"What, that solid, dry land?"
"No, senorita. With your permission we will take a canoe and go in among them."
"Con mucho gusto," we replied with Harry's so-called "greaser talk," and getting into a little dugout we were pushed, at the risk of being beheaded, under a low stone bridge by our boatman, who waded in the water. We saluted the owners of a little castle built of cane and roofed with straw and went on, impatient to see the gardens.
In blocks of fifteen by thirty feet nestle the gardens surrounded by water and rising two feet above its surface. The ground is fertile and rich and will grow anything. Some have fruit trees, others vegetables and some look like one bed of flowers suspended in the water. Around in the little canals through which we drifted, were hundreds of elegant water-lilies. Eagerly we gathered them with a desire which seemed never to be satisfied, and even when our boat was full we still clutched ones which were "the prettiest yet."
On some gardens were cattle and horses, sheep and pigs, all of them tied to trees to save them from falling into the water. The quaint little homes were some of the prettiest features; they were surrounded by trees and flowers, and many of them had exquisite little summer houses, built also of cane, which commanded a view of the gardens. The hedges or walls were made of roses, which were all in bloom, sending forth a perfume that was entrancing. The gardeners water their plots every day. On the end of a long pole they fasten a dipper, and with it they dip up water and fling it over their vegetables in quite a deft and speedy manner. No, the gardens do not float, but a visit to them fully repays one for their disappointment in finding that they are stationary.
Undoubtedly many years ago these same gardens did really float. History says they were built of weeds, cane and roots, and banked up with earth. The Aztecs had not only their gardens on them, but their little homes, and they poled them around whenever they wished. Old age, and perhaps rheumatism, has stiffened their joints and they are now and forever more stationary. Joaquin Miller said: "Now, Nellie, the gardens do not float, but please do not spoil the pretty belief by telling the truth about them." But either our respect for the truth or a desire to do just the opposite to what others wish, has made us tell just what the floating gardens really are. At the very least they repay one's trouble for the journey.
As it was about the hour for breakfast, we opened our basket and found one dozen hard-boiled eggs, two loaves of bread, plenty of cold chicken and meat, fruit and many other things equally good and bad for the inner tyrant, and last, but not least, a dozen bottles of beer. That is not horrible, because no one drinks water here, as it is very impure, and two or three glasses have often produced fever. Of course, I could have delicately avoided the beer bottles (in my articles I mean), but I could not resist relating the funny incident connected with them for the benefit of others. One of the party was a strict temperance advocate, and when the bottles were opened the beer was found to be sour, as it is a most difficult place to try to preserve bottled goods. We immediately refused to drink it; but the T. A. said he would test it, so we gave him a glass, which he drained. We were amused, but courteously restrained our smiles; but as bottle after bottle was opened, and the T. A. insisted on testing each one, our mirth got the best of us, and I burst out laughing, joined heartily by the rest. We fed our boatman, and I never enjoyed anything so much in all my life. His hearty thanks, his good appetite, his humble, thankful words between mouthfuls, did me a world of good. The sour beer which was left by the T. A. we gave him, and it is safe to say that the best of drinks never tasted as good as that to our poor boatman.
On the gardens they have put up wooden crosses and tied a cotton cloth to them; they are believed to be a preventive of storms visiting the land, as the wind, after playing with the cotton cloth, is afterward unable to blow strong enough to destroy anything. When we anchored at one of the villages, some men came down and asked us to come to their houses to eat. Each told of the good things his wife had prepared, and one, as an inducement, said, "I have a table in my house." That, of course, is a big thing here, as not one Indian in one hundred owns a table or chair. Pulque is sold very cheap at these villages, and many of the Mexicans come up in boats or on horseback to treat themselves. Along each side of La Viga ore beautiful paseos, bordered by large shade trees. They form some of the many and most beautiful drives in Mexico; and on Sunday the paseos are filled with crowds of ladies and gentlemen on horseback. It is also one of the favorite places for racing, and any one who is fond of fine riding will have a chance to see it here. Two young fellows took from off the horses the saddles and bridles, then, removing their coats and hats, they rode a mile race on the bare horses. Large bets were made on it, and every one enjoyed the exhibition.
In the afternoon we turned our boat toward the city, followed by a boat containing a family. The father and largest son were doing the poling, and the mother was bathing her babes. She rubbed them with soap, and then, leaning over the edge of the boat, doused them up and down in the water. After she had finished and dressed them in the clothes which had in the meanwhile been drying in the boat, she washed her face and hair, combed it with a scrub-brush, and let it hang loose over her back to dry on the way to town. When we repassed the wash-house encountered going up, we were surprised to see it nearly deserted and the few remaining ones donning their clean linen, getting into their canoes and paddling around the canal. When we reached Santa Anita, a village of straw mansions, we found they were celebrating an annual feast-day, and that the town was not only crowded with guests, but La Viga was almost impassable for boats. On this special day it is the custom for everybody to wear wreaths of poppies. The flower-women, seated in the middle of the street, were selling them as fast as they could hand them out.
From a stand a brass band was sending forth its lovely strains, and beneath were the people dancing. They have no square dances or waltzes, but the dance is similar to an Irish reel—without touching one another, and merely balancing back, forth and sideways. Pulque was flowing as freely as Niagara Falls, and for the first time we realized what "dead drunk" meant. One woman was overcome, and had been drawn out of La Viga into which she had fallen. She lay on the bank, wet, muddy, covered with flies, face down on the earth, with no more life than a corpse. She was really paralyzed.