E-text prepared by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
([http://www.pgdp.net])
from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive
([https://archive.org])

GUATEMALA

Works of

NEVIN O. WINTER

❦

Mexico and Her People of To-day $3.00

Guatemala and Her People of To-day 3.00

❦

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY

New England Building, Boston, Mass.

PRESIDENT CABRERA.

GUATEMALA AND

HER PEOPLE OF

TO-DAY

BEING AN ACCOUNT OF

THE LAND, ITS HISTORY AND DEVELOPMENT;

THE PEOPLE, THEIR CUSTOMS AND

CHARACTERISTICS; TO WHICH ARE ADDED

CHAPTERS ON BRITISH HONDURAS AND

THE REPUBLIC OF HONDURAS, WITH REFERENCES

TO THE OTHER COUNTRIES OF CENTRAL

AMERICA, SALVADOR, NICARAGUA,

AND COSTA RICA

BY

NEVIN O. WINTER

AUTHOR OF “MEXICO AND HER PEOPLE OF TO-DAY”

ILLUSTRATED FROM ORIGINAL AND

SELECTED PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR

BOSTON ❦ ❦ L. C. PAGE

AND COMPANY ❦ MDCCCCIX

Copyright, 1909,

By L. C. Page & Company

(INCORPORATED)

All rights reserved

First Impression, July, 1909

Electrotyped and Printed by

THE COLONIAL PRESS

C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A.

The author’s route is printed in red.
(Click on the map for a larger version.)

TO

MY SISTER

For the better understanding of the pronunciation of the names of towns and places in Guatemala and other parts of Spanish-America, the rule for their pronunciation is herewith given:

PREFACE

The very generous reception accorded “Mexico and Her People of To-day,” by both public and press, has led the author to believe that there is a field for a book upon a part of Central America covered by him in his travels, prepared on the same general lines as that book, and treating of the people and their customs, as well as the country, its resources and present state of development. There is also the belief in the mind of the author that the English-speaking people of America are becoming more and more interested each year in the “other Americans,” those who speak the Latin tongues; but who proudly call themselves “Americans” also, and are as proud of the New World as those of Anglo-Saxon birth. This is his explanation, or apology, for giving to the public another book, which he hopes will receive as kindly a welcome as its predecessor.

This book is not the result of hurried preparation, and its faults, whatever they may be, are not the result of hasty compilation. Following a tour through Guatemala and Honduras a careful reading of the available literature upon those countries has been made, and the work of preparation has spread over a period of almost two years. Care has been taken that the statements herein made should be true to the facts, and reliable. The publishers have done their part well in their efforts to make the book attractive and pleasing to the eye, and an ornament to the library. It is hoped that the wide range of subjects will render the volume of interest and value to anyone interested in the countries described.

The author desires to express his acknowledgment of obligation to Mr. I. W. Copelin for the use of a number of photographs taken by him during a recent visit to Guatemala; also to the publishers of the World To-day and Leslie’s Weekly, for permission to use material and photographs which had first appeared in their publications.

Toledo, Ohio, June, 1909.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

GUATEMALA

CHAPTER I
TOLTEC LAND

There is a vast amount of ignorance and wrong conception prevalent concerning the republics of Central America. Mexico has been exploited a great deal in recent years and the whereabouts of Panama on the map is now pretty generally known, but the five republics lying between these two countries have been too much overlooked by recent writers. We are sometimes inclined to appropriate the term republic and the name American to ourselves as though we held a copyright on these words. And yet here at our very doors are five nations, each of which lays great stress on the term republic as applied to itself, and whose citizens proudly call themselves Americanos.

The ideas of many concerning the Central American republics are drawn from the playlife of popular novels and the comic-opera stage. Although there may have been some foundation for their portrayal of political life along the shores of the Caribbean Sea, and there are some things approaching the burlesque to our eyes, yet there is a more serious side to life in these countries. There are thousands of Guatemalans, Honduraneans, Costa Ricans, Salvadoreans, and Nicaraguans, who are seriously trying to solve the problem of self-government, and they are improving each year. A whole country can not be plowed up and resown in a season as the corn-fields of last year were transformed by the farmers into the waving fields of golden grain this year. It is a long and hard task that is before these struggling Spanish-Americans, but they are now on the right road and will win. They deserve our sympathetic consideration rather than ridicule; and it behooves Americans to inform themselves concerning a people about whom they have thrown a protecting mantle in the shape of the Monroe Doctrine, and who lie at our very doors. Furthermore, the opportunities for commercial conquest invite the earnest thought and study of the great American public.

Guatemala, the largest and most important of these republics, has been described as the privileged zone of Central America and is easily reached from both sides by steamers, and will soon be connected with the northern republics by rail. It is a country of mountains, tropical forests, lakes, rivers, coast and plains. No portion of the earth presents a greater diversity of level in an equal amount of surface, or a greater variety of climate. Humboldt, the great traveller, described it as an extremely fertile and well cultivated country more than a century ago. To this day, however, there are great tracts of fertile virgin lands open to cultivation.

There are three minor mountain systems in the country. Of these the northern series is composed chiefly of denuded cones from fifteen hundred to two thousand feet high with plains between; the central consists of ranges running from east to west and reaching a height of from seven to fourteen thousand feet; the southern branch comprises a number of volcanic peaks which culminate in several notable volcanoes. These ranges parallel the Pacific and are known as the Cordilleras.

The Pacific side of Central America, from Guatemala to Nicaragua, is a highly volcanic region, and Guatemala has her full share. The many companion peaks and notched ranges as they are seen from the sea look like great fangs. In no country in the world can one find a greater number of perfect cones than in Guatemala where there are scores of these peaks ranging from Tajumulco (13,814 feet), and Tacana (13,334 feet), down to small cones only a few hundred feet above the sea level, yet maintaining the characteristic outline. Many of the peaks have never been ascended so that little is known about their formation. All of these volcanoes are now extinct, or at least quiescent, except Santa Maria (10,535 ft.), from which smoke and steam constantly issue out of a fissure, or crater, on the side several hundred feet from the top of the cone or crater proper. This volcano had been quiet so long that it was looked upon as extinct until early in April, 1902, rumblings were heard, and suddenly it belched forth mud and sand, throwing the latter fifty miles or more. By this eruption Quezaltenango, hitherto an enterprising town and second city in the republic, was almost ruined, and several thousand of its inhabitants destroyed. A number of villages near the base of the mountain were almost completely demolished and a part of Ocos, the most northerly Pacific port, sank into the sea during one of the earthquakes which accompanied the eruption.

Since the settlement of the country in 1522 there are recorded some fifty eruptions and more than three hundred earthquakes, the last of which was in 1903. Nearly half of these eruptions were by Fuego, which has been quiescent for a number of years. This list does not include many little earthquakes of mild quality which frequently occur, thus showing that the cooling and wrinkling process of the earth is still proceeding. Innumerable hot springs are found in nearly every part of the country, while beds of scoriae, lava and great quantities of volcanic sand present in so many places testify to the numerous upheavals that have taken place in centuries now past.

In former times the natives are said to have cast living maidens into the craters of the volcanoes to appease the spirits or gods who were supposed to be angry. Later, after Christianity was introduced, the priests held masses and the people formed processions to calm the angry mountains, until finally the happy thought struck the priests of baptizing the volcanoes and formally receiving them into the church in order to make them good. This was finally done, but the “goodness” did not last, for even Santa Maria, supposed to be one of the “saintliest,” went back to her old tricks, and her fall from grace was more disastrous than any of the other recorded instances of her uncertain disposition.

In the hollows of the mountains lie a number of beautiful lakes. Lakes Atitlan and Amatitlan are beautiful bodies of water almost as blue as the famous Swiss lakes and reposing in nearly as beautiful locations. The former is at an elevation of more than a mile, has no visible outlet and its depth is unknown. To replace the effect of the glacier-topped Alps there are the graceful conical peaks of the volcanoes. Lake Peten is another large lake about twenty-seven miles in length, but it is less beautiful and less accessible than those first mentioned. The town of Flores, capital of that province, is situated on an island in the lake. Lake Izabal, so called, but really an arm of the ocean, is the largest lake, being about forty miles long and from twelve to twenty miles in width. A few of the streams are navigable a short distance from the ocean for light craft, but none of them are very much aid to commerce except, perhaps, the Polochic, which pours itself into Lake Izabal.

From the Bulletin of the International Bureau of American Republics.
LAKE AMATITLAN; WITH THE VOLCANOES OF AGUA AND FUEGO.

There are about one hundred and sixty miles of coast line on the Atlantic, or Gulf, side of the republic. Puerto Barrios is the chief port now because of the railway terminal having been established at that place and it has been in existence less than twenty-five years. The Spaniards established no large settlement on this coast and the nearest city was Coban, at an altitude of four thousand feet, and about one hundred miles from the coast. To the English, who were always seeking to establish coast towns for the benefit of commerce, and with whom there were few inland cities, the location of the principal cities inland seems strange. Yet south of us in Central America, where the continent grows narrow and wrinkled, scowling as it were, a territory larger than all New England, this was the universal practice.

A commercial nation would long ago have established a harbour at Livingston, about twenty-five miles north of Puerto Barrios. It is situated on a bluff where a large city should be located, and has a far better climate than Vera Cruz, Mexico. Although several hundred years old it is still nothing but a crude wall and palm-thatched village. Lowell has said “What is so rare as a day in June?” Here it is a perpetual June where the thermometer seldom exceeds 86 degrees, and it is generally considerably below that. Yellow fever has never become epidemic here, and the deaths from it, and other tropical fevers, are fewer than the victims of tuberculosis in northern climates. Livingston is at the mouth of the Rio Dulce (Sweet River), which, after a few miles inland from the coast, broadens out into Lake Izabal, and this lake would make a beautiful and commodious harbour, large enough to hold all the navies of the world. At the present time some sand bars impede the passage of vessels, but a few dredges would soon make a fine channel into the lake, where vessels would be perfectly protected from the severe “northers” which sometimes sweep over the Gulf.

The Pacific coast line with its indentations is almost three hundred miles long. The commerce in the early days was nearly all carried on through the small ports on this coast and transported to the cities in the interior. Guatemala City, Quezaltenango, Totonicapan and all the other principal cities on this slope, except Retalhuleu and Mazatenango, are located at a distance of from sixty to one hundred miles from the sea, which meant a journey of from two to five days by the old means of conveyance which are still necessary to reach many of those centres of population.

Guatemala contains fifty thousand six hundred square miles, being about the size of Illinois, and extends from the thirteenth to the seventeenth degree north latitude. Its greatest length from north to south is three hundred and sixty miles, and its greatest breadth from east to west is three hundred and ninety miles. The range of mountains, or Cordilleras, which runs through the country northeasterly and southwesterly, seems to be a connecting link between the Rocky and Andes ranges. The climate varies through the background of mountains, the sloping direction, the nearness to the sea, or the direction and force of the periodical winds. Depending upon altitude the climate ranges from torrid heat on the coast to regions where snow occasionally falls on the crest of the mountains. The tierra caliente (hot land) is the name given to those lands up to two thousand feet high. From two thousand to five thousand feet is found the tierra templada, and above that is the tierra fria (the cold land). From May to October the rainy season occurs with great regularity. The coldest months are December and January, and the hottest months March and April. By reason of this variation in temperature and soil, all the products of the torrid and temperate zones can be cultivated.

The average person has a habit of associating tropical lands with the idea of intense and disagreeable heat. This person does not stop to think that the conditions are often much different from what they seem on the map. Even at the equator, which one would naturally think almost uninhabitable, the upland sections are just as well adapted for the abode of white people as the temperate zone. If one should start at sea level, at the equator, and ascend the mountains one mile, he will experience the same change in temperature as to go due north one thousand miles. If he goes up another mile he will find the summer temperature lower than in that part of North America twenty-five hundred miles north of the equator. The same is true in Central America, for climate is determined by altitude and not by nearness to the equatorial line. The population of Guatemala in 1904 was estimated to be 1,842,000, of whom about fifty per cent are full blooded Indians and forty per cent are Ladinos, or those of mixed blood. The Ladinos are descendants of the early Spanish conquerors and natives and are generally superior to the natives, although in some instances they seem to have inherited the evil of both races. The remaining ten per cent comprise the Creole, or Spanish, population, who form the aristocracy. A few thousand foreigners are also engaged in business in the country.

Guatemala is a republic modelled in form after the United States. It is made up of twenty-two provinces, termed departmentos, whose chief officer is called a jefe politico and who is appointed by the president. The departmentos are again subdivided into municipal districts, of which there are three hundred and thirty-one, at the head of which is one or several alcaldes, or mayors. Again, for political purposes, the country is divided into thirty-eight electoral districts. There is a congress of deputies elected by the people on the basis of one deputy for each twenty thousand inhabitants. The President is elected by an electoral college for a term of six years. He is not supposed to be re-elected without one term intervening, but this little matter never seems to trouble an ambitious President, for, if Congress is favourable, the law can easily be changed. He has six secretaries and an additional advisory body of nine members of whom a majority are selected by the House of Deputies and the remainder appointed. There has never been a real President, for each one has been a practical dictator, and made the attempt, at least, to run everything his own way. A dictator, however, like Porfirio Diaz, one who was far-sighted enough to see what was for the best interest of his country and had the ability to carry into effect his ideas for the upbuilding of his country, would do far more for Guatemala in her present condition than a man elected president by popular suffrage.

It was curiosity, the mother of science, that became the mother of the new world, gave birth to continents, islands and seas, and gave form as well as boundary to the earth. After the first few discoveries were made the sea soon carried the Spanish galleons to the newly-discovered lands filled with the cavaliers and peasants of that country. These adventurers who carried the flag of Spain into the New World were men of great physical endurance, but possessed of little character, and that little dwarfed by the lust of gold. They were soldiers of fortune who came to destroy and not to create. Even Columbus, who ranked high above the other conquistadores in character, was led to make his first landing on the American mainland by the sight of natives wearing pieces of pure gold suspended around their necks along the shores of the Caribbean Sea. In looking for the source of this gold supply he made an expedition of several weeks in what is now the republic of Honduras, but without profitable results. No serious attempts at colonizing were made until the chief lieutenant of Cortez, Pedro de Alvarado, made his memorable and historic expedition against the Quiché tribe, of the wealth of which people marvellous reports had been brought. Alvarado was a past graduate of the Cortez school of intrigue, deception and duplicity, and soon made himself master of the province which was designated as the Kingdom of Guatemala. He was reckless, impetuous, and merciless; lacking in veracity if not common honesty, but zealous and courageous. His forces comprised one hundred and twenty horsemen, three hundred infantry, including one hundred and thirty cross-bowmen, and twenty thousand picked native warriors. Spain was at once declared the sovereign power and Alvarado was established as the representative of that government. The incidents of the conquest of Mexico were repeated in a smaller and less impressive way since the number of the natives was not so great, and no powerful and advanced tribe such as the Aztecs held sway.

The Quiché Indians were, at that time, the most powerful tribe in Guatemala, but the domination of the country was shared with the Cakchiquels and Zutugils. News of the white men with their wonderful weapons of warfare had already reached these people. Kicab Tanub, King of the Quichés, tried to form an alliance with the other kings against the invading forces, but failed. This conference was held at Totonicapan and was attended by two hundred thousand warriors with great barbaric display. The Zutugils entered into an alliance with Alvarado after receiving certain promises. Alas! for the proffered friendship and friendly hand. It meant only vassalage for the natives and death for the kings.

Thus by lying, deceit, intrigue, duplicity and even the good offices of some of the priests, the power of these mighty tribes was broken and the rule of Spain installed, and a new order of things was established. The people, except a few powerful chiefs, were enslaved. These few chiefs were released upon accepting baptism and went forth as missionaries to their people. Thousands of the natives were set at work making bricks, bringing stone and other building materials for the capital, which was established in a beautiful valley between the mountains in the very shadow of two volcanic peaks which were destined to bring death and disaster upon the invaders, as if in revenge for their trampling upon the rights and freedom of those to whom this valley rightfully belonged. The labour of tens of thousands of enslaved natives resulted in a beautiful city which was overthrown and destroyed in a night of terrible thunder and lightning, of frightful rumblings of the earth, and of a terrific rushing of waters which laid the whole city waste.

CHAPTER II
FROM OCEAN TO OCEAN

After a tour of the land of the Aztecs I embarked at Salina Cruz, that new Pacific port of Mexico whose importance in the commercial world is just beginning to be felt, and started on a journey to the land of the Toltecs. Passage was taken on the good ship Menes of the Kosmos Line, and never were passengers in better hands. There were only five first-class passengers and they made rather a cosmopolitan gathering in the cabin each evening. They were an American, a Scotchman, an Englishman, a Spaniard and a Columbian and these, together with three members of the crew, the captain, doctor and first officer, all Germans, made up the personnel of those who gathered around the table at each meal. I did not mention that there were ten Mexican bulls that had taken passage on the first cabin deck destined for a bull-fight in Guatemala City. As these animals were safely boxed up, however, they were not very sociable on the trip and scarcely made their presence known by even a bellow.

These coasting vessels are unique in the carrying trade. They have an extraordinary amount of deck space and carry everything from mail to fresh lettuce, and perform the functions of a freight steamer and market gardener. Your beefsteak or mutton of to-morrow stands on the hoof in the hatchway below, gazing up at you with inquiring eyes, and, on the upper deck, barnyard fowls blink reproachfully at you through the slats of their double-decked coops. The roustabout crew are Chilean rotos, who look as though they might be pleased to stick a knife between one’s ribs. There are few tourists in the American sense of the word, and the passengers are mostly German, English or Yankee drummers, or engineers bound for railroads or mines in Central or South America, with occasionally a native army officer or merchant travelling from one port to another.

The harbours all along this coast are open roadsteads and the lack of harbour accommodations was evident at the first stop, San Benito, the southernmost port in Mexico, and only a few miles from the Guatemala boundary. The vessel anchored almost a mile from the shore. Because of a high surf it was necessary to wait a half-day before the harbour official could come out, and nothing can be done until this formality is complied with. At last a lighter, pulled by eight brown oarsmen standing up on a running-board, flying a tattered Mexican flag at the rear and a yellow quarantine flag at the fore, approached. San Benito boasts a lighthouse consisting of a light sustained on two high poles, a signal station similar to a band-stand in appearance, and a warehouse. A donkey-engine is employed to pull the boat through the heavy surf by means of a cable. After unloading a mixed cargo and taking on three thousand bags of coffee destined for Hamburg, all of which required three days, the ship steamed to Ocos, the first port in Guatemala. The massive iron pier at this place was destroyed by the last earthquake in 1902, and it required a day to unload the cargo there and take on a few hundred bags of coffee, and then we started for Champerico.

LANDING AT CHAMPERICO.

Guatemala is a corruption of an Indian word meaning “a land covered with trees.” And so it seemed, for the whole shore was a dense, impenetrable forest of tropical growth, whose topmost points are the plumes of waving palms, clear to the background of mountains, from which arise many volcanic peaks, making a beautiful and impressive sight. We were aroused in the morning by the snorting and puffing of a little tug which now enlivens the harbor of Champerico and jerks the lighters around with a great show of hustle. Because of the shallow water, it is necessary to anchor out some distance from the shore, and the cargo, as well as passengers, is carried back and forth in these boats. After such a wait as the dignity of the occasion demands, the commandante came out rich in gold embroidered blue coat and yellow-striped red trousers. The captain escorted him into the cabin where a few samples of bottled goods were inspected. A couple of hours later the commandante came out smiling, even if a little less steady on his feet, and we were permitted to land. Landing at this port is, in itself, quite an undertaking, for the passenger is seated in a chair which is whisked over the side of the boat by a steam crane and dropped into a waiting lighter, together with a medley of boxes, barrels, trunks, personal luggage, and various other kinds of impedimenta. The lighter was quickly drawn to the great, lofty pier by the spiteful little tug with which it was connected by a long hawser. When near the pier the hawser was dropped, but the distance was well calculated and the lighter calmly floated to the proper place, and we were lifted up to the pier in another chair by a similar operation. The process is probably less dangerous than it looks, but the passenger breathes freer when the operation is over with and he is safely landed in this land of political disturbances and make-believe money. It cost me seven dollars to land, but when they exchanged six dollars for one Mexican peso, it was not so expensive, for the Mexican eagle on a silver dollar was only worth half as much as the proud bird of Uncle Samuel in the same place.

The piers at Guatemala ports are all the property of private companies operating under concessions, that simply receive passengers at a fixed charge and freight at a given rate for each hundred pounds and transport it to the custom-house, which is invariably at the end of the pier, so that there is no chance for escape from the customs officers. Baggage exceeding one hundred pounds becomes quite a burden as the charges are excessive for the service rendered. The Aduana, or custom-house, is no unimportant factor in the scheme of government here as there is very little that escapes duty, although it is hinted that some of the duties collected never reach the government coffers. Then, in addition to an import customs, there is even an export duty on coffee which gives the little, uniformed officials more to do.

My experience with these officials gave the first insight into the suspicion with which a stranger is regarded in that country during troublous times, and nearly all times are more or less unsettled under the present government. The two officials carefully scrutinized every article. A number of letters that I had received in Mexico attracted their attention, both officials carefully scrutinizing each one until they reached a letter of introduction to “His most Excellent and Illustrious Señor Don ——,” a member of the President’s Cabinet, when they carefully placed everything back and politely told me that there was no duty to be paid. The name of one so close to the President seemed to remove all suspicion of smuggling at least. I was obliged to give them my name and destination, as I had already done at the pier, and was met by an officer at the door who conducted me to the commandante’s office, where my whole pedigree was asked; and again at the station the same interrogatories had to be answered. All of these experiences were amusing rather than otherwise, for no discourtesy was shown and all the soldiers were polite. They simply served to break the monotony of tedious travel.

“Is there a revolution in Guatemala now?”

This was about the first question I asked after sitting down to breakfast in the dining-room of a small boarding-house run by a German woman. The question was prompted by definite reports which had reached us at San Benito, Mexico, that ex-President Barillas was at Tapachula with about twenty-five followers “armed to the teeth.” At any time, however, it would be the proper question to ask at breakfast, or not later than dinner, for revolutions are the only things that occur in a hurry down there.

Absolute silence followed the question for some time. Finally, a native Guatemaltecan (thus it is they write it and not Guatemalan) answered with “No, there is no revolution.”

After this man had gone out, an American who had been sitting at the table took up the question and said that there was considerable talk of a revolution because of dissatisfaction, and the government was very much alarmed. He added, “We have to be very careful what we say, as spies are everywhere, and the man who first answered you is one of them.”

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,

And marvel men should quit their easy chair,

The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace,

Oh, there is sweetness in the mountain air,

And life, that bloated ease can never hope to share.”

THE VOLCANO AGUA.

Two other Americans, residents of the country, were going and invited me to join them. The liveries wanted three hundred dollars each from us for three saddle mules, a cargo mule and mozo (servant). An old Indian in the country furnished the same for sixty-five dollars each—just about five dollars in gold—which was cheap enough for a four days’ journey to the railroad and back.

It was the intention of our party to start at five o’clock in the morning, as we had to cover forty-eight miles that day in order to reach a decent stopping-place for the night. The old Indian did not show up until nearly six, and he then came very much excited for some one had broken into his stable and stolen a saddle and a couple of bridles. He was able, however, to fit us out in fairly respectable style, and we started on our long and—to me—uncomfortable but never-to-be-forgotten journey. It was just at sunrise and the beauty of the picture as we left the city and climbed the encircling girdle of hills will ever remain with me. I could not refrain from looking back several times at the historic old city with its low buildings and lofty churches which seemed to have such an unusual height. The bells were ringing out the mass and all was quiet, for the traffic had not yet begun in the city. In the distance the great volcano Agua looked down upon the slumbering city from its stately, cloud-flecked cone.

A few drivers of oxen had started their awkward trains for the day’s work. The skill with which these drivers guided, turned, stopped, and started these bulky “critters,” who draw their loads entirely from the yokes attached to their horns, is remarkable. No goad or whip was needed, for a long slim stick, and a shrill, sibilant hiss, seemed all that was necessary to guide them. With heads bowed in submission, these mild-eyed beasts of burden and faithful friends of man seemed to obey the carreteros implicitly except when, once in a while, an unruly one might display a slight perverseness. Then it was a revelation to listen to the blood-curdling blasphemy that poured forth in an unremitting stream from the amber-hued driver’s lips.

For about twenty miles there is a rough carriage road, and many journeyed in vehicles that far in order to avoid as much of the long ride on mules as possible. The scenery is beautiful as the road winds along near a stream for a long distance. We caught many glimpses of domestic scenes in the little huts along the road where the chickens, pigs and dogs seemed as much at home in the house, which usually consists of one room, as any of the human members. One writer gives an account of stopping at one of these huts at night. He says that

OX-CART AND NATIVE DRIVER.

“ten human beings, twelve chickens, three pigs, and insects innumerable passed the night in a room not more than twenty feet square.” I can well believe in the literal truth of this statement from the sights that I saw all over the country.

The most interesting feature of the journey was the constant stream of men and women on the road, most of them headed for Guatemala City. The visitor to this country who confines his journeying to the iron horse misses these unique experiences and can not get so good an insight into the country and its people as he who is willing to endure a little hardship.

After about a seven hours’ continuous journey we reached a place called Agua Caliente (the warm water) where we were to obtain our dinner. This was an event anxiously awaited by me, for I was saddle-weary and nearly exhausted, not being accustomed to the saddle, and especially to mountain roads. Imagine my disappointment when the “posada” consisted of a poor cottage where a half dozen naked children were running around, none of whom would satisfy the modern conception of cleanliness. The only articles of furniture were some benches and a poor excuse for a table.

Even tables are dispensed with in some of these houses and meals are eaten off the shelves. The fewer the articles of furniture, however, the fewer lurking places are provided for cockroaches, scorpions or centipedes. The kitchen outfit consisted of a sort of stove made of plaster and sticks, a pot or two, a tin pan, a few earthen jugs, and a good metate on which to beat the tortillas into shape.

After some parleying the good housewife prepared for us tortillas, frijoles negros (black beans), some soft boiled eggs, and coffee. These people make a coffee essence by grinding and roasting, or burning, the coffee berries, which are then pulverized and boiled for hours. This essence is placed in bottles which are set on the table along with a jug of hot water so that you can dilute it to suit yourself. Although it tastes rather bitter at first, it has the merit of being a great stimulant, as I can testify from personal experience, and I grew to rather like it. The tortillas are made of corn which has first been soaked in lime water until pasty, and is then rolled, patted and tossed, and made into cakes in appearance about like pancakes. They require more labour in preparation than almost any other kind of food. Black beans are one of the staple foods of the country and will be found not only in the humble cottage of the peon at each meal, but on the table of the rich man at least twice a day.

I wanted a drink of water and so requested of the man of the house as soon as we arrived. “In a moment,” he said. In fifteen or twenty minutes I asked again for the water. The answer was a “momentita,” a little moment. I spoke of it several times, but after an hour and half’s rest we left and the “momentita” had not yet elapsed. It is simply an instance of the character of the people.

Journeying across country by mule, and over a rough road, is not a very sociable way to travel. My mule was the slowest gaited one and persisted in lagging behind about a quarter of a mile until I became too weary to spur him to greater effort. There was scarcely a mile of level road, but it was first up hill and then down, and the latter was hardest on the rider. The path in places was very narrow so that two mules could scarcely pass. On one side would be a sheer declivity of several hundred feet at the bottom of which a roaring mountain stream ran with deafening noise. On the other side was a wall of rock. The mule persisted in walking almost on the very edge much to my discomfort. I let him have his own way, however, according to advice, and had no reason to regret it. A surer footed animal never existed than the little tan mule allotted to me, for on dangerous paths he never made a misstep. Some of the descents were so steep that he was obliged to zigzag across the path to prevent slipping and possible fatality.

As we reached higher altitudes the views became more and more magnificent. We passed through groves of oaks and pines and encountered relatives of the thistle and sunflower that, in this land of botanical exuberance, have attained to the dignity of shrubs and trees. Olive-green mistletoe, in masses several feet in diameter, hung from high branches and there were birds so gay of plumage that they seemed like fragments of a disintegrated rainbow as they floated by us.

Copyright, 1907, by Judge Company, New York.
JOURNEYING ACROSS COUNTRY BY MULE.

It was four o’clock in the afternoon when we reached the crest of the mountain. One of my companions pointed out a village in the distance. “That,” he said, “is Sanarate, where we will stop to-night.” It seemed to me that we ought to reach it in about an hour. Our little party started to descend and we were an hour and half in reaching a level surface. Then we crossed a stream, went up a hill and still on, and always on, until darkness had fallen. Had I been alone I should have dropped off under a tree, or at a hut alongside the road, or done anything but go on. And yet I could not be blind to the magnificence of the night, for the skies were brilliant with thousands of stars unseen in these northern latitudes. At times I could forget my troubles and see only the blazing, radiant firmament. Thus it was that I followed the leaders, and finally, weary and aching, we entered the courtyard of a cheery-looking, comfortable hotel where the jolly German host made us welcome to the best his house afforded. Never did the smell of supper seem more refreshing, and never did palatable food taste better than it did that night to me in the fonda of Sanarate.

Here I experienced a sample of a native bed, if such an arrangement of folding sticks and tight-stretched canvas can be called a bed. It is a simple cot of canvas without a mattress, a microscopic pillow, and a few covers. One writer graphically describes his experience with such a cot: “I have tossed on this cot racked with fever, listening day and night to the discords of a neighbouring graphophone hoarsely venting grand opera and negro minstrelsy, my temperature at one hundred and seven, and with two hundred grains of quinine scattered through my anatomy. I wish my worst enemy a no more hideous experience.” I was, however, weary enough to sleep on a stone floor and never slept sounder than I did that night on that hard, unyielding cot, and awakened in the morning refreshed and ready for the remaining twenty-four miles of the journey.

Bright and early the next morning our little cavalcade left this cheerful hostelry and wended its way on toward the Gulf. We were thankful indeed that our lot had been cast in such a pleasant place. This hotel was made possible by the number of foreigners engaged in surveying and grading the new railroad which passed through this village. Few towns of this size in Guatemala can boast of a hotel, and, in the absence of such accommodations, the traveller is either obliged to take refuge at a native hut or in the cabildo, the public hall, which is always free and open to the traveller and is generally anything but an attractive place, for cleanliness is not one of its attributes, as it seems to be no one’s particular duty to look after it.

There were no such steep ascents or descents this day as we had on the first day’s journey through the mountainous region, although we were constantly going down into a lower altitude. Scarcely had we left the village until our path was sheltered from the sun by a wonderful curtain of vegetation that seemed to belong to fairy land. Woven into it were fantastic ferns, lianes that swung from the tops of lofty trees, splendid orchids and bromeliads, and the rustling, waving fronds of many palms. It was such a road as I had never seen before. Reaching the end of this enchanted road I saw my companions disappear down a densely-wooded ravine, for my mule was lagging behind as usual. I did not see them for more than an hour, as the ravine twisted and turned so much that one’s range of vision was very small, although the scenery was beautiful. The path crossed and re-crossed the little stream many times. I grew rather alarmed when the paths forked, but trusted to my nondescript steed rather from necessity than confidence. We finally left the ravine and came out upon the first level road we had travelled since leaving Guatemala City, and there were my companions at just about the regulation distance in advance.

The number of natives travelling on foot the same way we were going was unusually large and kept increasing each mile. All the by-paths contained their quota, who joined those on the main road, like the little rivulets which made up the great stream. All were dressed in their best, for that is usually about all they possess; at least their clothes were freshly washed and looked unusually well. Men, women and children, all in family groups, moved along at a rapid pace as if drawn by a powerful magnet.

The number of Indians kept increasing more and more for the next few miles, each carrying their baskets of food and many stopping along the road to eat. At last we reached a town where a fiesta was in progress, and this seemed to be their Mecca. All along the road from the capital we had noticed decorated arches erected over the road every few miles. A bishop had come to this village and these arches had been erected in his honour. It was the first time for nine years that a clergyman had been in that village. It was the duty of a priest living about thirty miles away to come here at least once each year to perform marriage ceremonies, baptisms, and other religious ceremonies. He started each year, but failed to come because he always got thoroughly saturated with liquor each time before he had travelled this far.

One incident happened here which rather discomfited an American liquor salesman whom I met. He had sent several mule cargoes of liquor over for the train that we were attempting to make in order to ship it to Honduras. It is necessary for each driver in charge of such merchandise to have a “guia” showing that all government fees had been paid. The driver did not have his in proper shape, so the commandante arrested the whole outfit, mules, driver, and whisky. They extracted a few gallons of the liquid cheer to aid in the proper celebration of the priest’s coming, and then let the driver proceed unmolested.

A journey of a few more hours brought us to Rancho San Agustin, or, as it is generally called, El Rancho, the end of our mule journey, for a train at that time ran once a week to Puerto Barrios. This train left El Rancho on Sunday morning at 6.30, taking two days for the one hundred and twenty-nine miles to the Gulf, and just making connection with the weekly mail steamer for New Orleans. Although we had travelled forty-eight miles the first day and twenty-four miles the second day by one o’clock in the afternoon, our boy mozo, who took a different route, and walked all the way, driving the cargo mule loaded with our baggage before him, arrived just about one hour later than we did. Several other passengers for the weekly train were already there, having started a day earlier than ourselves. Our hotel was a big two-story frame building—the first frame building that I had seen in the country. It looked almost colossal by the side of a little thatch cottage in an adjoining enclosure, and had been built by the railroad company for its employees and patrons. It cost only twenty dollars a day at this hostelry in the stage money of the country.

SCENE AT EL RANCHO.

This unfilled gap in the steel highway between the two great oceans was a blessing and delight, for a more interesting region would be hard to find. Across the great Montagua Valley to the north were the beautiful Sierras de las Minas, whose slopes are kept always bright and verdant by perpetual, though ever-changing, clouds and mists. Even though they are not snow-capped and rugged like the Alps, these mountains of Guatemala have a weirdness and fascination that it is hard to describe. Everywhere the cacti-like trees reared their thorny, spreading arms. Though the grasses of the valley were sere and dry, for this was the dry season, they were not dead, for the first few days of summer rains transform them into a carpet of vivid green.

The view from El Rancho is magnificent. It is in a valley on the bank of a stream, while the range of mountains towers above it in the distance. On the slopes the green fields glistened in the sun. Although the sun was hot and dry in the village, over on the hills it was raining, and we could hear peals of thunder and see the bright flashes of lightning which accompanied the tropical outpour. A small stream that came from that direction soon became a raging torrent, thus showing the violence of the storm.

It seemed good to hear the clanging of the bell and the tooting of the whistle of an American locomotive early the next morning. By the noise it made one would think that it was the overland limited impatient to be off. When all was ready we started out and at no time did the train move faster than eight miles an hour. No one of the passengers, however, after looking at the track and rails, where there were scarcely two ties to each rail that would hold a spike in many places, urged the engineer to greater speed. The necessary water for the engine was supplied on several occasions by water carried from a stream to the tender by a bucket-brigade which passed the bucket from hand to hand along to its destination.

El Rancho is just within the border of the tierra caliente, and the graceful cocoanut palm is to be seen there as well as the tree cacti, which increase in size and number according to elevation. The presence of the cacti is a sure indication of a dry season which prevails for several months each year. The green cocoanut furnishes one of the most refreshing and delightful drinks of the tropics. The natives take the cocoanut, chop off the end with a machete, and drink the fluid that it contains directly from the shell. This native weapon shaped somewhat like an old-fashioned corn cutter is a very useful instrument with these people. It answers for a shovel, knife, axe, pump-handle, fishing rod, and weapon of defence as well as offence.

Gualan, fifty-five miles from the starting point, marked the end of the first day’s journey. It is a small town made up of a few adobe buildings and many thatch cottages of natives. It is a picturesque place on the high banks above the Montagua River, which at this point is a very swift stream. A picturesque ferryman attracted my attention and I waited almost an hour to get a good picture of him and his dugout canoe. When he was in position the sun would not shine and when the sun was visible the boatman was missing from the picture, and it was necessary to use the very quickest exposure because of the swiftness of the stream.

A loud-voiced American with a big revolver in his holster, looking like a cheap imitation of the Western desperado, had attracted my attention on the train, and he proved to be the landlord of the half-caste hotel in this town. As it was the only stopping-place in Gualan there was no choice for the traveller. As the evening hours wore away and his stock of liquors was reduced by his own patronage of the bar, the landlord became more noisy and quarrelsome until one man took offence and said a few sharp words which stopped his braggadocia manner. It looked for a while as though the quarrel would end in a shooting, and would have done so, if the landlord had not calmed down and retracted some of his statements.

Many of the Americans scattered down through the tropical countries are not very representative characters. Alienated from all home influences, they set up an alliance with some native woman and abandon themselves to the cheer of the cantina, or saloon. Many of these men perhaps would only drink moderately at home, if at all, but in these tropical climes they let down every bar to vice and pander to their baser natures. I will never forget one American railroad man whom I met in Guatemala City one morning. He had just begun his drinking and was very communicative. We were at the station and he looked around and said: “They try to keep a fellow in a perpetual state of intoxication down here. See! there is a cantina, and there is another, and another. You go to the Plaza and it is cantina everywhere. I have been trying for two years to save enough money to get back to the States, but they won’t let me. Last month, I earned $800 (about $60 in gold) and I have only got a few dollars left.” Later in the day I saw him at the bull-ring throwing paper dollars at a crowd of boys who followed him about until the police drove them away. Soon he will join the ever-increasing band of American tramps that one finds there. Beggars are numerous in the country, but they are not all natives, nor Indians, and the American can be found among them fully as abject and degraded as any others of that class.

A VILLAGE NEAR THE COAST.

There are only a few villages from Gualan to Puerto Barrios and they are not very populous. They looked almost like African towns with their huts made of palm and bamboo. The paths in the villages were all narrow, and grass and weed grown. There were thorns to scratch the bare feet and hooked seeds of plants that cling to the clothes—but this can be duplicated almost anywhere. The building of a hut is a simple proposition, for all the Indian has to do is to go into the forest and cut some bamboo poles and some palm leaves or banana stalks for a roof, and he has all the material necessary. A few poles are set into the ground, establishing the size, and to these, by means of vines, are attached many horizontal reeds or poles. These may be close together or several inches apart, and sometimes mortar or stones are used to fill in the wall. The same style of steep roof is always made. Sometimes the entrance is closed by a hinged door, but a piece of loosely swinging cloth answers the same purpose and does just as well.

After an all-day’s journey we at last reached Puerto Barrios. The nearer we approached the coast the denser became the vegetation and the more impenetrable the forests, or jungles, which is really a more appropriate term.

Near Puerto Barrios and a few miles to the west is the port of Santo Tomas. It is situated on a bay which makes a good harbour and was established in 1843 by a colony of Belgians. Like many tropical colonies it proved a failure because of the lack of foresight on the part of the promoters and an absolute ignorance of tropical conditions and the precautions necessary for health and success. Several hundred people comprised the original colony, but it soon dwindled through deaths and departures until now it is a small village although it is still a port of entry. The railroad terminus being established at its near-by rival sealed the doom of its future prospects, although its natural advantages are probably superior to its more fortunate neighbour. The fate of this colony is simply another illustration of the care and foresight necessary on the part of those seeking to establish colonies in a new country and under conditions so much different from those with which the prospective colonists are familiar.

PLANTATION HOUSE ON LAKE IZABAL.

It would be unfair to the reader and an injustice to the country to leave this coast without a description of Lake Izabal and the river leading to it, for this river rivals the far-famed Saguenay in beauty and grandeur of scenery. It is a sail of less than two hours across the choppy seas of the Gulf of Amatique from Puerto Barrios to Livingston, which is situated at the mouth of the Rio Dulce (the sweet river), the entrance to which is through a high wall of cliffs. For the first few miles after leaving Livingston on the way up the river the shores are lined with some fine banana plantations and a succession of gently sloping and verdant hills that reach an altitude of a thousand feet. To the north are the Sierra de Santa Cruz mountains running parallel to the river, and to the south and in plain view are the more distant Sierras de Las Minas, both of these ranges being covered to their very summits with many shades of rich green foliage. Then after passing a bend in the river the little steamer enters a narrow canyon with towering cliffs on either side, and for several miles there is a succession of scenes of wild beauty.

At one point the rocky walls rise almost perpendicularly from the water to a height of several hundred feet. Instead of barren cliffs, however, the sides are almost completely covered with vegetation so that the rocks are seldom visible. From every foothold springs a dense growth of tropical vegetation and from every crevice hang vines and shrubbery swaying like green curtains in the breeze, and dipping their foliage in the river. Higher up are giant trees, covered with thousands of beautiful orchids, which cast their shadows in the deep blue waters underneath. All of this renders the scene one of dazzling beauty when the overhead skies are clear and the bright sun brings out the contrasts of sunlight and shadow.

LAKE IZABAL.

At last the towering walls become broken and finally recede, banana plantations again appear, and the river broadens out into the Gulf of Golfete, which is a pretty little body of water about two miles broad and eight or ten miles in length, and is dotted with a number of pretty little green islands. Another connecting stream leads into that inland sea called Lake Izabal. On one bank of this stream stands the old Spanish fort of San Felipe, which was never very formidable and is now only a joke as fortifications go. In the olden time Port Izabal on the lake was the principal port and the approach was protected by this fortification. It is nearly forty-eight miles from Livingston. The high walls stand out boldly, but they are partly covered with climbing vines and mosses. It affords, however, a fine view of Lake Izabal with its broad expanse of blue waters and its shores a seemingly impenetrable jungle, except where a cleared space marks the location of a banana plantation. Its wooded shores are low, but the land rises gently to the background of mountains many miles away. Occasionally showers of short duration follow along the mountain slopes, and when the clouds have passed away the most brilliant of rainbows appears. As there are showers within view almost every day it might almost be called a land of rainbows. The waters of the lake are alive with many varieties of fish, the quiet coves and bays are the haunts of the alligator, while in the jungle may be found the small deer and bear of the country.

The old town of Izabal, once the port and a prosperous place, but now dwindled to a straggling, thatch-roofed village, reposes in perpetual siesta on the southern shore of the lake. Santa Cruz is another village on the north shore, where there is a sawmill and a small collection of native huts and a few better buildings which house the white inhabitant.

A number of small streams pour their waters into Lake Izabal. The principal stream, however, is the Polochic, which is navigable as far as Panzos, a distance of about thirty or forty miles, for light-draught steamers. There is a regular weekly service maintained by a steamer which brings down the mails, passengers and freight from Coban, the capital of Alta Verapaz, to make connection with the weekly steamer sailings for New Orleans. The river is not very wide, the course rather tortuous and the current swift, especially in the rainy seasons, so that boating is quite an exciting experience for the novice. This route was formerly and still is the main trade route for the natives of the Coban and Peten district who bring their produce down the Polochic and Chocon rivers in their dugouts, called pitpans, to the lake and then to the markets of Livingston. It is quite a common sight to pass their boats loaded with cocoanuts, bananas, plantains or other fruits or fish, with the brown native and his wife industriously paddling the same.

There are few places in the world where there is such an abundance of life, both plant and animal, as in the Lake Izabal district. Perennial moisture reigns in the soil and uninterrupted summer in the air, so that vegetation luxuriates in ceaseless activity all the year around. To this genial influence of ever-present moisture and heat must be ascribed the infinite variety of trees and plants. The trees do not grow in clusters or groups of single species as in our northern woods, but the different varieties crowd each other in unsocial rivalry, each trying to overtop the other. The autumn tints of browns and yellows, crimsons and purples, are as unknown as the cold sleep of winter. The ceaseless round of ever-active life might seem to make the forest scenery of the tropics monotonous, but there is such an untold variety and beauty in it that the scene never grows tiresome. The beautiful description of spring with its awakening life by Lowell is applicable every day in the year in this region:—

“Whether we look, or whether we listen,

We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;

Every clod feels a stir of might,

An instinct within it that reaches and towers,

And, groping blindly above it for light,

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;

—————

And there’s never a leaf nor a blade too mean

To be some happy creature’s palace.”

The last two verses are especially true, for the insect life is almost incredibly abundant. Mosquitoes and sandflies there are in great numbers to annoy the visitor, and beautifully coloured butterflies upon which to feast one’s eyes. I met three naturalists, who were called “bug hunters” by the people, one of whom was making a collection of dragon-flies, and another butterflies, and the third was gathering specimens of ferns. All of them had visited many parts of tropical America, but they found this section the most fruitful field in each line of research. Bugs and beetles, bees and wasps, ants and plant-lice, moths and spiders, and all the other little crawling and flying forms of life are innumerable in the number of individuals and a multitude in the variety of species represented.

The bright sparkling pools are the haunts of myriads of dainty little humming birds. One naturalist has figured that these little fairy-like creatures equal in number all of the other birds together. They may be seen darting in and out among the flowers or, poised on wings, and clothed in their purple, golden or emerald beauty, hanging suspended in the air. Then, after a startled look at the intruder upon their haunts, turning first one eye and then the other, they will suddenly disappear like a flash of light.

CHAPTER III
THE CAPITAL

Guatemala City long ago laid aside its swaddling clothes. While Boston was yet a mere village, the capital of Guatemala was the abode of one hundred thousand people, and was surpassed in importance only by Lima, Peru, and the City of Mexico. It was the home of some of the most learned men in Spanish-America, the site of great schools of theology and science, the seat of the Inquisition and the headquarters of the Jesuits. The present Guatemala City, however, is the third one to bear that name, the first two having been destroyed by volcanic disturbances. It is now the commercial, political and social centre of the republic, and in it is concentrated the wealth, culture and refinement of the whole country. Because of its superiority over other Central American municipalities Guatemala City has been called the “Little Paris,” a designation very pleasing to the inhabitants of the metropolis of Central America. Its similarity to Paris is about as great as that of St. Augustine to New York.

The present city was founded in 1776, just about the time that the American patriots were breaking the shackles which bound them to the mother country. The former capital, now known as Antigua, was located about thirty miles distant, near the base of the volcanoes Agua (water) and Fuego (fire), the latter so called because formerly it constantly emitted smoke and flames. Suddenly, one evening, earthquake rumblings were heard, intense darkness spread over the valley, and without warning a great deluge of water overwhelmed the city, demolishing the houses and destroying eight thousand of the inhabitants. It was considered a judgment of heaven because of certain impious remarks that had been made. The natural explanation is that the crater of the volcano, then called Hunapu, had become filled with water, the earthquake rent the crater, and the water rushing down in torrents acquired terrific force in its descent of several thousand feet. After the first destruction in this unusual and terrible way, in 1541, the city had been rebuilt in grander style than before and the inhabitants rested in fancied security within the shadow of the lofty volcanic peaks which abound here, and which fill the visitor with a strange awe. These volcanoes had been baptized and received into the church and were supposed to be on their good behaviour. The baptism of the volcanoes did not seem to have a permanent effect upon their disposition, for another eruption accompanied by a severe earthquake destroyed the second capital in 1773.

A STREET OF ANTIGUA WITH THE VOLCANO OF AGUA IN THE
BACKGROUND.

The city of ruins as it exists to-day is a most interesting place to visit, and several thousand people still make it their home. Nearly every ruin houses a family who manage in some way to secure shelter within the broken walls and make a living by carving cane heads or making the doll images and effigies which are used in religious celebrations. The images are about five or six inches high, representing the nativity of Christ and are used at Christmas. It was built on much the same general plan as the present capital, with narrow streets laid out at right angles to each other. It was well provided with religious edifices, for there are the ruins of almost sixty churches that can be traced. They were all of solid masonry, many feet in thickness with vaulted roofs, and must have cost immense sums of money in material and transportation, for much of the material was imported from Spain. Now these vaulted arches support masses of vegetation, and the bells which formerly called Spaniard and Indian to service are silent. The grand old cathedral still stands a sad reminder of its former magnificence. Within its shattered walls the service of the church used to be performed in all its solemnity, and the burning incense filled every nook of the vast edifice with its fragrance. Indians with baskets of fowls on their back, and Spaniards whose very shoulders drooped with the burden of elongated names and lofty titles, knelt by a common genuflection before these magnificent altars.

A number of the old buildings yet bear the arms of Castile and Leon—two castles and two lions rampant. Some of the images of the saints still stand in their niches on the façades of the churches, which causes them to be looked upon with special veneration by the ignorant natives, because only a direct interposition of Providence could have kept them unharmed during the frightful undulations of the earthquake. The once imposing square is now dotted here and there with the huts and booths of the market people, and the present town is a sad reminder of a once proud and powerful city. After seeing the ruins you know that the rickety old coach with its tires half off, which brought you there, and the harness held on the horses (or mules) by thongs, is just in harmony with the place itself.

The present capital has been comparatively free from these volcanic disturbances, although several volcanic peaks are plainly visible in this translucent atmosphere, which equals or surpasses that of Colorado for clearness. It is situated in a long, narrow valley with a slight slope to the east. The hills surrounding the valley are indescribably soft and beautiful with deep shadowed ravines which contrast with the green vegetation in the rainy season. The grandeur of the scene is centred in three towering volcanoes that rise sharp and distinct against the blue sky—the symmetrical outline of Agua, the serrated ridge of Fuego and the isolated cone of Pacaya.

THE OLD CHURCH OF EL CARMEN, GUATEMALA CITY.

From the church of El Carmen, situated on an eminence in the northeastern part of the city, a fine view is obtained of the city and valley. This church is made picturesque by the outcroppings of quartz and the oriental appearance of the building. It is more like a small fortress, with its little round tower, and the gray stone moss-grown wall surrounding the hill, than a religious edifice. It is older than the city, and in the bell tower is a bell dated 1748, more than a quarter of a century before the founding of the capital at this location. The interior is dark and gloomy and its walls are hung with examples of crude art. Behind the church the plain stretches away to the purple hills. In front and nestling at the foot of the hill is the capital. The city is compactly built, about two miles square, with peaked and flat roofs covered with brown tiles, and walls variously coloured, but rather dirty. The only contrast to the rather dull colour is the vivid green foliage in the open courts of the houses. Because the houses are nearly all one-storied, the twenty or more churches appear unusually lofty and imposing. In particular, the grand old Cathedral in the centre of the city overtowers every other structure in its majesty. In another direction, on the opposite side of the city, the walls and towers of the Castillo de San Jose stand out against the background of hills and give a semblance of military strength to the otherwise peaceful appearance of the valley.

Guatemala City is nearly five thousand feet above the level of the rolling seas and enjoys a wholesome and salubrious climate. Of this too much cannot be said, for it is truly delightful. With an average temperature of seventy-two degrees it has no extremes of heat and cold, and the thermometer seldom varies more than twenty to twenty-five degrees during the entire year. In the so-called winter season the mercury rarely goes below sixty-five degrees and the summer heat does not usually exceed eighty-five degrees. Foreigners who live there and travellers who visit there fall in love with the climate, and, when once acclimated, do not want to leave. Seventy-five thousand or more people, Spaniards, Indians and Ladinos, with a sprinkling of Germans and Americans, are trying to solve the problem of life and existence under such favourable skies; and it is no wonder that the strenuous life of our American cities has few disciples in this favoured valley. Life runs along a smooth, easy pathway, with nothing to rush you, and it is equally as impossible to hurry any one else. A newly arrived American may start out with an impulsive eagerness to do something, but, after a few futile attempts to hasten results, will soon yield to the inevitable trend of delay in this land of “to-morrow” and “wait-a-while.”

THE CATHEDRAL, GUATEMALA CITY.

The city is distant from the Pacific Ocean, nearly seventy-five miles and from the Gulf of Mexico twice that distance. There were probably two reasons which influenced the Spaniards to locate their capitals inland; one of these was for safety and the other because, in these tropical lands, the climate along the coast is hot, rainy, and fever-stricken. It was certainly not for the convenience of commerce, for all imports and exports had to be transported over narrow and rough trails on the backs of men and mules, for a long period, before a roadway was completed to the Pacific port of San Jose. Governors and Archbishops, common Spaniards and humble natives, were obliged to ride over those trails on the backs of horses or mules, and generally that of the latter obliging, but contrary, “critters.”

The city is a typical Spanish-American town in architecture, although recent improvements have taken away the monastic appearance that used to prevail. The streets are straight and narrow and laid out at right angles to each other. The ones running north and south are called avenidas (avenues), and those east and west, calles (streets). The sidewalks are paved with smooth flagstones and are almost on a level with the roughly-paved roadway which slopes toward the centre for drainage. The streets are bordered on both sides by low, one-storied buildings whose tile roofs once red are now a dirty brown, and whose plastered walls once white are now soiled and blotched by the pieces of plaster which have been broken out. The walls are usually of adobe (sun-dried) brick, or stone, covered with stucco, and are several feet thick in order to defy any but the most severe earthquake shocks. The windows are broad and high, and are protected by iron bars like the windows of a prison cell. If the house is so fortunate as to have a second story, then a neat little iron or wooden balcony is erected in front of them. There is one entrance to the house and that is guarded by great, heavy doors studded with big nails, and fastened with a massive lock fit only for a mediaeval castle. The keys to these locks are frequently eight or ten inches long and would fit no keyring that is on the market to-day. Carriages, market people, and high-born ladies, all use this common entrance which leads into the patio around which the house is invariably built. These patios take the place of the lawn in northern homes and are frequently beautiful little miniature gardens filled with tropical plants and fragrant with the blossoms of many flowers. The living rooms all open out upon this court, and here, sheltered from the wind, the people can bask in the sun when it is cool and occupy the shady side when it is hot, and thus keep themselves fairly comfortable without the aid of fires or electric fans.

A TYPICAL STREET IN GUATEMALA CITY.

The Plaza de Armas, which is in the center of the city, is quite a pretty square and is surrounded on three sides by public buildings, while on the other side are retail stores with the portales so common in these countries. On the north side is the municipal building, on the west side the National Palace and government barracks, and on the east side lies the Cathedral and Bishop’s Palace. In the centre is a delightful little garden surrounded by an iron fence, within which are many exquisite flowers and pretty plants with wine coloured leaves. A few evergreens, fountains, a statue of Cristobal Colon, the ever present band-stand, and an old square stone tower, or temple, with an equestrian statue of Charles IV of Spain complete the adornments of this square. Across one side rattle the little toy street-cars, and now and then a hooded victoria slips through, the top drawn like a vizor over the inside, so that all you can see is the tip of a chin or a bit of white parasol. It is not pleasant for the ladies to appear on the street unless they are very plain.

THE PRESIDENT’S GUARD OF HONOUR.

In front of the National Palace a company of the President’s Guard of Honour parades each morning. This organization comprises about five hundred picked men from the army who actually wear shoes and a jaunty cap, and their uniforms look as bright as a working-man’s new suit of blue jeans, and they are of the same material. A good military band plays, and, aided by the music, the company manages to keep step occasionally, but only occasionally, for that little matter does not seem to them very important. Sedate Spaniards, descendants of the proud hidalgos, and Indians whose progenitors built the great palaces, or temples, at Palenque, Copan and Quirigua, mingle here, and types of several centuries may be seen side by side. Customs of the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries are here intermingled, but the twentieth century can hardly be said to have reached this city. The Indian with his pack on his back passes by followed by a mule dray, but the gasoline devil-wagon has not yet made its appearance in this city, and the warning horn of the street-cars takes the place of the honk-honk of the automobile.

At night when the band concerts are given the plaza is a good place to study the people, for all classes turn out in great numbers and parade around the central portion. The cock-of-the-walk on such occasions is the student of the military academy who struts around much-bedecked in a red uniform covered with gold braid, and with his sword invariably trailing on the ground—much resembling the peacock on dress parade with his tail feathers fluttering in the breeze. The young dandies are there with their bamboo sticks, tailor-made clothes and smoking their abominable cigarettes. A few foreign drummers or concessionaires stalk around the plaza side by side with the substratum of ladinos in their shabby attire. A few families may stroll around with their little girls in stiff little white gloves and their shy, velvety eyes turning this way and that without a sign of recognition.

The most imposing of all the churches of the city, the Cathedral, and the same may be said of all Spanish churches, is elaborately ornamented with carving, giving it a rococo, or overdone, effect, but the proportions are good. It is flanked by two square towers. The entrance is approached by many steps and is guarded by four colossal saints supposed to represent the four evangelists. They are not very saintly in appearance, being carved out of a very rough coarse stone and very much weather-beaten. There are also several pillars with urns on top, thus adding a Roman effect. The interior gives a general impression of roominess with its fine aisles, but the blue and white effect of the ceiling is not very pleasing, although different from anything I had ever seen in church decoration. The floor is paved with stone. There is a large main altar and a number of gilt side altars with the usual collection of decorated wooden saints. A number of images clad in gauze and gaily-hued angels with tiaras are placed within the various altars, while the Virgin wears a fine velvet gown embroidered with gold thread. The structure is about two hundred and seventy-five feet long. Adjoining this is the Episcopal Palace, which has on many occasions been the centre of political intrigue and sedition before the late President Rufino Barrios curbed the power of the clergy.

TEATRO COLON, GUATEMALA CITY.

All Guatemala is proud of its Teatro Colon, the National Theatre, for the government in these Spanish-American countries considers it a part of its duties to furnish amusement for its subjects. The building is modeled after the famous church of the Madelaine in Paris. It stands in the middle of a large enclosure surrounded by a high iron fence. The grounds are laid out as a garden with oleander and orange trees and flowers of many kinds planted in generous profusion along the walks, and there are several fountains which send out their cooling spray. The coat of arms of the republic stand out prominently on the façade and there are numerous other plaster ornaments in relief against the stucco walls, which are laid out in blocks to imitate stone. The interior is in good taste and the stage is large and roomy. The government allows a generous yearly subsidy which enables good talent to be brought from Italy, Spain and Mexico. There are two tiers of boxes which run clear around the hall and several proscenium boxes, of which one is reserved for the President. Silk hats are worn by the men and canes are carried, while the women wear a few feathers in their hair, but no hats, and much powder and paste on their faces. During the long intermission nearly everybody leaves his seat and wanders out into the vestibule to visit and smoke—even some of the ladies indulging occasionally in this pastime.

The people are inordinately fond of amusements as are all people of Latin blood. In this enumeration the bull-fight should not be omitted. In the large bull-ring which stands just outside the central railway station all classes meet on Sunday afternoon, and the “carramba” of the Spaniard mingles with the stronger expressions of his fairer-skinned Anglo-Saxon or Teutonic neighbour. The Spaniard believes that the bull-fight is an exemplification of the superior prowess of his race, for the Spaniard is as much superior to all other men as the Spanish bull is more valiant than all other bulls. The bull-fight in Guatemala City is usually a poor imitation of the sanguinary conflicts of the Iberian peninsula. The victims are generally oxen, with perhaps one or two bulls doomed to the death. The town was all excitement during my visit, for Mazzantini, the great Spanish matador, was coming to give three “corridas” with imported bulls. The boat that I came on carried ten of these bulls in boxes, and the old custodian with his bulls caused more trouble than all the rest of the cargo, including the passengers, put together. Excursions were advertised by the railroad and it was the principal topic of conversation. Everyone that I met, American and native, urged me to stay for the first great event to take place the following Sunday. I had seen the bull-fight, however, in all its horrible details in its native land, and it did not appeal to me even with the great “Mazzantini” taking part.

A BULL-FIGHT IN GUATEMALA CITY.

I attended one bull-fight while there in order to get some photographs, and was thoroughly disgusted. Two bulls of the six advertised for the occasion were doomed to the death and there were two matadores. One of them was a young Spaniard whom I had met on the steamer. He wore the lock of long hair on the side of his head which is affected by all bull fighters, and claimed to be a good fighter. He was agile and leaped over the bull with a vaulting pole and planted the banderillos quite adeptly. As a matador he was a failure, and after he had made three ineffectual attempts to kill the bull, and had buried three swords in the poor creature’s neck, the crowd became hostile and he was obliged to leave the arena, followed by the anathemas and hisses of the large audience. Then my bull-fighting acquaintance, who had given me such a cordial invitation in the morning to attend the performance, retired in great discomfiture, and I have never seen him since.

There is a prosperous American club in the city to which many other foreigners belong, and I was fortunate enough to be given a visitor’s card. The social life of the expatriated American centres around this organization and it has considerable influence in the city and country. It was very interesting to talk with the older members of the stirring events in the time of President J. Rufino Barrios and his dramatic method of proclaiming the confederation of all the Central American republics. There are several hundred Americans in the country engaged in various enterprises, from promotion to construction, and from plantations to manufacturing. The Germans occupy the leading place in the commerce as they seem to amalgamate more readily with the country, for they come to make permanent homes, while most of the Americans expect to make their fortune and then leave for Uncle Sam’s domains once more. A number of Chinese merchants are also engaged in business here and a few French. Jews are also numerous and a Jewish synagogue is the only non-Catholic religious edifice I saw, although there is a Presbyterian Mission maintained in the city.

Nearly every business house runs a money exchange department and the sign “Cambia de Moneda” (money exchange) vies in number with the “cantinas.” Even the bootblack in the hotel wanted to exchange money and followed the quotations each day as carefully as any banker. During my stay it varied from twelve and one-half to thirteen and one-fourth paper dollars for one in gold with the American eagle on it. Every merchant was anxious to secure New York, London, or Hamburg exchange. Prices of commodities varied from day to day, for, although posted in paper values, they were regulated on a gold basis. Business begins about eight in the morning and ceases about seven in the evening, but all business houses put up their shutters and close up tight for two or three hours in the middle of the day during the siesta hours. You will never know, however, unless you study the calendar, whether the stores will be open or not, for holidays and feast-days are many. There is an old saying that Spanish holidays numbered three hundred and sixty-five, not including Sundays.

The principal market is a large structure in the rear of the Cathedral, and has large gates at each corner through which a line of people are passing at all times during the business hours. The entrance is nearly always obstructed by women with fruit for sale, whose presence was tolerable from the fact that they sold it extremely cheap. Every available space is filled with native merchants—mostly women—who offer for sale home and foreign goods and a great variety of indigenous fruits. Vendors outside of the enclosure suspend straw mats on poles for shelter from the torrid sun. Beneath each one sat a woman or girl with her articles for sale spread about and before her—a little fruit, some vegetables, or even some cooked meat. Inside the building one can get a three course meal of native concoctions for a few cents, or can buy the luscious fruits of the country, including oranges, bananas, zapotes, or pineapples, for a song almost. Although the place is generally crowded there is no jostling or confusion. It would be hard to find a quarrelsome or disorderly person or any one who would raise his voice above the tone of polite conversation, and even the babies—of whom there are always many—refrain from crying. The dealers are all bargainers and will invariably ask at least twice as much as they would readily accept. A look of surprise or astonishment at a price given will invariably bring the query, “What will you give?” There is no such thing as a fixed price, and yet the lowest price that will be accepted does not vary much among the different merchants, as I found on several occasions.

There is a second native market in the western part of the city. Near this market is a road which is the great highway for the market people coming from lowland and highland. It was a sight that never grew tame or monotonous to me to watch the never-ending procession of men, women, children, burros, and mules continually coming to the city, and, on several mornings, I went out to watch it. Men and women come marching down the middle of the road in Indian file—the men with great loads on their backs, and the women with large market baskets on their heads, filled with fruits, vegetables, pottery, eggs or poultry. Oftentimes they travel for three or four days to market with nothing but the cold stones or mother earth at night for a bed. The whole load, when marketed, may not bring more than a couple of dollars in gold, but they would consider that pretty good pay for a week’s work. In this way the fruits of the hot lands are brought to the city by those simple folks in just the same manner as their ancestors have done ever since the founding of the city. Sometimes an Indian bearing fodder or other provender is scarcely visible underneath his load. It is rather comical to see an enormous box about the size of a small house trotting down the street on what seems to be its own pair of brown legs. Little boys and little girls, as soon as large enough, assume their share of the burdens and carry their little bundles in the same way as their elders. One writer describes a market woman whom he saw as follows: “She carried an open-work basket of fowls and ducks on her back on which was also slung a baby; in her arms she carried a fine young pig, and on her head was a tray of tortillas. As she jogged along the baby cried, the porker squealed and the poultry made noise enough to drown her own groans.”

GUATEMALAN MARKET WOMEN.

Numerous public buildings are scattered over the city. Perhaps the most noted is the University of Guatemala, which has a great reputation all over Central America. As a matter of fact Guatemala City was noted for its learning before any educational institution had been established in the United States; and dust had accumulated on its library before the first little red school house had made its appearance. This university has many professors, contains a large and valuable collection of books, pamphlets and manuscripts, and its museum has a numerous and exhaustive collection of woods, birds, pottery, gods, and ornaments of the former races, and stuffed specimens of birds, including a number of the rare quetzal. There are also Schools of Medicine and Pharmacy, Arts and Trades, a Polytechnic Institute, hospitals, court house, and many other institutions of government and justice. The post office is situated in an old convent confiscated from the church, and the same is true of a number of the other government buildings now in use.

There are no great parks, but a number of little breathing-places are scattered over the city that lend their attraction. The Plaza Concordia is the prettiest of all and occupies an entire square surrounded by a massive brick fence. Palms, bananas, cacti, flowers, shrubs and large trees each lend an individual attraction. Broad paths wind here and there through the park, and on these the people promenade while the military bands, of which there are several, play popular and classical airs. Especially is this an interesting place to visit on Sunday afternoons when the aristocracy congregate to listen to the bands.

The most ambitious attempt at ornamentation is found in the Reforma, a wide boulevard in imitation of the Paseo de la Reforma in the City of Mexico. It is ornamented with trees, numerous stone seats and statues, and a number of fine modern homes face it, thus making it the most modern vista in the city. The principal statue is a rather creditable one of President J. Rufino Barrios, who deserves such a memorial more than any other of her former rulers. There is also a statue of a bull which seems rather incongruous but probably deserves a place in this land of bull-fights. The Reforma leads out to the hippodrome, or race track, and the Temple of Minerva, which is dedicated to popular education and where a public celebration is held each year to stimulate interest in that valuable accomplishment.

STATUE OF BULL, GUATEMALA CITY.

Guardia Viejo, a suburb distant a few miles, is a favourite resort of the populace on fiesta occasions. Thousands of people at such times throng the park and the streets in the village and the typical holiday spirit of good nature and freedom prevails. I had the good fortune to be present during one of these celebrations and it was an interesting experience.

Water is brought to the city by two aqueducts running across the valley for many miles, and the supply is abundant and the quality good. There are a score of public fountains with public laundry facilities connected. Circular brick buildings are erected over small sinks which anyone is permitted to use. First come, first served, is the motto which is observed, and they are generally in demand. The clothes are laid out on the grass to dry. According to custom here, it takes a week to get a washing after giving it out, and even a Chinaman will not do much better than that.

There is a good hotel in the city in which it was a real pleasure to rest after experiencing some of the crudeness in accommodation elsewhere. It is built around a court yard which is ornamented with orange and oleander trees, ferns, vines and many flowers. Inclosed glass corridors make a pleasant promenade and dining place. At the Gran Hotel I encountered a number of members of that strange legion who are always in active service and on the firing line—those men who go through the jungle ahead of the railroad and over the mountains before the engineers. To sell a bit of cotton cloth or a phonograph they are ready to speak as many languages as a German diplomat. They cross deserts and run the risk of pestilence, and have more adventures than an amateur explorer would write volumes about. These men are the salesmen who introduce the manufactured goods of commercial countries into the uncivilized and uncommercial lands of the globe. Some of them deserve medals and even pensions, but they are lucky if they get their names in the papers when they pass away in some far-off land. Many of them are very interesting characters and as full of interesting anecdotes of personal adventures as the tropical jungle is of vegetation.

GRAN HOTEL, GUATEMALA CITY.

The tram lines extend all over the city but the little “dinky” cars are almost a joke. The only compensation is the cheap fares which are just about one cent in real money, but a shilling in the paper substitute. The city is unusually well lighted with electric lights, and a creditable telephone service has been installed.

The military element was in evidence everywhere, as, at the time of my visit, there was an unusual number of soldiers in the city, and parades were of daily occurrence. The soldiers were not awe-inspiring nor did they seem to take their duties very seriously. The fort of San Juan is a rather imposing fortress built in regulation style with moat and drawbridge, and its adobe walls painted to resemble great stone blocks. I noticed that the guns all seemed to point toward the city itself. Prisoners working under guard were to be seen in many places with more soldiers on guard than prisoners working. At one place, I saw nine soldiers lounging about and guarding four prisoners who were at work. At another time there were a half dozen soldiers forming a hollow square, in the centre of which was one poor prisoner who looked anything but a desperate criminal. In the country, I have seen them marched along across country with their arms tied with a rope which was held by a soldier who rode on a horse. The days of maudlin sympathy with law breakers has not yet reached Guatemala.

Guatemala City is a perfect place to play with life, cloistered away from the active world, and yet so near to its bustling stir. The real world and its manners are here, but there are none of its problems. All things are reduced to so small a scale that the individual need not worry. People who have money have inherited it or made it easy; those who have it not, never expect it. There is no hustling, ambitious middle class to stir up rivalry and discontent. The people drift along placidly and, content with what they have, covet not the riches or luxury of another. The visitor can enjoy life and live quietly, feeling that he can always go back to the real world whenever he wants to, and that a few days’ journey will transport him back to the busy life of our great metropolis.

STREET CAR IN GUATEMALA CITY.

CHAPTER IV
THE TROPICS AND THEIR DEVELOPMENT

The growth of vegetation in tropical lands is a revelation of what rich soil aided by a hot sun and an abundance of water can do. There are localities in the world where is found the rich soil, but either warmth or water is wanting and they are comparatively barren. In this region where the soil is frequently eight to fourteen feet in depth, where the fall of water is from eighty to one hundred and twenty inches annually, and where the sun furnishes perpetual summer heat, nature reveals herself in her grandest moods, and the stranger coming here for the first time cries out in astonishment at her prodigality.

The first feeling of one on entering a tropical forest is that of helplessness, confusion, awe, and all but terror. Without a compass or a blazed path a man would be almost lost in a few minutes if he should venture into such a tangled growth by himself. The exuberance of vegetation is fairly astounding and the English language is utterly inadequate to express the variety and luxuriance of the vegetable world. It is equally as impossible to describe the colours for there are so many tints of green. The costliest amusements of our gayest cities can never equal the gratuitous diversions which nature provides for her favoured guests. Thus it is that one feels when traversing the tropical forests of Guatemala. Eastern Guatemala, that part bordering on the Gulf of Mexico, is an American Java, a botanical garden spot where climate and the black soil vie with that eastern isle. And no land can compare with it in the number and variety of its birds and flying insects, for it is a veritable natural museum of living birds and butterflies.

Every growth on these shores is straining upwards in perpendicular lines, and in fierce competition, towards the light above so necessary to its healthfulness. These upward shoots are of every possible thickness and almost every conceivable hue. The leaves are, for the most part, on the twigs. The number and variety of trees is almost infinite as compared with our northern woods. There are more varieties of palms alone, than all the arboreal species of the New England woods. Among these are the cohune palms with great clusters of hard, oily nuts; another kind with fearful spines but edible nuts; and even climbing, vine-like palms that will reach a length of several hundred feet. Bamboos are present everywhere with their graceful stems, and tall reeds with blossoms in striking contrast with the dark-green leaves of the trees.

Great mahogany trees rise straight and with uniform trunks in the forest like the great oaks in our own woods, only higher. Immense ceiba trees sometimes fifteen feet in diameter stand up like veritable monsters of the forests and occasionally throw out great buttresses, as it were, for additional strength. When these trees are cut a platform is built reaching above these buttresses and the cutters stand on this. Even the poor little villages are ennobled somewhat by the noble palms and ceiba trees which they contain. Decaying trees and branches are seldom seen, for the elements quickly destroy or the migratory ants devour them. If a dead trunk or log is found it is so covered with growths of parasites such as orchids, mosses, ferns and flowering plants, that the dead wood can scarcely be seen. One tree drops its nuts, about the size of a hen’s egg, into the water where they germinate and float about until they anchor themselves on a bank or shoal. The absence of sod is very noticeable, for the foliage is so dense that grass will not grow. Rosewood, ironwood, logwood, sapodilla, cedar, cacao and fig trees—all are found within these forests, and the mangrove on the coast lands, or the banks of streams.

AN INDIAN WITH HIS MACHETE.

There are no solitary tree trunks, such as we are accustomed to, in the lowlands. All are covered with vines and parasitic growths. Some of the trees have enough orchids and other plants growing upon them to stock a hot-house; others have so many vines stretching down from their branches to the ground that you would think some kind of a trap had been built. One vine may twine around another and another, until a great cable is formed several inches across and furbelowed all down the middle into regular knots. There is sometimes such a labyrinth of this wire rigging that it keeps an Indian with his machete busy, for he must cut vines right and left every few feet. It must have been in such a forest that the story of Jack and the Beanstalk originated, for these vines bring it vividly to mind. One parasitic vine—the matapolo—starts as a slender vine, but gradually expands until it looks like a huge serpent; and if several cling to the tree they will kill it, but by that time they will support the dead trunk. The sarsaparilla, that health-giving plant, is one of these dependent vines, indigenous to these forests, and is a very common growth here. It belongs to the Smilax family and climbs to a great height. Only the long tough roots are used in medicinal preparations. These are cut off by the hunters and the stems planted in the ground, when the roots will be replaced in a short time by the alchemist, nature. The vanilla is a parasitic orchid and also flourishes in these damp, oozy forests.

When no vines are visible at the bottom, dangling vines may be seen sixty or eighty feet up in the green cloud above, growing out of what looks like a gigantic nest of parasitic growths, and frequently with arms as large as a fair-sized sapling. You can only tell what it is by felling the tree, and even then the trunk may refuse to fall, for it is so linked and intertwined with adjoining trees by the many vines. When thirsty the natives cut a rough looking vine, first above and then below, and from out of this section pour out a pint or more of pure cold water. This is the ascending rain water hurrying aloft to be transformed into sap, leaf, flower and fruit.

A TROPICAL JUNGLE.

In contrast to the silence of the northern woods there is no stillness in these jungles so long as the sun is above the horizon. The music may vary from the screeching of the innumerable flocks of parrots—for they never go singly—to the feeble chirp of an insect, but it is there. During the day there are birds that incessantly chatter, whistle, croak, chirrup, coo, warble and utter discordant noises, thus making the air vocal with the varied sounds. At night the pitiful howling of the spider monkey breaks the silence that otherwise might obtain. No country, so naturalists say, offers a greater variety of bright-hued birds. The great macaw is a polychromatic wonder rivalling the proud peacock flaunting his plumage in the sunlight. There are many varieties of parrots and parroquets to be found. The quetzal, which figures in the national emblem, has tail feathers often reaching three feet in length. These feathers are of a peacock green to indigo in colour, the breast is scarlet and the wings dark. This bird will not survive captivity, and for this reason the founders of the republic gave it a place on the nation’s escutcheon. In ancient days, so highly was this bird regarded that none but the royal family dared to wear its plumes. There are some good specimens to be seen in the museum at the capital, but a live quetzal is rarely seen. Then there are pelicans, kingfishers, mot-mots, pavos, curassows, white cranes, doves, swallows, noisy yellow-tails and the curious toucan with its enormous bill and brilliant colour. Vampire bats about the size of an English sparrow are common. They will bite cattle, but are not so large, nor so fierce, as the South American species that will attack even human beings.

Two species of monkeys are found in these forests—the white-faced mono, whose face is nearly devoid of hair and beard, and the long-tailed, howling monkey. These animals are migratory and, as they build no nests, it is difficult to locate them. It is really wonderful—so hunters say—how fast these monkeys can travel through the trees by jumping from one limb to another sixty or eighty feet above ground. They live on fruits and insects, especially beetles and butterflies, and rob the nests of birds for the eggs. Many of them are kept as pets and they are quite intelligent and very mischievous. Some of the natives prize them as food. Among the other animals, more or less common, are peccaries, jaguars (called by the natives tigres), tapirs, ant-bears, wild hogs, and a species of small, red deer. The sloth, that peculiar tree-animal so different from most tree-animals, which are usually very agile, is found in some districts. Snakes are not so plentiful as one would expect, although the “chicken boa,” so called, sometimes reaching a length of a dozen feet, is occasionally encountered. Alligators are not very common, though not a rarity by any means. Turtles are very plentiful, and the edible hawksbill turtle, whose shell is so valuable, because it furnishes the tortoise-shell of commerce, is very abundant on these shores, sometimes weighing as much as one hundred and fifty pounds. The iguana is one of the numerous lizard family and is highly prized for food, its flesh tasting something like chicken, so epicures say. The natives prefer it to good beefsteak. This curious reptile has a mouth like a toad, green, glittering eyes, a ponderous under throat, and lancet shaped spines along the back, and sometimes reaches a length of four feet. It is easily tamed, and it is a very common sight to see them in the coast villages sunning themselves around the cottages and apparently as much at home as the dogs and chickens.[^[1]]

Great butterflies, whose outstretched wings spread out eight inches, are a common sight. Collectors flock to these shores each year for butterfly specimens, for in no country is there a greater variety. The natives can seldom be hired to catch them as they think it is unlucky and will injure the eyes. Spiders with legs two inches across can be found. Scorpions and centipedes abound, but both are sluggish and are dreaded very little by the natives—not much more than hornets in our own country.

[1]. “These serpentes are lyke unto crocodiles, saving in bigness; they call them guanas. Unto that day none of owre men durste aduenture to taste of them, by reason of theyre horrible deformitie and lothsomnes. Yet the Adelantado being entysed by the pleasantnes of the king’s sister, Anacaona, determined to taste the serpentes. But when he felte the flesh thereof to be so delycate to his tongue, he fel to amayne without al feare. The which thyng his companions perceiuing, were not behynde hym in greedyness; insomuch that they had now none other talke than of the sweetnesse of these serpentes, which they affirm to be of more pleasant taste than eyther our phesantes or partriches.”—An old writer.

Many kinds of ants have their habitat in the Guatemalan tropics. One species builds nests in the tree tops, which resemble those of hornets. Another kind, called the umbrella ant, is one of the most interesting species in the family of ants. They are so called because, when seen, the worker is always carrying a piece of leaf like a sail, which he holds tightly as if his life or happiness depended on getting that particular leaf to its destination. Several times I took away the piece of leaf and the worker would immediately attack another ant and endeavour to get his leaf, and sometimes a number of ants would become involved in the melee. The ant finally left without a leaf would start back on the trail, for it seemed to be an inviolable rule never to go back to the nest without a section of leaf. These leaves are stored away where they ferment and form one of the foods of these industrious little workers.

When Cortez made his memorable journey from Mexico to the present site of Puerto Cortez, in 1525, passing through Livingston, the coast country of the Kingdom of Quahtemala, as it was then called, was an almost unbroken forest, swampy, and oozy, and subject to heavy overflows in the rainy season. He sailed up the Rio Dulce with eyes wide open in wonder as the beauties of the stream unfolded. Almost two-thirds of the available agricultural land in Guatemala is still uncultivated for want of labourers and the necessary industry. With the advancement of modern science in remedying the fever-producing conditions, these regions can be made most desirable. One noted scientist has recently predicted that tropical lands will in the future be the favourite abode of mankind, as they were in the early history of the human race, because of the ease with which a livelihood can be obtained. In a land of perpetual summer, where fruits grow wild and a small piece of land will produce enough sustenance for a family, there is no need for a man to work hard. Earning one’s bread by the sweat of his brow becomes a jest. It is little wonder that the natives bask in the sun and dream their lives away.

Of all the rich soil so abundant in this republic, there is little systematic cultivation. There is no necessity to plow the land after it has been cleared of the timber and undergrowth. Even corn, of which three crops can be raised in a season, without the aid of fertilizers, is planted in holes made by a stick, and rice is scattered broadcast. Corn will often grow twelve feet in height and produce three generous ears on the stalk. The land laws are liberal in order to encourage settlers from other lands to locate here. The public lands are divided into lots of not more than fifteen caballerias, which are sold for a price ranging from $250 to $300 each by the government. A caballeria comprises one hundred and thirteen and five-eighths acres. Premiums have been offered by the government for the cultivation of India rubber, cacao, sarsaparilla, cotton, and tobacco; and no tax will be levied for ten years on lands devoted to the cultivation of these products. The small farmer, however, cannot make a small farm pay as well as in northern lands, for he could not stand it to work so hard and so regularly. Plantations to be successful should be large enough to justify the establishment of a colony of peon labourers on the premises.

A NATIVE HUT.

One plantation of three thousand acres, and employing from nine hundred to thirteen hundred labourers, produced in one year three hundred thousand pounds of sugar, twenty-two thousand gallons of milk, three million bottles of brandy, two thousand head of cattle and more than a million pounds of coffee. The labour laws require the owner of a plantation to preserve order on his estate; to keep a record of his employees, their wages, etc., in Spanish; to provide suitable dwellings or materials with which to build them (this, however, is simple enough); to furnish medicines and medical assistance in case of sickness; to keep a free school for the children where more than ten families are employed, if there is no public school in the neighbourhood; and to see that all persons are vaccinated.

Nature has done all that could be expected or could be hoped for on her part. The only thing necessary for success is the proper selection of ground and intelligent cultivation of the crops to which it is adapted. The diversity of altitudes and climates allows a great range of products. In no country in the world of equal size, in all probability, is there such a great variety of surface or such a diversity of natural products. There are more than four hundred species of wood of which one hundred and fifty are commercially valuable, and some three hundred and forty medicinal plants have already been discovered; and the end of discoveries in this line has not yet been reached.

Of the valuable woods, mahogany easily takes first place. These great and majestic trees are found in considerable number in the forests of northeastern Guatemala. Those situated near the larger streams have been cut down. Farther inland the difficulty of transportation makes the marketing of the logs an expensive undertaking, although the standing trees can be purchased from the government for a very small sum. The logwood tree, as well as other dyewoods, is found bordering on all the great lagoons and some portions of the Gulf coast. It is a tree of medium size and peculiar appearance, attaining a height of twenty or thirty feet. The trunk is gnarled and full of cavities, and separates a short distance above the ground. The heart, the only valuable portion, is a deep red. The logwood is found in the same localities as the mahogany, and they are districts that are generally flooded in the rainy season. The timbers are cut in the dry season and then floated down to the ports in the rainy season.

The palms are the most familiar of all tropical trees and a landscape hardly seems tropical without these graceful trees. It is doubtful if there is a single class of the tropical trees so essential to the native as the palms. Houses, timber, firewood, fodder, food and drink, needles and threads, wax and drugs are all obtained from palms of various species. The Royal palm is the most graceful and majestic of all, and there is no more imposing scene of arboreal beauty than the long avenues of these beautiful trees so common in the American tropics. Their smooth, tapering trunks, almost as hard as granite, tower upward for eighty or even a hundred feet above the earth, bearing at the top a mass of green, drooping plumes. These great white trunks, standing boldly out upon verdure-clad slopes, so conspicuous among the tangled sea of vines and jungle at their feet, and their plumes swaying gently in the breezes, are a beautiful and imposing sight.

The commonest and most useful of the palms is the cocoanut, which is a conspicuous sight in every village and rural scene in tropical lands. As this palm most commonly grows in spots exposed to the full sweep of the winds, the trunk is gradually bent away from the winds. It is seldom, indeed, that one will find the cocoanut in an absolutely perpendicular position. The stem is so strong and tough, being composed of closely-interwoven fibres, that the entire top may be torn off by the hurricanes and the trunk remain uninjured. The cocoanut commences to bear when from three to ten years old and will continue to produce fruit, year after year, for from seventy-five to one hundred years. The nut is used for both food and drink, and the shell is made into dippers, jars, spoons and other household utensils. The dried cocoa is a valuable article of commerce, but the real value of the oil prepared from the fresh meat is only beginning to be realized. It is useful not only in the manufacture of soaps, but a butter is prepared from it that is superior not only to cottonseed oil, but, so it is claimed, better than even animal butter for purposes of food. There is no reason why the tropics of Guatemala should not produce large quantities of the oil and cocoa meat for American and European trade.

A SUGAR PLANTATION.

India rubber grows wild in the forests and could be cultivated profitably, as it is now being done in Mexico and other countries. The government will give one manzana (113.62 acres) of land as a bonus for every two thousand rubber plants set out for cultivation. Sugar cane can be raised profitably, as the stalks grow high, with many joints, and have a greater percentage of saccharine than in most countries where it is cultivated. Furthermore, it does not require replanting for years in this soil. The stalks will grow nine feet high in as many months. At present about the only use to which the cane is devoted here is in the manufacture of “white-eye,” the native brandy. Some of it is made into sugar by means of old-fashioned sugar mills, which are simply vertical iron-roll mills turned by oxen. There is only one kettle used and no clarifier, and the syrup is run into wooden moulds, where it is cooled into dark hemispherical blocks—a form much liked by the Indians.

The Guatemalan cacao is claimed to be the very best in the world. It is not cultivated to any great extent at present, although the propagation is on the increase, as Ecuador practically controls the trade. The best conditions are an altitude of from eight hundred to two thousand feet and a soil rich in moisture, or capable of irrigation. Virgin lands from which forests have been cut are the best. It requires six years for the trees to mature, although they will occasionally bear in less time. The cultivation does not require nearly so much labour as coffee, although care must be taken not to hurt the “bean” when it is removed from the pod. One day is given for “fermentation;” after which they are dried in the sun for several days. The cacao is then ready for the market to furnish our delicious chocolate preparations. The pods are from ten to twelve inches long and contain many beans; they resemble a musk melon in appearance, and grow from the branches and trunks of the trees.

Nutmegs have proved a success on the Island of Trinidad and would do just as well here. The trees require at least eighty inches of rain annually. They will produce nutmegs in eight to ten years and will then bear and improve for a century. Each tree will yield from one thousand to five thousand nuts in a season, in size varying from sixty-eight to one hundred and twenty in a pound. Tobacco grows well and of good quality at an elevation of from one thousand to two thousand feet. Common and sweet potatoes, yams, beans, breadfruit, squashes, melons, tomatoes, peppers, the aguacate, or alligator pear (weighing about a pound), the granadilla (fruit of the passion flower), and many other fruits and vegetables can easily be cultivated at a fair profit.

Japan, India, or Ceylon can furnish nothing more fascinating or stranger in their vegetable kingdom than this favoured land. The fruits are simply wonderful in variety and perfection. The glowing sun and ardent breath of the tropics ask little aid from the hand of man in perfecting their products. One eats eggs, custard and butter off the trees.

The mango is nearly as abundant and prolific as the banana in some places. It grows on a very handsome tree, the leaves being long, lanceolate, polished, and hanging in dense masses of dark-green foliage. In size it is like a full-grown apple tree. The fruit is about the size of an egg plum, and when ripe is yellow in colour and very juicy. They grow in long, pendent branches, and the rich, juicy, golden-meated fruit is not only attractive to the eye, but delightful to the palate.

That great broad-leaved, useful plant so characteristic of the tropics, the banana, grows in great profusion in Guatemala, where there are fully two hundred varieties. Many of them are too delicate for transportation so they will never become a factor in commerce. All through the lowlands of Guatemala and even up to an elevation of two thousand and more feet, the banana is more common than the apple tree in New England; and few indeed are the native shacks in those sections that do not have their banana grove near. The uses of the banana in its natural habitat are so many, and its growth is so exuberant, that it might be classed, with equal propriety, as a weed, a vegetable, or a fruit.

Along the line of the Guatemala Northern Railway and the borders of Lake Izabal, with its connecting streams, are thousands of acres just as well suited to the cultivation of this delicious fruit as the neighbouring republic of Honduras, or more distant Costa Rica. Much of the land belongs to the public domain and can be secured for a small sum, although the first cost probably represents not more than one-third of the investment that will be found necessary. The land must be cleared, although this is a simple matter, for the trees and underbrush are simply left where they fall, as decay is very rapid in this climate; and the banana shoots, called hijos, are planted in the midst of the rubbish from twelve to fifteen feet apart. After about nine months the stalk will bear and the bunch of bananas is cut while still green. The parent stalk is cut down and one or more shoots will spring up from the roots which will bear fruit in the same time. Thus a marketable crop is produced each week, bringing in a steady and unceasing revenue.

The banana has a curious and prodigal method of propagation. Even before the fruit of the parent stalk has matured, new stalks begin to spring up from the roots. As this process is repeated indefinitely it follows that unless these surplus stalks are cut out, a banana field would soon become a miniature jungle. Some growers follow the plan of allowing four shoots to grow in one hill, and their gradations are so arranged that while the oldest is bearing fruit the second is in blossom, the third is half-grown, and the fourth is just coming forth from the ground. In the majority of cases a new shoot will spring up from the old stalk if cut near the ground and there is plenty of rain.

The rapidity of growth of this shoot is a marvel of tropical hustling. A prominent naturalist has made a record of the growth during the first few hours which seems almost incredible, but is true. Twenty minutes after the stalk was cut, the new shoot could be seen pushing up from the center of the cut. Eight hours after cutting, the shoot was nearly two feet in height with the leaves forming. Thirty-one hours after cutting there were four well-developed and perfect leaves and the new shoot constituted quite a respectable looking tree. This great rapidity of growth is due to the spirally-wrapped leaves that are contained within the banana stalk, and which are merely pushed upward and unroll. It is a fact that under those circumstances the growth is so rapid that it is almost discernible to the eye. Stalks grown in this way, it is said, seldom bloom or bear fruit.

The requirements for successful cultivation of this fruit are a deep, alluvial soil, and plenty of water either by rain or irrigation. The nature of the soil, however, seems to have less to do with the successful growing of the banana than the amount of rainfall, which should be at least one hundred inches annually, and the temperature, which must be very warm. The best results are obtained near streams, and an occasional overflow is not a disadvantage. About two hundred or two hundred and twenty-five hills to the acre is the usual allowance. The average yield will then be from two hundred and fifty to three hundred bunches of marketable fruit each year. It is practically immune from insect pests, and a worm-eaten banana, or banana stalk, is practically unknown. It is so vigorous that it will hold its own amid all sorts of weeds and climbing vines, although the successful cultivator will keep his fields free from such pests.

A careful writer has said that the same amount of land that will produce enough wheat to support two persons will raise enough bananas to sustain fifty persons. The food value of the banana and plantain, which is larger and perhaps more nutritious than the former, has never been fully exploited. They make an excellent meal which is very nutritious when dried and ground. At the present time most of the profit goes to the transportation company which holds a monopoly of the carrying trade. They are sold to the fruit company for less than half what they are worth in this country. A vessel will carry twenty thousand bunches in addition to a cargo of passengers, and the loss on the fruit does not exceed fifteen per cent. The fact that bananas can not be kept for any length of time, except in cold storage, requires their early marketing; and the further fact that they will not stand much handling requires their shipment in vessels especially constructed for their transportation. These vessels are all owned by one fruit-buying trust. It is no wonder that this monopoly has proved very profitable to its owners. Now that the new railroad is opened up and regular trains are running, this rich banana soil ought to be rapidly developed, since the market for this delicious fruit is constantly increasing and the supply has never yet exceeded the demand. Instead of a million bunches, Guatemala ought to export five or ten million bunches each year.

All over the world the fruits, as well as other articles of the tropics, are coming into greater demand each year. In 1908 the United States imported fruits and other food products of the tropics, not including coffee, to the value of more than two dollars for each man, woman and child in the country. Sugar was by far the largest item on the list, bananas second, and cacao a close rival for that distinction. More than 37,000,000 bunches of bananas were consumed in the United States during that year, an increase of fifty per cent in five years. The general use of the banana is of very recent growth, for it has come into use in Northern climates almost entirely within the last quarter of a century. The Pacific slope of Guatemala, although much less in extent, is far ahead of the Gulf side in cultivation and is far more thickly settled. The chief export from this district is coffee which is cultivated everywhere at an altitude of from one thousand to six thousand feet. The soil is about the same as that of Chiapas, the adjoining Mexican state, which also produces a fine quality of coffee. Thousands of bags of coffee are shipped from the ports of Ocos, Champerico and San Jose, in Guatemala, and San Benito, in Mexico, which is only a few miles from the border. Coffee is not a natural product of this soil, but was first introduced into the New World by a Spanish priest in Guatemala, who obtained the seed in Arabia. It was found adapted to the soil and climate, and coffee is to-day by far the most valuable export, the shipments having reached as high as eighty-five million pounds in one year, worth as much as all other exports together. Most of it is exported to Germany and England, as it is a common saying throughout Mexico and Central America, that only the poor grades of coffee are sent to the greatest coffee-drinking nation in the world—that of Uncle Sam—and the national eagle ought to trail his feathers in the dust at this reflection on his good taste.

DRYING COFFEE.

A coffee field is a beautiful sight with its shrubs of dark green dotted here and there with the white, fragrant blossoms and the bright, crimson berries which look almost like cherries. It must be remembered that coffee grows on trees, which are set nine or ten feet apart, for the trees will grow twenty feet high if permitted, and ladders are necessary for the pickers. The trees are raised in nurseries and when a few months old are transplanted. It requires a deep soil, careful cultivation, plenty of rain, and shade for the young plants to reach their highest development. The best altitude is from 2,600 feet to 4,500 feet in this climate. On the lower elevations the plants must be shaded, and the banana is generally employed because it also produces a valuable crop and furnishes a revenue while the coffee trees are maturing. Corn may be planted among the trees if one is in a hurry to obtain returns from the land. The trees will produce a profitable crop in from four to six years after transplanting, although coffee two years from the seed is frequently seen. On the higher elevations the plants must be protected from the north winds of December to February, and a site is generally chosen with a range of hills to the north for shelter. The critical period is the blooming season, when a heavy rainfall, while the trees are in flower, washes away the pollen and will prevent fructification. The “cherry” ripens in October, and they are then gathered and “pulped,” after which they are spread out on the great paved yards, with which every finca is supplied, to dry, after which they are separated and hulled, and then stored. After the pulp has been removed coffee is called in pergamino; then after the parchment-like covering has been removed, it is in oro.

A MILL FOR HULLING COFFEE.

If one feels a decided call to till the soil old Mother Earth will be about as generous to him in coffee culture as in anything. Whatever cultivation one undertakes, he must wait some years to see his money come back. Even if he engages in the raising of cattle, he must wait for the calves to grow, and no calf will grow faster than he pleases, unless you stuff him with expensive grain. With corn, wheat or barley, you must prepare the soil carefully each season, and after the crop is cut and stacked, the land is there again, bare as before. With coffee, after the land is once planted, it does not need replanting for many years.

CHAPTER V
THE PEOPLE

There are but two classes of people in Guatemala, Creoles and Indians. The Creoles include all those who are European or in whom the European blood predominates. They are the business and professional men of the country and the land owners. Although numbering not to exceed one-tenth of the population, this class own all but a small fraction of the wealth of the country. They busy themselves with the business and politics of the country, while the Indians do the real work and even the fighting if there is anything of that kind on hand to be done. A substantial middle class which usually form the backbone of a nation’s strength has not yet been developed.

The Creoles are an interesting race—kind, considerate and courteous. They enjoy leisure, always have time for a friendly conversation and welcome a holiday as a relief from the strain of business cares. If you should chance upon an acquaintance on the street he is never in such a hurry that he would not stop, shake hands, and inquire politely after each member of your family, and would then politely listen in turn to inquiries after each member of his own household, which you would be in duty bound to make, as a courtesy to his own friendly interest. The punctuality of an engagement never bothers them, and the man who persists in keeping or insisting upon such a thing is rather a bore. This easy-going, care-free nature has not hastened the progress of the country.

The Creole woman has ever been a favourite theme of poets, and their black, bewitching eyes have won many a eulogy from both poetic and prose writers; and deservedly so, for woman is ever an excuse for a eulogy and toast in all countries and in all languages. The Spanish-American woman is always interesting, and perhaps, as often as in other bloods, is beautiful. They are home lovers, and the casa, or home, is jealously shielded from prying eyes by the husband or father, who is lord and master. The idea of political suffrage or woman’s rights has never yet agitated their gentle bosoms. Their life is a reminder of Oriental exclusiveness, and a young woman is seldom seen on the street unless her mother or some older woman is with her as a companion.

The windows and balconies furnish convenient seats for the young women of the house, who, forbidden by custom to walk the streets unaccompanied, plant themselves there and inconsiderately stare at all who pass, and especially the men. You can look in return, for it is only properly gallant and polite to stare at them as frankly as if they were pictures or flowers. To the foreigner it is quite embarrassing to pass this gauntlet of curious eyes. When the cool of the day comes Mamma, together with Juanita and Carmencita, may be seen in the window, all of them dressed up and made very beautiful, watching the street with their faces close to the bar. One who knows them well may stop and talk with them, being careful to pay all the attention to Mamma. It is just the same at the bull-fight or theatre, for opera glasses will be levelled with a steady gaze, such as an American would never experience in his own country. It is not the coquettish glance seeking a flirtation, for it is not accompanied by a smile, but is rather that of curiosity, or a natural and uncontrollable interest in the genus represented—that is—man.

These same balconies and window-seats also play a large part in the courtship of the country. “Playing the bear” is the name given to it, and it is very much the same as Mexican love-making. A young man who is attracted by the black eye or coquettish glance of a señorita will follow her to her home and then “play the bear” by passing back and forth in front of the house for a long time each day until he is rewarded by a smile or wave of the hand from the object of his attentions. I learned recently of one young man who used a telephone by throwing one instrument up on the balcony and keeping the other. In this way the “bear” would talk with the young lady for hours each day. Finally the suit progresses until he can talk to her through the barred window. Perhaps in the most casual way imaginable she may let her fingers slip through the bars, for there is just a chance that Mamma may be asleep, for she sits with her eyes shut—it is just a chance of course, but the risk may be taken and Mamma was once young herself. Later he may be invited to call at the house by the father or mother after a family council, if his antecedents are all right, for they have probably been investigated in the meantime by the sagacious parents of a marriageable young lady.

To the independent American woman such a life is simply incomprehensible. It would be dull, uninteresting—in fact, in many ways, aggravating. From childhood to old age the Spanish-American woman rarely does as she likes, but is a slave to antiquated customs. Think of a woman not doing as she wants! As a child a servant accompanies her to school and calls for her in the evening. When the marriageable age is reached, her courting must all be done in the presence of others; and there are so many romantic spots to be found where it could be done so much more pleasantly in this warm climate. After the engagement the vigilance of the parents is increased, and the young couple are never even for a moment left to themselves. If they should go to a dance, the family accompanying, of course, the girl must dance every dance with her escort. When married the pleasure of a wedding trip is not for her, unless the husband is wealthy. Last of all, if the marriage proves unhappy, the consolation of a divorce is even denied her!

After marriage the Señora settles down to a life of inactivity, and in a few years she has lost her girlhood beauty. To do any of the household work is beneath her, and the number of servants is limited only by the means of her husband. She enjoys life in a rocking-chair, reads a little, plays her music when the mood is upon her, and occasionally does needlework. Families are large and, be it said to her credit, she is usually a good mother and devoted to her children. She knows nothing of the joys of “bargain days,” for she usually contents herself by sending to the store and having the goods brought out to her carriage. The cook practically runs the household and is given a fixed allowance for the marketing, out of which there must be some margin for “graft,” or the cook will leave and seek a more generous master. Seldom indeed is it that a woman dares to depart from these conventionalities, however great the desire, and the universal reason given is that “it is not the custom.”

Boys may be sent away to liberal schools, but the girls are educated in convents and, if sent abroad, go to Spain, thus retaining the old Spanish customs. The girls are fairly pretty in youth, but this soon fades. Their minds are not broadened by travel, and they grow up with narrow views of life but proud of their ancestry. They are very devoted to the outward ceremonials of the church and spend more time in learning the lives of the saints than they do in reading useful literature. A woman’s popularity in Guatemala City is judged by the number of pictures of herself that are sold by the photographer; and he is at liberty to sell the photographs of his lady patrons to whomsoever may desire them. The more he sells the more his patron is pleased, for it flatters her vanity.

The brown-skinned descendants of the ancient Toltecs and children of a southern sun, whose warm rays have implanted a permanent tan on their cheeks, comprise the great majority of the population and are an interesting race. Dressed in their scanty garb, which is generally clean, they loll away life basking in the sun when it is cool, and hiding from the same when it is hot. They may breakfast on a glass of water and dine on a banana, yet among themselves they are always happy and laugh like grown-up children. Why should they work much? is their philosophy. Fruit is abundant, game is plentiful, pigs and chickens need little care, and kind nature richly rewards every effort to cultivate her soil. In this climate wants are few. The latest fashions have no temptation; the woods and jungle furnish material for their thatch and reed cottages, and the morrow can take care of itself. They sleep, eat and smoke when the inclination comes upon them, and drink “white-eye” (native brandy) when they have money with which to buy it.

As an individual the peon is not a particularly lovable character except for his fidelity. He is much like a child in many ways and has to be frequently treated as one. He even fails to resent a chastisement by a knock-down blow from his employer, if his conscience tells him he deserves it. On the other hand a word of encouragement or a courteous “buenas dias” (good morning) brings a smile of genuine pleasure to his face which is unmistakable. The personal mozo, or body-servant of the master, is especially useful and amiable. On a journey he thinks little of himself, and never until every want and wish of the master has been met and gratified. Although to-day not obliged to defend his master against brigandish attacks as formerly, yet he would be perfectly willing to lay down his life for him if necessary. Although times have changed, the mozo remains just the same faithful, trustworthy and careful servant as formerly. He is not over intelligent, perhaps, or over cleanly in appearance always, but he is as loyal and dependable a servant as can be found anywhere in the world.

INDIAN GIRL WITH WATER JAR.

Debt and improvidence is not confined to the poor peon. While the latter is indebted to the planter, the planter has probably mortgaged his growing crops to the merchant, and the merchant in turn demands long-time credit from the foreign dealer. Thus it is that the business is conducted on credit almost entirely and little actual money is handled.

Guatemala has been called the land of “no hay,” meaning “there is none,” because it is such a common answer and it illustrates one characteristic of this race. If the people do not want to bother, that will be their invariable answer. You might go up to a house where the yard was full of chickens, the woman engaged in making tortillas, and fruit trees loaded with fruit in the yard, and yet have a conversation about like the following:

“Have you any meat?”

“No hay” (pronounced eye).

“Have you any eggs?”

“No hay.”

“Have you any fruit?”

“No hay.”

“Have you a house?”

“No hay.”

“Have you anything to eat?”

“No hay.”