# A Glimpse at Guatemala/Chapter 13

CHAPTER XIII.
THE ROAD TO ZACAPA AND COPAN.
We would gladly have lingered on in the enjoyment of such pleasant lazy days at Coban; but there were many miles to be traversed before we could reach the ruins of Copan, a place so like in name and so different in nature, the goal to which my eyes now turned longingly. Moreover, the season was advancing, and the fervid rays of the sun at midday proclaimed that summer was upon us.
Two days were passed in hunting up mozos to carry our baggage, and it was only owing to the fear of the wrath of the Alcalde and the terrors of the cárcel that they consented to make the journey. The Indians seem to be in absolute servitude to the Alcalde, who orders them to go when and where he pleases, and in our better moments we had pangs of conscience at being accomplices in such slave-driving; but such is the force of custom, that we often found ourselves fretting and fuming because the mozos failed to make their appearance, and their dilatoriness even drew down denunciation on their heads from the mouth of the ever-patient Gorgonio. At length five or six sulky Indians arrived, shouldered our luggage, and started off on the road to Santa Cruz; after bidding our kind host farewell, we rode after them, and on our well-fed and rested mules actually traversed the four leagues to Santa Cruz in three hours. Beyond Santa Cruz the road ran high above the windings of the Coban River, whose steep banks are richly clothed with tree-ferns and flowering creepers. Towards evening we reached the ugly little wind-swept hamlet of Tactic, the usual resting-place for travellers between Coban and the port of Panzos. Travellers must often fare badly, for one small inn, containing a single bedroom, was all the accommodation the village appeared to afford; and but for Mr. Thomae's forethought in telegraphing to secure this room for us, we might have had to share the verandah for the night with native travellers, arrieros, and dogs, and probably have gone supperless to bed.
At Tactic we left the cart-road leading to Panzos, which, after surmounting the divide, strikes the source of the Rio Polochic, and follows its banks to the eastward. Our course lay along a mule-track which crosses the hills to the southward and connects Coban with the capital. During ​our morning ride we passed along river-bottoms and good grass land, where well-fed cattle gazed peacefully at us, instead of running after us and glaring with hungry eyes as their less fortunate brethren had done in the dry lands of the Altos. Leaving these pleasant pastures of El Patal, famous for keeping green and fresh throughout the dry season, we mounted a considerable hill and arrived at the small desolate rancho of Santa Rosa. Here we breakfasted in the state apartment of the house, a small windowless mud-floored chamber which served its owners as dining-room, sleeping-room, and oratory, where a dissipated-looking muscovy duck, three minute puppies, and numerous flea-infested, half-starved dogs shared our meal of tortillas and frijoles. After breakfast we clambered over more broken hills to the summit of the range, the cumbre de Cachil; and here again we passed suddenly beyond the limit of the Atlantic rainfall which keeps the Alta Vera Paz so rich and green, and entered a gloomy and desert-looking land. There was no relief to the monotony of the sun-baked mountain-sides, saving the presence here and there in the deeper hollows of a few trees, which in this dry season had dropped their leaves and clothed themselves with a wealth of brilliant blossom—yellow and white frangipani, the madre de cacao, with its soft pink bloom, and another tree unknown to me with feathery white racemes like an acacia.
From the southern edge of the range we saw the hot dried-up plain of Salamá stretching before us, and the white-walled houses of the town glistening in the afternoon sun. Although the road was here well graded and in fair condition, it was a wearisome journey over the last of the hills and down the long descent to the little rivulet which flows along the edge of the plain. The banks of the stream were covered with flowering shrubs and trees, which here near the water's edge were clothed in green leaves, and we preferred to seek a lodging in a wayside house, under their grateful shade, to riding on over the dusty plain to the hot streets of the little town. Here we were destined to remain for two whole days, refreshed by the last drops of an occasional shower blown to us over the mountains, and solaced by the sweet song of the sensontes, or mocking-birds, which abound in the neighbourhood, whilst the country round was being searched for mozos and mules to carry on our baggage. We were obliged to despatch Caralampio to Rabinal to fetch the boxes which were to have been sent there from Chiché; and, as we afterwards learnt, he had to extend his journey to Chiché itself in order to retrieve them from the Alcalde, in whose hands they had been left, and who had been faithless to his promises to forward them; Caralampio did not overtake us until we had reached Zacapa. The difficulty in engaging mules would have led to a longer delay had not Mr. Harris, the owner of the ​Hacienda of San Gerónimo, come to our rescue and also invited us to visit him. On our way to the hacienda we passed through Salama, a pretty little town with a bright stream running through it, and a Plaza planted with coconut-palms; and then we rode on across the dried-up plain, which, as we approached the hacienda, lost its sun-baked aspect and became green with cane-fields and coffee-plantations, the result of careful irrigation. At our journey's end we received a cordial welcome from Mr. Harris and Mr. Burnes.
The Hacienda of San Gerónimo has an interesting history, and has been the cause of endless troubles and litigation. Originally it was a convent of Dominican monks, and their fine enduring work can be seen in the solid building of the house and the church attached to it, and in the extensive irrigation works with tunnels and aqueducts almost worthy of the Romans. Both situation and climate are delightful. It stands about 3000 feet above the sea-level at the edge of the plain, with well-wooded hills at the back of it, which run to join the lofty range of the Sierra de las Minas. The thin burnt-up grass and cracked earth, so characteristic of the plain of Salamá, disappear before the skilfully devised irrigation, and one's eyes rest gratefully on fields of waving green sugar-cane. Surely the monks had learnt the art of choosing pleasant places and adding to their natural charms, and it must have been a cruel wrench when they were compelled to leave their home, their church, and their vineyards—for here alone in Guatemala they had succeeded in cultivating the vine and producing a wine which was acceptable to their countrymen. After the withdrawal of the Dominicans in about the year 1845 the estate was bought by an Englishman of the name of Bennett, whose representatives now own it; and although the vine has given way to the sugar-cane, and the reputation of its wine is a thing of the past, the "Puro de San Gerónimo," as the aguardiente now made here is called, is famed throughout the length and breadth of the Republic.
The forty-six thousand acres over which the property extends contains mountain, forest, and plain, and a splendid supply of running-water. A little town of Indian and Negro labourers and attendants near the convent walls was doubtless governed on the paternal system so dear to the monks, who in the old days brooked little interference from the secular arm. Probably the English proprietor reaped the benefit from this state of affairs, and for some years he had obedient workmen and the estate yielded large profits. Then followed disputes amongst his heirs, changes of management, and law-suits. Meanwhile the serfs of the monkish rule were beginning to learn and to abuse their independence: squabbles arose between town and hacienda, and a feud gradually sprang up which has never died out. ​But quite lately the crisis became acute: Indians and half-castes had squatted in the outlying portions of the property and played havoc with timber and game, incendiary fires were of constant occurrence, irrigation ditches were damaged and cattle mutilated; finally, a mob from the town wantonly burned down the sugar-mill and attacked the overseer in charge. When matters reached this stage the proprietors placed their case in the hands of the English Minister at Guatemala, and after some negotiation the Government (who knew that its own officials in the town had aided and abetted in the attacks) was induced to settle the question by turning the squatters out of the land and paying an indemnity of $14,000 to the owners, and by purchasing from them a part of the estate on which to settle some of the townspeople; whilst the owners on their part, for certain considerations, ceded to the townspeople the church—one of the possessions mostly fought over, although its use for religious services had never been interfered with—and all town land and houses. During the riots one of the managers of the estate lost a finger, and a townsman who was caught in the act of mutilating cattle was shot dead.
We were assigned a monk's rooms opening into a gallery in that part of the convent said to be haunted by ghosts; but no unearthly visitors molested us. The room was windowless, and light was admitted by opening the upper half of the door, when we gained a lovely view over the plain and the rolling hills to the distant purple mountains. In the foreground were waving green cornfields, coffee-bushes, and bananas, and immediately below us was a garden filled with orange-trees laden with fruit and blossom. The softest of summer breezes wafted up to us the scent of the flowers, and the tinkle of the fountain filled the air with a gentle murmur. Next morning we wandered round the small town and visited some of the distilleries for which it is famous; for at the hacienda itself no distillation is done, only a "panela" or low-grade sugar is made, which is sold to the owners of the small distilleries, and from this panela it is that the Puro de San Gerónimo is made. As we passed through the streets we could not help observing what a strong strain of Negro blood there was amongst the people; and it is possibly this mixture of races which has made the townspeople so difficult to deal with, for in all the disputes between town and hacienda there seems to have been an assertion and initiative on the part of the people unlike the usual passive stubbornness of the pure-blooded Indian.
Our haste to reach Copan obliged us to decline the pressing invitation of our hosts to prolong our stay, but rather to accept with gratitude their offer of mules and an arriero for the journey to Zacapa, about sixty-three miles distant. We set out next day in the fresh coolness of the early morning, and ​after a charming ride up a wooded mountain-side we descended some two thousand feet to a hot valley, where we halted for lunch. Indeed, this day our elevations changed rapidly, for in the afternoon we again rose to a height of over four thousand five hundred feet, and by nightfall had descended again a thousand feet to the little town of Tocoy or Morazan (as it is now called), with its palm-leaf roofed houses, coconut-trees, and tropical climate. The most agreeable shelter to be found in this part of the country is in the village school-house, and the reception under its roof depends on the goodwill of the schoolmaster whose house it is. The school-houses are all much alike, with walls of adobe, a roof of thatch or coarse red tiles, and a mud floor; and the inventory of furniture includes a few rough wooden benches, a table, a blackboard, and sometimes a rickety chair.
The schoolmaster at Morazan most kindly put the large room at our disposal, reserving for himself an inner apartment with no exit to the outside. As the pleasures of privacy are but feebly appreciated by a Guatemalteco, the idea of my objecting to his passing at any hour through what had become my bedroom never occurred to him until Gorgonio, with blandest voice and most courtly manner, suggested that the señora was "muy distinguida," and might be "muy molestada" by the intrusion. Kindly taking the hint, the pedagogue closed the door between the rooms, and made his own exits and entrances by climbing through a window. As the sun set, a splendid full moon rose over the town, hiding all its defects and beautifying our surroundings with the magic of its light. A warm breeze stirred the feathery leaves of the coconut-palms, gently wafting them together in a clinging embrace; and, tired as we were, we lingered late in the plaza enjoying the beauty of the tropical night—a beauty which no words of mine can describe.
We were up next morning at dawn, and had to hurry through our packing to make way for the school-children, who thronged in almost as soon as the sun rose. Our day's journey lay across dry sandy plains and a gently undulating country, where nature had conspicuously adapted the vegetation to its environment, for not even the hungriest animal would have dared to face the armour of pines and prickles which both on shrubs and trees guarded the precious green leaves. The stunted acacias, now leafless from the drought, bristled with huge hollow thorns, affording secure houses for the ants; and almost every one of these thorns which I examined was bored at the base with a small round hole, through which the ants ran in and out. Amongst these thorn-protected branches the wasps, too, build their delicate paper nests, safe from the attack of any insect-feeding bird. There was one tree with pale green leaves and apple-like fruit which was ​particularly noticeable, as the hard spines, some of them over 2 inches long, were arranged symmetrically in rosettes over both trunk and branches. As a rule the trees were but sparsely scattered over the plain, forming only here and there clumps and small thickets, where perchance the yellow and red bottle-brush flowers or the purple masses of a flowering creeper would catch the eye.
The redeeming feature in the landscape was the beauty of the lignum-vitae trees, covered even in this dry season with green leaves and with clusters of purple blossom. But if the vegetation was for the most part stunted and unattractive, both interest and colour were supplied by the birds, for we were riding through a veritable aviary, and small bright-plumaged birds were so numerous that at times the bare branches appeared flushed into flowering sprays. The sensontes poured forth volumes of liquid sound from every thicket; sweet-voiced orioles arranged themselves into golden bunches; saucy blue jays, and their still more impudent cousins, the crested grey jays, circled noisily around us and perched on branches almost within reach of our hands, and chattered at one another as though they were discussing the propriety of allowing us to pass. Green and yellow flycatchers flew from their perches, and made erratic sweeps in the air in chase of unwary insects. Now and again one caught sight of a stupid-looking mot mot with lovely blue and green plumage, swinging his queer tail-feathers from side to side in uneasy movement. Tiny iridescent humming-birds flitted across our path, hovered for a moment over a flower, and then darted out of sight, and numerous wrens not much larger than the humming-birds could be seen slipping and sliding through the thorny hedges and fences. Large flocks of the friendly blackbirds, with unmanageably long tails, whose gregarious movements we had so often watched in the plazas and patios, gossiped together vociferously, and red-headed woodpeckers tapped loudly against the tree-trunks. The pretty little ground-doves, whose plaintive cooing notes contrasted pleasantly with the strident screams of the parrots and the incessant chatter of the jays, ran along the path in search of food, and would not take to flight until our mules were almost over them.
I was told to keep a sharp look out for the ground-cuckoos, and can conscientiously say that I saw one; but as he leapt out of one low bush, raced across the path and disappeared like a flash of lightning in the next shelter of undergrowth, and as all the others we met with on our journey behaved in precisely the same way, I have only a very sketchy idea of their appearance. I should like to be able to describe in words the beauty of the flight of the flocks of parrots and parroquets as they swept overhead, their brilliant plumage dashing like emeralds in the sunlight, or the stately sailing ​far up in the soft blue sky of the eager-eyed zopilote, and the fine downward swoop which he makes to secure his prey; however, words cannot do justice to the charms of tropical bird-life, which must be seen to be fully appreciated, but a ride in such an aviary as we passed through this day is an experience not easily forgotten.
Late in the afternoon we again approached the banks of the Motagua, no longer the babbling brook we had crossed near its source, but a swiftly flowing river which, shrunken as it was by the summer drought, was not less than 150 yards in width, and a formidable stream for our laden mules to ford. However, cross it we must, so the faithful Gorgonio led the way and the baggage-mules followed, their loads only just clearing the water, which swirled up alarmingly near to them at every step. We brought up the rear, our beasts splashing in and struggling to keep up against the current, which threatened to carry my little mule off her feet. In midstream I was forced to curl up on my saddle, risking the chance of a serious fall, in my efforts to keep dry; and I was glad enough to feel the water shallowing again and to reach the opposite bank without mishap.
A ride of a few miles brought us to the town of El Jícaro, where we had intended to pass the night, but no lodging could be found as the town was in fiesta, and the Jefe of Zacapa and his staff had arrived on an official visit; so we journeyed on about a league to another settlement, where we hoped to find a hospitable school-house. But here a disappointment awaited us, for the school-house was locked up, and the schoolmaster had ridden off to do honour to the Jefe at El Jícaro and had taken the key with him. Such shelter as the verandah afforded appeared to be all the accommodation we should find that night; so we set up our beds on the undulating mud floor and were hanging up rugs and cloaks to shield them from the gaze of passers by, when a skeleton of a horse came in sight stumbling along under the load of two riders whose bodies swayed first in one direction, then in the other, and must have been saved from a heavy fall only by the intervention of that special providence which seems to guard the movements of drunken men. In front of the school-house the poor horse stopped short and both his riders promptly fell to the ground. As soon as they had struggled to their feet again they gazed in a dazed way at us and our mountains of baggage piled up in the verandah, and one of them muttered sulkily "es mi casa," but added more politely, as key in hand he made an erratic dive at the lock of the door, "No se molesten los señores." There was no doubt left that this was our host, and we immediately urged on him the propriety of giving up his house to us for the night; but either our request did not penetrate his dull brain or it did not suit his views, for he remained obdurate, although he ​stated his intention of returning to El Jícaro to make a night of it. For half an hour my husband and Gorgonio persisted in the discouraging task of arguing with a drunken man, and I could hear Gorgonio repeating to him his favourite phrases that the Señora was "muy distinguida" and "muy delicada" and very much averse to sleeping in a verandah; but it made no impression on him, and everyone's patience was exhausted when by some lucky stratagem my husband managed to get possession of the key, and the schoolmaster was too muddle-headed to demand it back again. It was a happy moment for us, but a sad one for the poor horse, for the two drunken men managed to scramble on his back again and set off for El Jícaro. The road was monotonously straight, and there was a brilliant moon overhead, but long after we were comfortably in bed we heard them shouting as they passed and repassed the house in their efforts to find the right way.
The night was still and sultry and we were up at dawn and got off as soon as possible, but the morning air had no freshness in it and the sun seemed to assert its full power from the moment it showed above the horizon. Our road lay through a parched and waterless land. Here and there were dotted the wretched tumble-down cabins of the miserable, sallow-faced, fever-stricken half-castes, who must find it hard enough to make a living. Indeed, in contrast with that of these poor people, the condition of the half-caste population we had met with in other parts of the country was one of riches and thrift.
After riding for about four leagues we were thoroughly baked through and were glad to find shelter from the sun in the verandah of the only respectable-looking house in the little village of La Reforma. The people of the house were kind and attentive and gave us such food as they had, but could not accommodate us with a room, nor could Gorgonio find food enough for the mules. As soon as the sun sank low in the west we set out again to cross the waterless plain, the Llano de la Fragua, a journey best made by night, for the track is even more shadeless than that we had just traversed, and the arid ground supports little vegetation but cacti and euphorbiae and scrubby prickly bushes, which vie with one another in ugliness. The sun set in a blaze of glory and we bid him farewell with a sense of relief. Saving the starlight the night was dark, but fortunately the road was broad and well marked by hedges of vicious-looking organ-pipe cactus. We were favoured with a breeze increasing in freshness as the night drew on, and our mules made good time over the plain, so that by 9 o'clock we had reached the river which runs within a mile of the town. Just at this moment the moon rose and in the half-light the stream looked black and formidable, and our men hesitated and began to discuss the situation, as none ​of them knew the depth of the water; but the ever-ready Gorgonio pulled off some of his clothes, and soon put our doubts at rest by wading across and shouting back to us that the water was no more than breast high. My mule gave me a moment's anxiety during the crossing by floundering into a hole, but she soon pulled herself together and scrambled into shallow water.
Ten minutes' ride brought us to the town of Zacapa, and the so-called "Hotel," where we were forced to spend several days in heat, dirt, and discomfort. It was a very poor house, and one very scantily furnished room had to serve us for all purposes. Our host appeared to devote the whole of his energy to imbibing aguardiente and loafing, whilst his wife, a kindly faced mestiza, did the cooking, and always looked hot and overworked. Two of the children, Candelaria and Felicita, aged eight and ten years, did most of the housework, and took care of several younger members of the family (including an ever-crying baby), who sprawled about in the dust and dirt of the patio all day long, and at night the whole family slept side by side on the floor of the corridor. Candelaria and Felicita, in addition to their other duties, were told off to wait on us; and remarkably pleasant and bright little creatures they proved to be, but amazingly dirty. One day I remonstrated with them and delivered a lecture on cleanliness, which was greeted with loud applause and shouts of laughter, but my advice as to the use of soap and water was never followed.
As the hotel was not a bad example of a middle-class house in the country towns I will endeavour to describe it. Looked at from the street it showed a flat whitewashed wall pierced by two heavily-barred windows, and a large doorway fitted with heavy double wooden doors which when thrown open would permit the passage of laden mules through the house into the patio. There were rooms opening into a verandah or corridor on two sides of the patio, the other sides being enclosed by high walls. The two front rooms were used as guest rooms, one of the side rooms was the patrona's bedroom, and the other served as a kitchen. In the back wall was a doorway leading to a mule-shed and stable-yard, also enclosed by high walls. The house was well supplied with water by a pipe, from which a thin stream continually flowed into a masonry tank or "pila" built against the back wall of the patio. When such a house is being built the first operation is to set into the ground, about twelve feet apart in the line of the projected walls, a number of roughly dressed wooden posts with forked tops; on these are laid equally rough wall-plates to which tie-beams and rafters are fixed, and the whole framework is then lashed together with natural lianes or strips of a bark called "capulin"; the tile roof, which towards the patio extends across the corridor, is then put on, and not until this is finished are the walls of adobe ​.
or talpetate (sun-dried mud) commenced and carried up to the eaves, almost imbedding the upright posts on the inside. Last of all, partitions are run up to separate the rooms, which are roughly ceiled with reeds or canes lashed across the tie-beams. The matter of brick or mud floor and the amount of plaster laid on the walls depends on the wealth of the householder; but even a poorly-built house, such as our hotel, will show a good coat of plaster and blue or white wash to the street.
Curiously enough, it is from the plasterers that one has the best chance of buying the highly polished prehistoric stone axes, "piedras de rayo" (lightning stones), as they call them, firmly believing them to be of the nature of thunderbolts; for they collect them as useful tools with which to smooth down and give a burnished surface to the plaster.
In some of the houses there are no windows giving on the street, all light for the rooms coming through the door opening on to the patio. When the windows do open towards the street they rise above heavy projecting sills, into which the bars of the iron reja are fixed. Here, as in old Spain,—
* "Las ventanas en las calles son muy peligrosas
* Para madres que tienen hijas hermosas,"
for it is between the bars of the reja that most of the lovemaking is carried on. All the windows are fitted with thick wooden shutters, and it is only in the larger towns that glass casements have come into use.
We were consumed with impatience to get out of the heat and dirt of Zacapa; but even after we had come to an arrangement with an arriero to carry our additional luggage he kept on finding pretexts for delay, and it was not until the 28th February that we set out for Copan, despite the well-intentioned warnings of two young Americans, newly arrived in the country, who had shared the discomforts of the hotel with us and told us alarming stories of the dangers of travelling in Honduras since the outbreak of the most recent revolution.
Indian cargadores are not an institution in this part of the country, and in consequence our pack-train had been increased to the number of twenty-five mules. Those under the charge of Santos, carrying our own pack-saddles and boxes, went well, as they had done throughout the journey; but the hirelings driven by a loud-voiced and exceedingly profane arriero, caused incessant delays. Something was always going wrong with the badly-adjusted cargos, and the clumsy native pack-saddles galled the backs of the poor beasts, which were already marked with a hundred scars; but the sight of their raw wounds failed to awaken the sympathy of the arriero, who goaded ​them on with a stick and yells of "arre!" "arriba!" followed by a burst of expletives, throughout the sultry uncomfortable day. The track was of the worst description. A long drought had parched all colour from the hills, and the fringe of vegetation along the banks of the Copan River was the only green thing to be seen. The path followed the winding of this stream for a long distance, often high above it, then crossing it, again rising and winding along narrow ledges, turning sharp corners and revealing fine bits of landscape which would have been beautiful in a less parched condition. Before sunset we reached our camping-ground for the night, a spot named La Laguna; but there was no lagoon there, only a clearing by the roadside, and the nearest water was half a league distant.
It was a stifling night and we hailed the dawn with pleasure and set off again as soon as the tent could be packed and the twenty-five mules loaded. A short ride brought us again to the Copan River; but as the ford was too deep for the cargo-mules we parted company, leaving them to follow a track along the right bank, whilst we rode through the stream, barely escaping a wetting, and took a short cut by the villages of Jocotan and Comitan, which stand about a mile apart. To judge from the size of the churches, these two villages must at one time have been important towns: now they are squalid, half-deserted places, where pigs and goats alone seem to flourish, and the huge dilapidated churches would be capable of holding not only the whole of the sallow-faced, dyspeptic-looking population, but nearly all the houses as well. At Comitan, the last village before reaching the Honduras frontier, the Alcalde stopped us and demanded Gorgonio's passport. This document was produced, but he was nevertheless taken to the Cabildo, where it was copied and viséd before he, as a citizen, was allowed to leave his own country. No one being in the least interested in us we rode on, leaving Gorgonio to follow when all the formalities had been gone through.
For the rest of the day we passed through a pleasant green country, well watered and well wooded, and late in the afternoon rejoined our pack-train, and reached the little settlement of Cachapa, where, relying on the friendly shelter of the school-house, we drew up before its mud walls, and proceeded to stack our boxes in the verandah, whilst Gorgonio went off to hunt up the schoolmaster and get the key of the door. He soon came back in company with the Indian Alcalde, to tell us that the schoolmaster had gone away for a few days; and it seemed as though we were about partly to repeat our experience at the school-house at Jícaro, with the difference that this time, according to the Alcalde, it was the schoolmaster who was "muy delicado" and would greatly resent such an intrusion into his house. The schoolmaster had evidently established himself as a power in the village, for the ​Alcalde was immovable, and to all our united supplications that he should give up the key merely replied that "it was more than his place was worth." The case appeared hopeless, when, oddly enough, the situation was changed suddenly by our finding among our keys one which unlocked the padlock of the academy of Cachapa. I am afraid we crowed over the Alcalde, who looked terribly depressed, but continued to deny us admittance, and loyally obeyed the master's orders, protesting to the last that the maestro was "muy delicado"; but victory was on our side, and I think the heart of the Alcalde was softened by the sight of my husband who lay on the ground almost speechless with headache: so a treaty of peace was made, in which we solemnly promised to make good any damage and generally to make matters straight with the schoolmaster, should he return. I may add that this well-guarded house in no way differed from other schoolhouses, except that the furniture consisted of two rough benches only, and the walls were guiltless of whitewash.
Our next day's journey was through a pleasant country with long stretches of pine-wood, and it was altogether delightful. I must own that my preconceived notions of the Tropics were being a good deal upset; it had surprised me to find pine-trees growing throughout the Altos, for the pine had always been associated in my mind with Norway and California, and I had looked upon it as an essentially northern tree; to-day I learnt that it needs a tropical sun to bring out all the fragrance of its scent. Late in the afternoon we came to the edge of the hills and looked down on the little plain of Copan, which was closed in again on the far side by ranges of pine-clad hills. In the middle of the plain on the right bank of the winding stream stands a grove of tall forest trees covering the principal part of the ruins which we had journeyed so far to see. We soon scrambled down the last mile of the rugged path and rode on into the modern village of Copan—a small collection of red-tiled dirty hovels grouped round a plaza which was glorified by the presence of a fine stone altar, covered with the fantastic carving in which the ancient Mayas excelled, and we drew rein before the hut occupied by the Niña Chica, an old friend of my husband's and the presiding genius of the village.
The arrival of our party had awakened the village from its siesta, and we were soon the centre of an admiring group of rag-clad men and women and bright-eyed and wholly unclad children. As soon as the Niña Chica emerged from her hut and recognised Don Alfredo she expressed her delight in the most flattering terms, throwing her arms round him, as he sat in the saddle, in a fond embrace. In her youth the Niña Chica must have been a beauty, and even now in her old age her wrinkled face has a fine look, and she carries herself ​with an imperious air, in queer contrast to the dirt of her dress and the squalor of her surroundings. She seemed determined to take complete possession of my husband, and began to pour into his ears, with the greatest volubility and wit, the gossip of the village and the history of all that had happened during the eight years that had passed since his last visit. It required some tact and skill to disengage ourselves from the attentions of this dirty but attractive old lady, and it was only achieved after many promises to visit her again soon and talk it all over.
After crossing the small stream, the laundry of Copan, we rode on for half a mile, part of the way through a plantation of sugar-cane, to a stone wall which has lately been built round the ruins. Passing through a gateway we entered an enchanting grove of grand old trees which cast their shade over the remains of temples, monoliths, and altars. At last we had arrived and were in the actual presence of the strange stone monuments whose reproductions in plaster I knew so well. The bridle-path led over the steep side of a foundation mound into the Western Court, where I found myself face to face with an old friend, who has stood on guard for centuries at the foot of a great stairway. The stately grove of giant tropical trees was of itself strangely impressive, and the glimpses of the grim figures on the monoliths and the strange scrolls and grotesque ornament on the scattered fragments of stone, amongst which we picked our way, added a sense of unreality which was bewildering. Since passing through that little gate in the wall we seemed to have slipped back into a remote past and to be treading the Valhalla of gods and heroes whose patient followers and worshippers had raised monuments which were to outlast the ages, where the spirits of the mighty dead might still haunt the scene of their ancient glory.
It was a distinct effort to return to commonplace things, and to call to mind the fact that the afternoon was far advanced and that I had duties to perform as chief cook and housekeeper. In the middle of the plaza stood the house we were to occupy, an airy structure something like a large bird-cage, which had been built by a party of Americans who for the last two years had been at work in the ruins. The walls were made of rough sticks placed side by side, about an inch apart, and bound together with lianes; the roof was thatched with sugar-cane leaves, one large opening in the wall served as doorway, and windows were certainly not needed, as every breath of air sighed through the gaping walls. One end of the house had been screened off and the walls thatched to the ground so as to form a dark room for photography. Our American friends had left a convenient shed and cooking-place near the house, and I soon had supper ready, and then we settled ourselves for the night.