THE PADRE'S HOUSE; MEDELLIN
THE CHURCH; MEDELLIN
We left Medellin on January 8th; went by rail to Puebla, then to Oaxaca. Here we found our friend Doctor Hyde, of Silao, who was nursing Lucius Smith, in what proved to be a final illness. He aided us in finding animals and completing preparations for our journey. We secured a large bay horse for myself, a roan for Ernst, a little mule for baggage. For my own part, I dislike mules; Ernst and the doctor, however, were loud in their praise of such a beast; both asserted that a good mule should sell for double its cost on our arrival at Guatemala City. When, finally, after inspecting a variety of animals we found one lively, young one, the doctor was delighted. Taking me to one side, he informed me that such an opportunity was unlikely to occur again. I yielded and the little mule was ours. We named the three animals Mixe, Zapotec, and Chontal, from three tribes through whose country we expected to pass.
The doctor's helpfulness was not confined to advice regarding mules. He insisted upon our buying various supplies, such as boxes of sardines, sago, coffee, etc., the utility of which appeared neither at the time nor later. Also at his suggestion a quart of whiskey was purchased and carefully divided into two flasks, one for each saddlebag. Most useful of all the doctor's suggestions, and one for which we had reason many times to thank him, was the securing from the governor of a letter to all local authorities in the state, directing them to supply us with the necessities of life, at just prices.
We had hoped to start from Oaxaca in the early morning, but it was well on in the afternoon before all arrangements were completed. The doctor and his Mexican friend rode with us to Tule to see us well started. It was out over the old road to Mitla. The afternoon was hot, dust was deep, and a heavy wind blew it up into our faces in clouds. The sun was already setting when we rode into Santa Maria Tule, and we went at once to see the famous cypress tree, which no one in the party, save myself, had seen. It seems now to be a single tree, but was perhaps, originally, three; at present it displays a single, vast trunk, buttressed with heavy irregular projecting columns. So irregular is this enormous mass that no two persons taking its girth exactly agree. We measured it four feet above the ground and made the circumference one hundred and sixty feet. The mass of delicate green foliage above was compact, vigorous, and beautiful. Many years ago Humboldt cut a rectangular piece of bark from the old trunk and on the smooth surface thus exposed carved an inscription with his name.
THE RAIN GOD; FROM THE CHURCH OF MIXISTLAN
THE GREAT TREE AT TULE
Bark has since grown over the sides and corners of this tablet, but much of the inscription may still be read. Since Humboldt's visit many lesser men have gashed the old tree to leave their mark.
As it was now darkening we hurried to the meson of the village. The old lady in charge received us with suspicion; she could not feed us and refused to receive us into the house for the night; she would permit us to sleep outside, in the corridor—which we might have done without asking permission. At this moment, the doctor's friend remembered that he knew a man here and went out to reconnoitre; he soon returned and led us to his friend's house, where we were well received. A supper of eggs, tortillas, and chocolate was soon served. Before we had finished the moon had risen and by its light the doctor and his friend started on their return to town. We slept on beds, made of boards laid upon sawhorses, in a grain store-room, where rats were running around all night long.
The next day, we were again at Mitla. It was a festival day, that of the Conversion of St. Paul the Apostle. In the evening there were rockets, the band played, and a company of drummers and chirimiya blowers went through the town. Señor Quiero had fires of blazing pine knots at the door. When the procession passed we noted its elements. In front was the band of ten boys; men with curious standards mounted on poles followed. The first of these standards was a figure, in strips of white and pink tissue paper, of a long-legged, long-necked, long-billed bird, perhaps a heron; next stars of colored paper, with lights inside; then were large globes, also illuminated, three of white paper and three in the national colors—red, white, and green. Grandest of all, however, was a globular banner of cloth on which was painted a startling picture of the saint's conversion. All of these were carried high in the air and kept rotating. Behind the standard bearers came a drummer and the player on the shrill pipe or pito—chirimiya. The procession stopped at Señor Quiero's tienda, and the old man opened both his heart and his bottles; spirits flowed freely to all who could crowd into the little shop and bottles and packs of cigarros were sent out to the standard-bearers. As a result we were given a vigorous explosion of rockets, and several pieces by the band, the drummer, and the pitero.
Beyond Mitla the valley narrows and the road rises onto a gently sloping terrace; when it strikes the mountains it soon becomes a bridle-path zigzagging up the cliffside. As we mounted by it, the valley behind expanded magnificently under our view. We passed through a belt of little oak trees, the foliage of which was purple-red, like the autumnal coloring of our own forests. Higher up we reached the pine timber. As soon as we reached the summit, the lovely valley view was lost and we plunged downward, even more abruptly than we had mounted, along the side of a rapidly deepening gorge. At the very mouth of this, on a pretty terrace, we came abruptly on the little town of San Lorenzo with palm-thatched huts of brush or cane and well grown hedges of organo cactus. Here we ate tortillas and fried-eggs with chili. Immediately on setting out from here we rode over hills, the rock of which was deeply stained with rust and streaked with veins of quartz, up to a crest of limestone covered with a crust of stalagmite.
The road up to this summit was not good, but that down the other side was bad. The irregular, great blocks of limestone, covered with the smooth, dry, slippery coating, caused constant stumbling to our poor animals. From this valley we rose onto a yet grander range. Here we had our first Mixe experience. At the very summit, where the road became for a little time level, before plunging down into the profound valley beyond, we met two Indians, plainly Mixes. Both were bareheaded, and both wore the usual dirty garments—a cotton shirt over a pair of cotton trousers, the legs of which were rolled up to the knees or higher. The younger of the men bore a double load, as he had relieved his companion. The old man's face was scratched and torn, his hands were smeared with blood and blood stained his shirt. We cried an "adios" and the old man kissed my hand, while the younger, pointing to his friend said "Sangre, Señor, sangre" (Blood, sir, blood.) Vigorously they told the story of the old man's misfortune, but in incomprehensible Spanish. While they spoke three others like them, each bent under his burden came up onto the ridge. These kissed my hand and then, excitedly pointing to the old man, all talking at once, tried to tell his story. Having expressed our sympathy, we left the five looking after us, the old man, with his torn and bleeding face, being well in the foreground.
THE START FROM OAXACA
THE CELEBRATION AT MITLA
Down in the valley, across a little stream, we struck into a pleasant meadow road leading to the Hacienda of San Bartolo. Suddenly, before us, in the road, we saw a man lying. We thought he was dead. He was a young man, an indian in the usual dress, apparently a Zapotec. His face was bloody and his shirt was soaked in front with blood, which had trickled down upon the ground forming a pool in which he lay. We could see no deep wound, but, as he lay upon his side, there may have been such. Near him in the road there lay a knife, the blade covered with blood. The man lay perfectly still, but we fancied we could