ZOQUE COMPADRES GREETING; TUXTLA GUTIERREZ
OUR FERRY-BOAT; CHIAPA
Chiapa was formerly the great town of the Chiapanecs, an Indian tribe to whom tradition assigns past splendor, but who, to-day, are represented in three villages, Chiapa, Suchiapa, and Acala. They are much mixed with Spanish blood, and have largely forgotten their ancient language. It is, however, from them, that the modern state, Chiapas, received its name. Chiapa, itself, is a city of some size, situated on a terrace a little way from the river, with a ridge of hills rising behind it. The plaza is large, and in it stands a market-building. Near by is a picturesque old gothic fountain, built of brick. Market was almost over, but we were interested in seeing the quantities of pineapples and cacao beans there offered. To lose no time waiting for dinner, we bought bread and one or two large pineapples, which we ate under the shade of the trees in the plaza. The pineapples were delicious, being tender and exceedingly sweet; our arriero refused to eat any of them, asserting that they were barely fit to eat, lacking sweetness, and being prickly to the taste. The pineapples of Simojovel were to his liking; they are sugar-sweet, leaving no prickly sensation, and anyone can eat three whole ones at a sitting. After luncheon, we looked about for examples of lacquer-work. In one house, we found some small objects and wooden trays of indifferent workmanship. An old crone, badly affected with pinto, the mother of the young woman artist, showed us the wares. With her was the older sister of the lady-worker, who, after we had bought two of the trays, asked whence we came. Upon our telling her that Manuel was a native of Cordoba, and that I had come from the United States, without a word of warning she raised her hands, turned her eyes upward, and gave vent to a torrent of shrill, impassioned, apostrophe to her absent, artistic sister: "A dios, hermana mia, Anastasia Torres, to think that your art-products should penetrate to those distant lands, to those remote portions of the world, to be the wonder and admiration of foreign eyes. A dios, hermana mia, Anastasia Torres!" This she repeated several times, in a voice high enough to be heard a block or two away. Leaving her to continue her exclamations of joy and admiration over the fate of her sister's workmanship, we returned to the plaza, where, in a house near by, we found a considerable stock of better work, consisting of decorated bowls, cups, toy jícaras, gourd-rattles, etc. This brilliant work, characteristic of the town, is carried hundreds of miles into the States of Oaxaca, Tabasco, Vera Cruz, and into the Republic of Guatemala. At two o'clock we hurried from the town in the midst of terrific heat. As we rode out, over the dry and sandy road, we were impressed by the display of death; not only was there one cemetery, with its whitened walls and monuments, but at least three other burial places capped the little hillocks at the border of the town. One, particularly attracted attention, as it resembled an ancient terraced pyramid, with a flight of steps up one side.
From the foothills, we struck up the flank of the great mountain mass itself. Mounting higher and higher, a great panorama presented itself behind and below us, including the Chiapa valley, with the hills beyond it. It was, however, merely extensive, and not particularly beautiful or picturesque. As we followed the slope towards the crest, into the narrowing valley, the scene became bolder, until we were at the very edge of a mighty chasm, which yawned sheer at our side. Following it, we saw the gorge suddenly shallow hundreds of feet by a vast precipice of limestone rock rising from its bottom. Having passed this, we journeyed on up the cañon, lessened in grandeur, but still presenting pretty bits of scenery. Up to this point, limestone had prevailed, but from here on, we passed over various formations—heavy beds of sand or clay, lying upon conglomerates and shales. The road wound astonishingly, and at one point, coming out upon a hog's-back ridge, we found that we had actually made a loop, and stood directly above where we had been some time before. Near sunset, we reached the summit, and looked down upon the little town of Ixtapa, upon a high llano below, and seeming to be a half-hour's ride distant. Descending on to the llano, we found it intersected by deep and narrow gorges; following along the level, narrow ridge, surrounded by ravines on every side, except the one from which we had approached, we presently descended, along its flank, the bank of the deepest of these barrancas. The sun had set long before we reached the bottom, and through the darkness, we had to climb up over the steep dugway in the sandy clay to the village, which we reached at seven. The little room supplied us for a sleeping-place was clean and neat, the floor was strewn with fresh and fragrant pine-needles, and the wooden beds were supplied with petates. Leaving before eight, the following morning, we travelled through a beautiful cañon, with an abundant stream of whitish-blue water, tumbling in fine cascades among the rocks, and dashing now and then into deep pools of inky blackness. Having passed through it, our bridle-trail plunged abruptly downward. From it, we looked upon a neighboring slope, cut at three different levels, one above the other, for the cart-road. Passing next through a small cañon of little beauty, but where the air was heavy with an odor like vanilla, coming from sheets of pale-purple or violet flowers, on trees of eight or ten feet in height, we reached San Sebastian, where we found our carretero, whom we supposed to have reached San Cristobal the day before. Rating him soundly, and threatening dire consequences from his delay, we resumed our journey. We were also worried over our mozo, who started from Chiapa at noon, the day before, with our photographic instruments, and whom we had not seen since, although there were several places where we would gladly have taken views. From here, for a long distance, the road was a hard, steep climb, over limestone in great variety—solid limestone, tufaceous stuff, concretionary coatings, satin spar, and calcite crystals. Having passed a small pueblo, or large finca, lying in a little plain below us, we looked down upon Zinacantan. The descent was quickly made, and passing through the village, without stopping, we made a long, slow, ascent before catching sight of our destination, San Cristobal. It made a fine appearance, lying on a little terrace at the base of hills, at the very end of the valley. Its churches and public buildings are so situated as to make the most impression; on account of its length and narrowness, the town appears much larger than it really is. We entered at one end, and then, practically, paralleled our trail through it to the centre, where we stopped at the Hotel Progreso, at 3:30 in the afternoon. We went to the palace, and made arrangements so promptly that we could have begun work immediately, if the carretero and mozo had not been behind. As it was, we waited until next day, and were warned by the secretario at the jefatura that there would not be enough light for work before nine o'clock. In the evening, we called on Padre Sanchez, well known for his study of the native languages, and the works he had written regarding them. He is a large man, well-built, of attractive appearance, and of genial manner. He has been cura in various indian towns among the Chamulas, and he loves the indians, and is regarded as a friend by them. We were prepared for a cold night, and had it, though no heavy frost formed, as had done the night before. In one day's journey, the traveller finds towns, in this neighborhood, with totally different climates. Here woolen garments are necessary, and in towns like Chamula and Cancuc the indians find the heaviest ones comfortable. Our rating of the carretero had an effect both prompt and dire; when we left him, he hastened to hire carriers to bring in the more important part of our load; these, he insisted, should travel all night, and at eight o'clock we found them at the hotel. In the darkness they had stumbled, and our loads had fallen. Whole boxes of unused plates were wrecked, and, still worse, many of our choicest negatives were broken. At nine o'clock the missing mozo appeared with the instruments; it is customary for our carrier to keep up with the company, as we have frequent need of taking views upon the journey; this was almost the only instance, in the hundreds of leagues that we have travelled on horseback, over mountain roads, where our carrier had failed to keep alongside of the animals, or make the same time in journeying that we mounted travellers did.
THE JAIL; SAN CRISTOBAL
TZOTZIL MUSICIANS IN SAN CRISTOBAL JAIL