Champerico is a town of perhaps fifteen hundred inhabitants and not a very attractive place, as a great part of it is made up of the poor, native quarters. It is usually very hot in the sun, although pleasant in the shade. The railway promised an early escape, but the prospective passengers were informed that the train was off the track just outside the town and it was late in the afternoon before the train finally started. The train only went as far as Retalhuleu that night, about twenty miles, as the engineer would not risk running after it became dark. The country through which the road passed exhibited a rank and luxuriant growth of tropical foliage, the product of a swampy soil and moist climate.
That same evening in the Hotel Pantoja, a very good ten dollar a day hotel, while sitting in the office engaged in conversation with another American, the landlord, who did not understand English, walked by us twice with a warning gesture to be careful what was said. He afterwards explained that there was another American present in the room who was looked upon as a spy. This alleged spy I met on the train later, and he proved to be an aide on the staff of President Cabrera. Although a citizen of the United States by birth, he was a man, who, as I afterwards learned, from personal observation, stood quite high in government circles and would scarcely have been a good man to entrust with any plots against the government of his chief.
We left Retalhuleu the following morning before daylight for the ride to Guatemala City. The distance is about one hundred and fifty miles, but it was a fourteen hour journey according to the schedule, which is a fair illustration of the speed of railroad travel in this country. The train was a mixed one made up of freight and first and second class passenger coaches, the latter being continually crowded with Indians. After a soldier had taken the names and destination of all the passengers the train was allowed to proceed.
The mail coach on this train consisted of a small corner in one car and was in charge of one clerk. This fellow got off at a station for some purpose but lingered a little too long, and the train had started when he reached it. He was afraid to jump on the train in motion and followed us as far as we could see him, waving his hands wildly and racing in the hot sun. The conductor was obdurate and would not stop for him, so the last half day’s run was made without a mail clerk and I do not know what the people did for their mail. As a rule, however, that is not very heavy. The conductor dismissed the matter by saying that “he had no business to leave the train.”
Through this part of the republic the cochineal used to be cultivated extensively. The cochineal is a little insect which clings to the leaves of the nopal, a species of the cactus. The insects on the leaves give it a very peculiar “warty” appearance. Just before the rainy season begins the leaves of the nopal are cut off and hung in a dry place. Then they are scraped, the insects being killed by being baked in a hot oven which gives them a brownish colour and makes a scarlet or crimson dye; or, they are put into boiling water, when they become black and furnish a blue or purple dye. When prepared for market they are worth several dollars per pound, as it is slow and tedious work to separate the insects from the cactus. It is estimated that there are seventy thousand insects to the pound. When you consider that more than a million tons of the cochineal dye were exported in a single year at one time, a slight idea may be gained of the magnitude of the industry before the cheaper chemical dyes destroyed the market for the cochineal. At present the insect is cultivated only for local use, as the natives prefer it to colour their gayly-hued cotton and woollen fabrics. It can be said of it that the colour will stand almost any amount of rain and sunshine and the tints are as beautiful and pure as one could desire.
The greater part of the land along the line of this railway is cultivated after a fashion, but only in a careless and desultory way. None of the towns are very large and the villages poor but fairly numerous. At Escuintla the passengers were obliged to change to the Central Railroad and take the train which had come up from the coast on its way to the capital.
After leaving Escuintla the road skirts around the base of Agua and begins to climb up the mountain range. In the next thirteen miles the road ascends more than twenty-five hundred feet, which takes it into another zone. The track crosses numerous large and deep gorges. The tangled, tropical forests have disappeared and coffee and cane plantations become numerous. The smooth slopes of Agua and Fuego are rich in cultivation. At nearly every station women appear with all kinds of fruits for sale, as well as eggs, cakes, dulces (candies), etc. Never did I eat more delicious pineapples than those secured right here. They were great, luscious, toothsome fruits. Oranges cannot compare with the cultivated and developed fruit of California, but bananas were fine and much better than the fruit generally sold at our own fruit stands.
Lake Amatitlan is passed and a pretty little body of water it is nestling in the hollow of the hills. There are many boiling springs near its shores, which show how near it is to the unsettled forces of nature. The washwomen take advantage of this water heated by nature, as it saves them trouble and fuel and is always ready for use. The villages become more numerous as the city is approached, and factory buildings and the white walls of the haciendas which dot the landscape here and there make a pleasing contrast. Some lava beds are passed showing that nature has created disturbances in the past quite freely. At last the final ridge is passed, and there, nestling in the valley, is the City of Guatemala. Its situation is somewhat similar to the valley of Mexico, though it is not nearly so large; neither are the surrounding barriers of the mountains so high; nor are the lakes present, which gave the City of Mexico the name of the New-World Venice.
A couple of years ago it was impossible to travel by rail all the way from Guatemala City to the Gulf coast, and it was necessary to leave the city on the back of that sadly-wise, much-neglected creature—the mule, for there was no carriage road. This method of travel entails hardships, but I believe that it has its compensations. Byron says:
“Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase,