As the gray dawn brightened over the mountains, the numerous white cascades attracted enough attention to keep us from the drowsiness we were both falling into from the darkness, cold, and dampness, and the slow gait of our horses. Fire-flies were still sparkling when it was light enough to see the road.
It was quite early when we came to Tamahù; and as we entered the little town (1,517 inhabitants), which is twelve leagues from Coban, we saw a shrine with images as horrible as any of the idols of the ancient Polynesians. Most of the houses had tiled roofs, and looked neat and comfortable. At one of the best we stopped for coffee; and while the preparations for our meal were going on, Frank and I went up to the church hard by. The door was tied with a rope, and we found little of interest within, except images closely resembling East Indian idols, and around all a flavor of mild decay. Our hostess—for always it was the señora who managed the hospitalities and took the pay therefor—gave us rolls and fried plantains with our good coffee, and the table and bench were of some choice wood, darker and harder than mahogany. Fine roses blossomed in the yard (it was November), and cotton-dyeing and weaving, the principal industries of the town, were carried on in nearly every house. Lime-burning and tile-making also employ a goodly number of the people.
As we rode into the country, we passed many clumps of a fine arborescent composite some twenty feet high,—one of the giants of this great and widely spread family. Crimson lobelias (like cardinal-flowers) with red stems, crenulate leaves, and a very unpleasant odor, were common. The road was badly gullied, and the nightly rains had made the Polochic, which still kept at our side, an angry looking torrent quite unfordable. The grades of the road were good, and showed engineering skill and constant care; but for all this my horse broke down before noon, as I had expected, and our boy, after some consultation with the drivers of a mule-train we passed, captured a stray mule for me and turned the horse loose. All the horses here seem so feeble, and many of the mules so sore, that I seriously thought of capturing one of the powerful bulls feeding peaceably by the path, and riding him in true African style; but Frank earnestly dissuaded me, so we had to walk half the time to save our wretched hacks.
Through the mud we rode into Tactic, four leagues farther on, at half-past one o’clock. The barometer recorded 4,650 feet; but this was not high enough to insure dry roads at this season. The town, of some thirteen hundred inhabitants, seemed prosperous; the houses were of a better class than any we had yet seen, and the gardens were full of fruit-trees and vegetables. Tree-abutilons, both pink and crimson, were covered with blossoms, and peach-trees bore both blossoms and unripe fruit. The roads were quite too muddy for foot-travel, except in native undress. The corridors of the houses generally had carved posts and lintels, and the central tile of the ridge was usually fashioned into a cross, with two lambs or doves as supporters. The casa municipal was a noteworthy building. In gardens we saw fine coffee-trees, and were told that here there are three blossomings in May, and as many harvestings in December; the first and third are small, while the second is large. Roses were even finer than at Tamahù; and a little girl gave me a bunch of a kind much like the old-fashioned cabbage-rose. Most of the inhabitants are Indios of the Poconchi tribe.
Roof Tile.
The façade of the church is ornamented with dumpy statues of saints, and the main altar is elaborately carved. We noticed a picture of three men in the flames of Sheol,—whether Hell or Purgatory we could not tell; one wore a tiara, another a mitre, while the third had on a plain four-cornered canonical cap. In front of the church we bought twenty jocotes (Spondias sp.) for a medio. There are several varieties of this plum-like fruit, and the red is larger and better than the yellow. When quite ripe, the rather tender skin contains a juicy yellow pulp around a rough stone. From the fermented juice chicha is made,—much used as a mild intoxicant, not unlike thin cider.
As we rode out of town we saw that the suburban gardens were much overrun by squash and bean vines. Maiz stood fifteen feet high; far up on the hills we saw cornfields (milpas), having in their midst dwelling-houses almost in the clouds, and seemingly built like swallows’ nests against the steep hillside. The campo santo, or cemetery, was surrounded by adobe walls, and seemed utterly neglected. We had seen in the church, and now found by the roadside, a fine red and yellow orchid, and another pure white one, as well as the cardinal-flower. All day there had been showers; and when we arrived at Santa Cruz, long after dark, we were wet, in spite of our ponchos and the water would run into our boots.
There was no posada, so our boy declared, and we had to try the cabildo for the first time. The Escuela por Niños, or “school for ninnies,” as Frank persisted in calling it, was placed at our disposal; but the floor was bare, hard concrete, and we had no mats, while there was no chance to hang our hammocks. It was not inviting; but one of the attendants kindly brought two mahogany settees from the court-room, and this was so hard a couch that one might be pardoned for going to bed with boots on,—and mine were so wet that I feared I should not get them on in the morning if they once came off. We needed food quite as much as a bed, and at last found rolls and coffee at a little shop near at hand. At four o’clock in the morning there was an earthquake, which did not wake Frank, though it jarred my bed as though some one had run against it in the dark. This shock was felt, as we afterwards found, at Coban, San Cristobal, and for miles around. Slight earthquakes are said to be common enough here, but we saw no evidence of severe ones.
In the morning at half-past five, while Roberto was saddling the horses, we visited the church and found many curiously carved and gilded altar-pieces. After performing our ablutions in a puddle in the road, left by the last night’s rain, we got our coffee and hastened on our way, as it was Friday, and we still had twelve miles to ride to Coban.