In the Land of Cave and Cliff Dwellers

by Frederick Schwatka

CENTRAL CHIHUAHUA—FROM THE CITY OF CHIHUAHUA WESTWARD TO THE GREAT MEXICAN MINING BELT.

While in Guaymas and discussing a practicable route into the heart of the Sierra Madres, I was told by the general commanding the division in which Guaymas was situated, and strongly advised by others having a knowledge of the country, not to attempt an entrance into the mountains from the western side, but rather from the high plateaus, of which the city of Chihuahua was the central point. There were many excellent reasons given for this advice. The Yaqui Indians were said to be very restless at that time; the season of the year was unfavorable, because all large rivers, like the Yaqui, Fuerte, and Mayo, were at their height; again, there were no good points near the mountains for outfitting such as the city of Chihuahua afforded. All these reasons, together with the advance of exceedingly warm weather, made me conclude to retrace my steps to the eastern side of the Sierra Madre range. So we again passed over the Sonora railway, and enjoyed those charming contrasts of the sea of flower-covered plains and mountains during the two days' ride that took us to Benson. Thence we returned to Deming, and from that point to El Paso, whence the Mexican Central Railway takes one in a night's ride about two hundred and fifty miles southward, to the city of Chihuahua.

This is a place of about thirty thousand people, and is the most important city in Northern Mexico. Like all towns in Mexico, but little of it can be seen from the railway, only the tall spires of its famous cathedral being visible; but the fine church alone well repays the tourist for stopping over on his southern flight. Beside the cathedral, there are many other features of interest to the tourist having sufficient leisure, and the town should not be so universally slighted as it now is. It is the outfitting point for all parties visiting the many large and famous mines of the northern portion of the Sierra Madre range. The journey from the city to the mines is made by diligence for the first hundred miles, to the low-lying foothills of the mountains, and then by mule-back for one hundred or one hundred and fifty miles, to the heart of the great range. As this was nearly the route we wished to pursue, the first two days were passed in outfitting and making necessary arrangements. When we were informed that the diligence left Chihuahua at three o'clock in the morning, we were convinced that the Mexicans were by no means as indolent as they have been reported, especially in the matter of early rising, or they would not start out a stage at such an early hour. The conveyance must of necessity be seldom patronized by any persons except the natives; and the calling of passengers at that time for a seventy-five or eighty mile drive could only be accounted for by a morbid desire of the people to be up before the early bird. The day before leaving was passed in assorting all the baggage absolutely needed for a long trip by mule-back, and in getting together such necessary provisions as we would use.

I had been told that but little could be purchased after leaving the town, and then only at three or four times the expense of buying and transporting the same from Chihuahua. So despite all our efforts to cut down our luggage it had quite a formidable appearance, and I judged that my pack train would be an imposing affair, even if the daily bill of fare was not. Our traps were piled up in the office of the diligence, and orders were given to call us quite early, that we might be promptly on hand, for we were assured the diligence would wait for no man. Quite reluctantly I retired early, and left the pleasant crowd sitting on the piazza that surrounded the inner court of the hotel. As the noises of one of these primitive Mexican hotels cease about one o'clock in the morning, and begin about two, and as the night watchman felt it incumbent to open my door every tour he made, and hold his lantern in my face to see whether I was having a good night's rest, there was little cause for alarm lest I should be left. Nevertheless to make assurance trebly sure I was called by three different persons. It was evidently a great event to have passengers leave by the diligence. We were soon out in the streets, picking our way along in total darkness, trying to make the requisite number of twists and turns down the little side streets to the office (for this Mexican diligence was a proud affair, and would not stoop to drive to the hotel for passengers, not even for extra money). The rigid rules of the corporation had to be enforced, and were above all price; so we went floundering around in utter darkness until we were waylaid by a friendly policeman with a lantern, who doubled us back on our tracks, and assisted us to reach the dark door of the diligence office, which, at that hour, was not distinguishable from any other door. At first we were sure the policeman had made a mistake, for there was no sign of life about the place, and it was full time for departure.

Soon, however, a frowzy-headed man with a candle in his hand opened the door and bade us enter; but I preferred walking up and down outside in the cool morning air, and had a good half hour's exercise of that kind before the coach came lumbering into sight. The huge, old-fashioned affair had the queerest look imaginable; for, hitched to it in groups of four each, with two leaders, were the tiniest mules I had ever seen. With the arrival of the coach and ten the office at once burst into life. I stood and counted my luggage as piece after piece was thrown on behind, and felt as though I was monopolizing the highway, for my freight towered up and filled the boot. The office was then examined to see that nothing had been left; but, alas! that precaution was a failure, as I found to my vexation at the end of the first day's drive. It was broad daylight when we finally got away at half-past five in the morning. Walking about in the cool air had given us voracious appetites, and as we clattered by the humble huts of the peons and saw them making their simple morning meals, we regretted exceedingly having placed any faith in the punctuality of this particular diligence. As we drove onward through the broad avenue of alamos on the outskirts of the town the fields were filled with the early workmen, who rise as soon as it is light for their work, and rest in the heat of noonday. In this part of the country these laborers are always dressed in white that looks immaculate in the distance, against the dark background of the fields, but it will not bear close inspection. I was thus able to prove another virtue of the Mexican people, or at least a certain portion of them, and this too despite the fact that my discovery does not accord with the generally accepted American opinion of Mexican laborers. There was no doubt that they were unusually early risers to their work, as all that morning I found evidence of this fact. We drove twenty miles before breakfast, and passed people going into the city who had come as great a distance. As I have said, these same people take their siesta in the afternoon, and are judged accordingly by others who do not get up early enough to know what they have done.

Leaving Chihuahua and bearing west toward the Sierra Madres, one finds the road even crowded with Mexican transportation, all from the rich silver belt now being rapidly developed, chiefly by American wealth. There are great carts with solid wooden wheels of the Nazarene style, the patient donkey of the same period, and all so numerous that one would think there was an exodus from a city soon to be put under siege. Almost anything that grows about the home of a Mexican of the lower order furnishes an excuse for him to take it into town with a hope of selling it. Until we were fairly out of the suburbs our party were the only occupants of the coach, but there we were joined by a Mexican gentleman, the son of a wealthy mine owner, who lived back in the mountains. He was on his way to his fathers mining district, and, as I had met him and talked with him before leaving, I had so timed my departure as to be with him for at least a part of the journey. The country directly back of Chihuahua reminded me greatly of our own plains by the imperceptible manner in which it rises toward the foothills of the mountains, although it was far more fertile and well watered, as the numbers of rich ranches along the way testified. At nine o'clock we stopped to eat breakfast and change mules. Our morning meal consisted of a concoction dignified by the name of coffee, with tortillas (the people's bread—pancakes of coarsely ground corn and water) and some stale eggs served in battered tin dishes upon a rough wooden box. The stage station being the only house in that part of the country, we could not be choosers. I noticed, however, that the soil was of the richest kind and well watered, so that anything could have been raised. What a paradise could be made by energy and industry where nature has already done so much.

At noon we stopped at one of the numerous simple and dreary little villages with which the country is studded. They appear far more desolate than the open, bare mesa lands. All are much alike, each having one or two streets of adobe houses, and a church of forbidding aspect, which fronts on a still more uninviting looking plaza, about fifty or seventy-five feet square, and set with whitewashed adobe benches, a stripe of green about the latter being almost the only thing to remind one of the color of verdure. The plaza is the pleasure ground of the people, and a more cheerless-looking place one could not imagine.

In investigating some of the resources of this country I ran across a (to me) new and interesting way of measuring wheat, and other products of the soil. I found an old hunter on the Yukon River of Alaska who measured the length of grizzly bears by the fathom; I have had a Mexican charge me for a saddle by the pound, carefully weighing it and estimating the resulting cost; and when I tried to find how much an exceptionally fine field of wheat yielded to the acre, the reply was equally surprising. The owner, as he boasted of the field, knew nothing of so many bushels to the acre (or to the hectare, which is their usual standard of measurement), nor even of any ratio of pounds or kilograms to a known area; but he loudly bragged that he raised one hundred for one, while only a few of his neighbors could claim as high as fifty for one, forty for one being the average for the whole valley. Now one hundred for one meant that he got one hundred grains for every grain he planted, one hundred bushels for every bushel put in as seed. If he had planted a bushel on an acre of ground and got one hundred bushels in return it would be considered an enormous yield, and even a Western farmer would dance with delight at such a result; but if he had planted a bushel on ten acres of ground, and got the same hundred bushels as before, the Mexican farmer would be as happy as ever, while the American farmer would begin to wonder if the old farm could stand a third mortgage or not.

Of course the American will say that about a certain number of bushels are sown to the acre, and that one hundred for one or fifty for one really gives us a fair ratio in judging of the fertility of the land. But I would answer that in Mexico little attention is paid even to such a ratio, or to any other in agriculture, and only the most careful observation or inquiry can elicit the facts necessary for a basis of proper conjecture.