burdens of clothing, food, utensils; all were wearied and footsore with the long journey, but full of joy and enthusiasm, as they were nearing their destination—a famous shrine. Passing us, they journeyed onward to an open space at the end of town, where, with many others who had reached there sooner, they camped for the night. The next day we constantly passed such parties of pilgrims; coming or going to this shrine which lay a little off the road between Acala and San Bartolome. In one group, we counted ninety pilgrims.
RIVER BETWEEN CHIAPA AND ACALA
THE INDIAN GOVERNMENT AT SAN BARTOLOME
We had been told that San Bartolome was full of goitre, and we really found no lack of cases. It is said that forty years ago it was far more common than now, and that the decrease has followed the selection of a new water source and the careful piping of the water to the town. In the population of two thousand, it was estimated that there might be two hundred cases, fifty of which were notable. None, however, was so extraordinary as that of which several told us, the late secretario of the town, who had a goitre of such size that, when he sat at the table to write, he had to lift the swelling with both hands and place it on the table before he began work. The former prevalence of the disease is abundantly suggested by the frequency of deaf-mutes, a score or more of whom live here—all children of goitrous parents. Bad as was San Bartolome, it seemed to us surpassed by San Antonio, where we found the disease in an aggravated form, while at Nenton, our first point in Guatemala, every one appeared affected, although we saw no dreadful cases.
San Bartolome is an almost purely indian town, where for the first time our attention was called to the two sets of town officials—indian and ladino. The indian town government consisted of four Indians of pure blood, who wore the native costume. This, here, is characteristic, both for men and women. The men wore wide-legged trousers of native woven cotton, and an upper jacket-shirt, square at the bottom, made of the same stuff, with designs—rosettes, flowers, geometrical figures, birds, animals, or men—wrought in them in red, green, or yellow wools; about the waist was a handsome brilliant native belt, while a bright kerchief was twisted about the head. The men were well-built, but the alcalde was a white pinto. Women wore huipilis, waist-garments, sometimes thick and heavy, at others thin and open, in texture, but in both cases decorated with lines of brightly colored designs. Their enaguas, skirts, were of heavy indigo-blue stuff or of plain white cotton, of two narrow pieces sewed together and quite plain except for a line of bright stitching along the line of juncture. As among other indian tribes, this cloth was simply wrapped around the figure and held in place by a belt. The town is famous for its weaving and dyeing; the loom is the simple, primitive device used all through Mexico long before the Conquest. We were surprised to find that the designs in colored wools are not embroidered upon the finished fabric, but are worked in with bits of worsted during the weaving.
From San Bartolome to Comitan, the road passes over a curious lime deposit, apparently formed by ancient hot waters; it is a porous tufa which gave back a hollow sound under the hoofs of our horses. It contains moss, leaves, and branches, crusted with lime, and often forms basin terraces, which, while beautiful to see, were peculiarly harsh and rough for our animals. But the hard, and far more ancient, limestone, onto which we then passed, was quite as bad. At the very summit of one hill of this we found a cave close by the road; entering it, we penetrated to a distance of perhaps seventy-five feet, finding the roof hung with stalactites and the walls sheeted with stalagmite. Just after leaving this cave, we met a tramp on foot, ragged, weary, and dusty, and with a little bundle slung upon a stick over his shoulder. He accosted me in Spanish, asking whence we had come; on my reply, probably catching my foreign accent, he winked and said in plain English—"Yes? And where are you going, pard?"
After a hard day's ride, over a shut-in road, destitute of fine views, we reached the crest overlooking Comitan. The descent was almost precipitous. The town, better built and more compact than most, was situated near the foot of the hill; near it, on a terrace, was the cemetery. On the level road, stretching to a long distance from the town, we saw lines of hundreds of pack-mules, dwarfed by distance. South from the town stretched a grassy plain, bordered here and there with pine trees. Back of this plain rose round-topped hills, and beyond them were again the blue mountains; far in the distance, behind these, towered the mighty crests of the Guatemalan Sierra Madre.
The town was crowded, as the annual feria (fair) was in progress, and it was with difficulty that we found a room to sleep in, going for our meals to one of the many temporary eating-places in the plaza. Comitan is the last town of consequence in Mexico, and has wide fame on account of its spirits, known at comiteco. This drink, of enormous strength, distilled from coarse, brown sugar (panela,) is a favorite in Guatemala, and its smuggling across the border, though risky, is a lucrative business. There are scores of little distilleries in the town, many of them belonging to and conducted by women.
Mexican paper money is useless between Tuxtla Gutierrez and Comitan. At the latter city it may be exchanged for silver, but with difficulty. From here on we found no copper in circulation, and before reaching Comitan we had begun to receive Guatemalan silver in our change. Fully thirty leagues from the border we ceased to receive Mexican silver from anyone. This notable displacement of Mexican currency seems curious, because Guatemalan money is at a heavy discount in comparison with it. At San Bartolome we sent a soldier-police to buy zacate, giving him Mexican money. He brought back two Guatemalan pieces in change, and on our objecting to receive it, as sured me, not only that the money was good, but also that here the people were Guatemalans. "Here," said he, "not Mexico: here we are all Carrera's people." This, of course, was sheer treason. Carrera, the pure-blood indian who in the stirring days of 1839 seized the power in Guatemala, a strange and wild being who had a real love for his country, has left a profound impression. At times an exile, he had lived at Comitan, where his name was familiar to all the indians around. His coins are much prized by the indians for necklaces and earrings, and even at Tehuantepec we had seen women wearing his little gold pieces in their ears.
It should have been an easy matter to go from Comitan to Nenton (in Guatemala) in a single day. As it was, we made it with great difficulty in two, our mule Chontal apparently being completely worn out. We crossed the llano, passed through patches of pines, and then came out upon a terrible country of limestone hills. In our last day's journey we had to coax, threaten, beat, drag, and push that mule until our voices were gone and our arms were tired. Immediately on passing the line into Guatemala, we found the telegraph wires cut and poles down, a result of the late unpleasantness with Mexico. The mountain mass before us, which had been in view for two days past, loomed up frightfully before us. Would our little mule be able to pass it? We remembered what an American tramp, whom we had met at Tuxtla Gutierrez and who had walked on foot from Guatemala City, had said: "Between Nenton and Huehuetenango you will pass over a mountain that will make your heart sick; may God help you." Just at dusk we looked down upon Nenton in a little valley, with a fine stream crossed by a pretty bridge, where mountains rose steeply on every side. Having been registered by the custom officials, we slept that night, our first in the new republic, in the municipal house.
Next morning we started bravely, the whole town having assembled to see us off. We safely reached the foot of the mountain, where the mule stopped and braced himself. We spoke kindly, coaxed, dragged, but all to no effect. Finally he started, but three times within the next few minutes, he and we went through the same procedure. Patience had ceased to be a virtue; we held a serious consultation. Ernst asserted that by placing the rope over the nostrils of the animal and then leading, he must move. We tried the experiment. The beast gave a snort, a groan, lurched, fell over, kicked convulsively, closed his eyes, and lay to all appearance dead. The town below, which had been watching progress, came running up. We removed the halter; the animal lay quiet. The pity of the by-standers was maddening; their remarks exasperating. "Poor little mule, he dies;" they pointed to his rubbed sides—"Ah, poor creature! What a heavy load! How thin he is." It is certain that the best mule in the town was in far worse condition, and as for food, Chontal had eaten more the night before