On the Mexican Highlands, with a Passing Glimpse of Cuba

by William Seymour Edwards

After so long a sojourn upon high, dry, parched land, it was a delight to be again upon the sea. The restless waters tossed our sturdy boat as though it were a cork. I slept soundly, despite the rolling of the ship and the hammering of the surging billows against the shell of my cabin, and I was among the first to respond to the six o’clock bells summoning the hungry to their desayuno. These vessels follow the customs of the majority of their passengers and serve meals in Spanish fashion—desayuno from six to seven—coffee and rolls to whosoever may care to partake of them—and, about ten o’clock the almuerzo, the regular breakfast, a hearty meal; then the comida, the middle of the afternoon; while later between seven and eight o’clock cena is served, a light repast, a cross betwixt the English tea and supper.

All day the wind blew steadily from the northwest, and the Mexican travelers spent most of their time doubled above the rails like bended hairpins. During the afternoon the gale increased. Great banks of cloud, black and ominous, rolled down upon us, and, toward the close of the day, torrents of rain descended. Few passengers, by this time, remained upon the decks, and the group who gathered with the captain at the evening meal could be counted on the hand. As night drew on the winds boomed louder and terror took possession of the unseasoned landsmen from Yucatan. But I felt no symptoms of seasickness, and the splendid sea-strength of this vessel gave me a sense of safety and repose. I wedged myself into my berth, so that I might not be thrown out, and lulled by the roaring of the storm and the rolling and plunging of the ship, fell peacefully asleep. When I at last awoke, the sun was long up, and the clouds were mostly drifted to the south. We were double-anchored in the open roadstead off Progresso, four miles from the shore. South of us, all along the coast, we could see the crests of the gigantic surf beating upon the sandy marge of Yucatan. No boat of less strength than our own, might dare to ride out such a storm; no vessels can venture to us from the shore until the waters subside. There are no harbors along the entire coast of the Yucatan peninsula. The only ports are Campeche and Progresso, and ships must lie three or four miles out in the open sea and passengers and freight must be taken on and off in lighters, greatly to the disadvantage of commerce. Above the white lines of the foaming breakers, we can see the tops of the waving cocoanut and royal palms, and between them the white buildings of Progresso. Back of Progresso, some thirty miles, lies the city of Merida, but a few feet above the level of the sea, the commercial center of the world’s heniquen or sisal grass trade. An enormous export business in this grass has sprung up since the beginning of the Philippine war, when the Manila hemp trade fell away. Natural conditions here favor the growth of the fiber, it increasing with little cultivation and great crops being raised. Millions of dollars have been accumulated in late years by the fortunate planters of Merida, and no city in Mexico has so suddenly advanced in wealth.

THE LITTLE BOYS LEAVING OUR SHIP

During the afternoon we saw our first shore-boats, and we are promised that to-morrow, even though it be Sunday, the cargo shall be taken off. Two small boats have ventured out, and into one of them have been thrown the mails which an awaiting train will quickly take to Merida, but until morning no passengers will be permitted to go ashore, nor will any freight be landed.

To-day we have seen our first sea birds, and a very few flying fish, while, since early dawn, there has traveled around the ship a continuous procession of sharks, their sharp dorsal fins constantly showing above the waters. Some of the passengers have been fishing for them, but as yet none have been caught and, I am told, they are very shy. While they will accompany a ship all the way to Havana, yet so suspicious are they of the fisherman’s line that they are rarely captured.

This morning I stood looking down upon the deck next below me, watching a company of thirty or forty little boys aged from ten to twelve and fourteen years, one little girl among them, seemingly sister to one of the younger boys. They were mostly sitting in groups of four and five tossing centavos and shouting with delight. They were gambling away the few coins in their possession. A couple of sailors came up, seized two of the little boys and stood them up in front of each other. The prisoners seemed to comprehend the intention of their captors, and immediately fell to fighting desperately, until one knocked out the other, just as a couple of game cocks will go to fighting when placed in opposition. As soon as one of them had been vanquished, his sailor patron shoved him to one side, as something now quite useless, and grabbing another boy, set him in front of the victor. Then, at it they went again, and many of the children stopped their play to look on. The Mexicans about me were betting on the fights and apparently enjoying the pastime. I inquired who were these children, and learned them to be a company, who had mostly been stolen from the streets of Mexico and neighboring towns, and was told some had been bought from the state orphan asylums, at ten dollars a head, upon the payment of the price no questions being asked as to their destination. They are being taken into practical slavery to be speedily worked to death by the heniquen planters of Yucatan. They are delivered to the plantations and there perish rapidly from poor food, harsh treatment, yellow fever, and the bites of insects which burrow into their unprotected legs and arms. They are said to die off like flies, the effort of the buyer being to get out of them his money’s worth in work before they die. The children know nothing of their fate, until they are delivered to their death. The little fellows before me were in great glee through all the voyage; each had been presented with a few silver coins, the first many of them had seen in all their lives, and the joy of possession set them to gambling merrily all the day through. This traffic in children is said to have been long established and to be winked at by the Mexican authorities. Later on, we watched them climb down the side of the ship and enter the lighters, shouting with glee at the prospect of going to “the lovely new homes in the country,” where their captors pretended, would be their journey’s end.

OFF FOR PROGRESSO

It was late Monday evening when we set sail from Progresso. All day long we were discharging cargo into the lighters, which swarmed around us, while after the passengers and cargo departed larger vessels brought out bales of heniquen, which were quickly stowed below.