, go astray, tarry in green pastures, and are altogether very troublesome.
We have left behind us the low marshy level, and are nearing the Cordillera, bearing to the south-east on the Peten road. The forest seems absolutely interminable with magnificent cedar and palm-trees, over 100 feet high, the trunks of which almost disappear under flowering lianas, while the broad-leaved Palmyra palms commingle with Brazil wood, and form boundless domes of verdure. It would be pleasant enough could one get used to being eaten up by mosquitoes and garrapatas. The stations where we encamp, although not possessed even of a hut, are carefully marked in the maps for the benefit of muleteers; they are always on rising ground, in the vicinity of water and ramon for the animals, their staple food on the march. Our day’s journey has told already on them; the men disperse to cut down ramon. Julian is putting up our camp-beds, while cook is busy with our supper, which usually consists of a kind of Scotch broth, made of dried meat, rice, and black beans, a round of biscuit, and a cup of coffee, except on days when our larder has been replenished on the way by a wild duck, a peccari, and sometimes a monkey!
In the evening the men, grouped round the fire, indulge in a social weed, while recounting adventures more or less authentic, then we all retire behind our mosquito curtains and rest our weary limbs on soft green leaves. Our slumbers are often interrupted by the roar of the wild beast, the plaintive cries of nocturnal birds, and howling monkeys. We rise before daybreak, and what with breakfast, saddling and loading our animals, the sun is high on the horizon before we can continue our journey. No incident breaks the wearisome monotony of our progress, but towards noon I notice to our right traces of buildings, vast esplanades, the stone edges of which are still intact, whilst the guide says that towards the valley of S. Pedro, to our left, are entire monuments still standing—the town of Izancanac, perhaps. Indeed, the whole country is covered with ruins, to study which a lifetime were not too long.
The region is full of the memory of the conqueror. He must have travelled this very road on his march to Honduras. It was in these woods that, under pretext of a conspiracy, he caused Guatemozin to be executed. The young Aztec prince displayed the intrepid spirit of his better days; he reproached Cortez for his want of faith, protesting the while his innocence. A tardy monument has just been raised to the upholder of Indian independence in that Tenochtitlan which he defended as long as there was stone upon stone, whilst not even a bust marks the presence of his murderer.