[CHAPTER XI.]
ON THE ROAD.
Mexico, considering its size, is one of the least populated countries in the world. With but few exceptions, the old Spanish colonies, since they have proclaimed their independence and become free republics, having been constantly engaged in war with each other, or in overthrowing the government they themselves elected, have seen all the ties attaching families to the soil broken in turn. Foreigners, no longer finding the necessary safety for their speculations in countries incessantly troubled by revolutions, have gone away. Trade has been annihilated; commerce has fallen into a state of atrophy; and the population has frightfully decreased, with such rapidity, that sensible men, who sought a remedy for this incurable evil, called emigration to the help of these states, which nothing can galvanise, and which only possess a factitious existence.
Unfortunately, the Hispano-American race is essentially haughty and jealous. Poor fellows, who let themselves be seduced by the brilliant promises made them, and who consented to cross the sea to settle in this country, found, on their arrival, and especially in Mexico, an ill-disguised hatred and contempt, which was displayed in all classes of society by ill will and aversion. Hence, being disgusted by their reception, and recognising the slight trust they could place in the promises of the men who had summoned them, they hastened to leave a country in which they had only found unjust prejudices and deplorable ill faith, and went to ask of the United States the protection refused them by those who had so pressingly summoned them.
Mexico, in spite of a certain varnish of civilization, the last reminiscence of the Spanish occupation, which may still be found in the large cities and their environs, is, therefore, in reality plunged into a state of barbarism relatively greater than it was fifty years ago. The Pacific States, especially, being less frequently visited by strangers, and left, as it were, to themselves, have retained a peculiar physiognomy, whose picturesque savageness and rough manners would cause the tourist's heart to beat with joy, if ever a tourist ventured into these countries; but which inspire an involuntary fear, justified, however, by everything the traveller, forced to visit this land on business, witnesses.
In Europe and all civilized countries, the means of transport are numerous and convenient, but in Mexico only one is known—the horse. In the Central States, and those which run along the Atlantic seaboard, some towns possess diligences, which change horses at the tambos, a species of inn, where the travellers stop to pass the night. But these tambos and mesones, which possess a great resemblance to the Sicilian hostelries and Spanish ventas, supply absolutely nothing to the guests they shelter, excepting a roof, reduced to its simplest expression; that is to say, the traveller is compelled to take his bed with him, in addition to provisions, if he does not wish to sleep wrapped up in his cloak.
In spite of the numberless disagreements which the uncomfortable mode of progressing from one place to another entails, the traveller derives one advantage from it—that of not being exposed, in a fickle atmosphere like that of Mexico, where after burning days the nights are chilly, to the attacks of the climate. In the Pacific States, matters are no longer thus; the traveller who proceeds from one town to another is forced to do so on horseback, without any hope of finding for a distance of sixty or eighty leagues the smallest inn, or even most wretched rancho, where he can shelter himself from wind and rain at nightfall. At sunset he camps where he is in the open air, and begins his journey again on the morrow Still, as Providence has been in its wisdom careful to give an equal amount of good and evil, the robbers, salteadores, and brigands of every description, who infest all the roads in the interior, on which they reign as masters, plundering travellers in open day and assassinating them with the most perfect impunity, are rarely found in Sonora. In this country the roads in this respect enjoy a relatively complete security, except when the Indians have risen, or a fresh pronunciamiento has let bands of revolted soldiers loose on the country. These fellows have no scruple about imitating professional robbers, and killing and plundering people, whose unlucky stars have exposed them to their tender mercies.
José Paredes, though he had in reality only fifty leagues to go, a distance which in most European countries is comfortably performed in a railway carriage in a few hours, was obliged, on account of the bad state of the roads, and the indispensable precautions he had to take, to remain at least four days on the road before reaching Hermosillo. This journey, which would have been very painful to any man accustomed to the ease and luxuries of life, was only a pleasure trip for the worthy majordomo, a real Centaur, whose life was spent on horseback—who slept more frequently in the open air than under a roof, and whose powerful constitution rendered him insensible to the annoyances inseparable from a journey made under such conditions. The Mexicans have two expressions which admirably depict the class of men to whom the majordomo belonged; they call them Jinetes and Hombres de a Caballo.