Soon after leaving Cuquila we struck a fifty-minute mountain, the summit of which we made at nine o'clock exactly. Here we sat in the shade and lunched on bread and pineapples, bought the day before in Tlaxiaco. From the summit, there was a slow and gentle descent around that ridge, and then a slow incline along an endless ravine, until at last we came out upon a crest, from which we looked down upon one of the grandest mountain scenes of the world. A valley of impressive size, surrounded by magnificent mountain masses, lay below us, and just to the right, at our feet, was Chicahuastla. Few people in Mexico are so little known as the Triquis. Orozco y Berra, usually a good authority, locates them near Tehuantepec, in the low country. The towns which he calls Triqui are Chontal; the five true Triqui towns are in the high Mixteca. The largest is the town which we were now approaching. The Triquis are people of small stature, dark-brown color, black eyes, aquiline, but low and rather broad nose; they are among the most conservative, suspicious and superstitious of Mexican indians. Most of them dress in native clothing, and all speak the Triqui and not the Spanish language. As a people they are sadly degraded, through being exceptionally addicted to drink.
Don Guillermo Murcio is a character. He and his family are almost the only mestizos in the place. He is a hale and hearty blacksmith, and has lived for fifteen years in this purely indian town, where he has gained almost unbounded influence among the simple natives. His word is law, and the town-government trembles before his gaze. He is impetuous in manner, quick-tempered, and on the slightest suggestion of disregard of his commands, freely threatens jail or other punishment. He received us cordially, and we lived at his house, where we were treated to the best that was available.
We have already referred to the beautiful location of Chicahuastla. Its appearance is most picturesque. Unlike the indian towns in the Mixteca which we had so far visited, it has many houses of circular form with conical roof. It is possible that this style of construction is the result of African influence. At Chicahuastla we were on the very summit of the great water-shed, and from it, when the air is clear, one may look down, over a sea of lesser summits and mountain ranges, to the waters of the Pacific. Along the Pacific coast, in the state of Guerrero, are whole towns of Africans, descendants of slaves, who build their houses after the circular pattern, so common throughout the dark continent. We did not find in the Triquis any admixture of African blood, but it is possible the mode of house-building may have been influenced by negro example.
Our first glimpse of the town suggested a veritable paradise. At eleven the sky was clear, the sun almost tropical, the whole country smiled under its warm beams; but at two there came a change. Fogs, so dense as to shut out the view of what was across the road, drifted down from the summit on which we had seen cloud masses forming. Deeper and deeper, wetter and wetter, colder and colder grew the mist. All, wrapped in their thickest blankets, were shivering, crouched upon the ground, trying in vain to keep themselves warm. At first we thought this might be a rare occasion, but were assured that it is an every-day occurrence, and from our own experience of four or five days, we can easily believe the statement to be true. How any people can live in such a spot, suffering keenly twenty hours in the day, simply for the four hours of clear sunshine and warmth is inexplicable; and the nights were torments! Don Guillermo's house is well built of logs and plaster, but no house could keep out that bitter cold night air which chilled us, as we lay in bed, until we could hardly move.
DON GUILLERMO AND HIS FAMILY; CHICAHUASTLA
GROUP OF TRIQUIS; CHICAHUASTLA
We have already stated that the people of Chicahuastla are conservative and superstitious. Our operations of measuring, photographing and bust-making filled the town with alarm and concern. It was hard enough to get our male subjects; the women were yet more difficult. At first we failed to secure any, but after we had several times told the town officials that twenty-five women must be forthcoming for measurement, and Don Guillermo had stormed and threatened, the town-government began to plan a mode of carrying out our wishes. Close by Don Guillermo's house was the miserable little village plaza, where the women of the town assembled with corn-cakes and other articles for trade. There, they met the travelling peddlers coming from Tlaxiaco, from Cuquila and the coast, and drove their bargains, mostly a matter of trade, not purchase, with them. Waiting at the place where we were working, until one or two women were to be seen in the plaza, the town officials separated, going in two directions. In a few minutes an anxious watcher, from our point of view, might have seen a gradually contracting circle of men surrounding the plaza. Usually at the same time that this circle was evident to the watcher, it became also evident to the women. With cries of terror, the poor creatures would start off as fast as their legs would carry them, over the mountain trails, with the whole town government, sixteen strong, in pursuit, with yells and screams. It was like nothing but the chase of deer by hounds. Usually, the women, given strength by terror, escaped; but once out of three times, perhaps, the officials returned in triumph with their prisoner in their midst, who was at once measured and then, if need be, photographed. In course of time these hunts supplied the twenty-five victims desired.
It might not be uninteresting to describe the events of a single afternoon in a Triqui town. On one occasion, having eaten dinner, we had scarcely begun our work when we heard a great uproar and din upon the road toward Santo Domingo. Looking in that direction, we saw a crowd of men and boys struggling toward us. As they came nearer, we saw that six or eight of the party were carrying some awkward and inconvenient burden. It was a man, sprawling face downward; two or more held his arms, an equal number his legs; about his waist a belt, knotted behind, was tied, and then through the knot was thrust a strong pole, which was being carried by two men, one on either side. Struggling against those who carried him, raising his face and snarling and gnashing at the crowd, the prisoner presented a fearful spectacle. It seemed that, being drunk, he had quarreled with his friend, whom he had nearly murdered with his machete. About the middle of the afternoon we heard a loud crying in the other direction, toward the church and jail, and, on looking, saw coming toward us a man, whose head was broken open and from it was streaming blood, his head and face were covered, and his white shirt, to the waist and even below, was soaked with the red fluid. He was wringing his hands and crying in a piteous manner. When he came to where we stood, he told his tale of woe. He was the majordomo in charge of the church property. He had expected that the priest would make his visit to the pueblo on that day, and had so announced it to the people; the pious parishioners looked forward, with interest, to the coming of the padre. When the day passed, however, and the priest failed to appear, one of the more religious felt so outraged that he had broken open the head of the majordomo with a club, on account of his disappointment. We told the poor fellow to go home and let his wife clean him up and change his clothing, promising that, if he died, his assailant should be punished. That evening there was a little moonlight at Chicuhuastla, the only time during our stay. As we sat eating supper, we heard an outcry in the direction of the church and jail. Asking Don Guillermo what might be the cause, he replied that there was probably some trouble at the jail. We insisted on going to see what might be happening. Don Guillermo, the plaster-worker, Mariano, Manuel and I, seizing whatever weapons were convenient at hand, started for the jail. We found an excited crowd gathered around the doorway. On a log before the door there sat a creature crazy-drunk. I have never seen a case more horrible. He screamed, yelled, gnashed his teeth, struck and snapped at everyone around. The whole village stood in terror. I addressed the policemen, who seemed quite helpless. "Why not thrust him into the jail? Quick! Seize him! In with him!" Encouraged by our words, they seized him, the door was quickly opened, and he was cast into the little room, which already contained more than thirty persons, the harvest of a single afternoon. When the door was locked, we saw for the first time why the policemen had been so timid. One of them came limping up to us, crying, and showed his leg. From its fleshy part a good mouthful of flesh had been cleanly bitten by the madman. The wound was bleeding profusely, and the poor fellow wrung his hands and cried with pain.