# The Rambler in Mexico/Letter IX

LETTER IX.
The ancient city of Cholula lies on a broad plain, extending to the base of the chains in advance of the Great Nevadas, and at an elevation of six thousand five hundred feet above the sea.
Situated some miles to the south of the great road between the large Spanish-built city of Puebla de los Angeles and the capital, it is comparatively seldom visited. To the north, beyond the barren but beautifully formed Sierra Malinche, lies the territory of Tlascala, whose republican inhabitants, spurred on by their hatred to the Mexican yoke, acted such an important part in the history of the conquest, as the allies of Cortez.
Cholula was the sacred city of the Mexican empire, and at the time of the Spanish invasion numbered a population within its precincts, to which the few thousands who now occupy a small portion of its ancient site are but a fraction. If we are rightly informed, its decay is far from having reached its term, and this may be easily accounted for by the vicinity of the city of Puebla, which has sprung up within a few leagues to the eastward. The principal square is very spacious, and there are many large churches; but we found little in the city worthy of withholding our attention, during the brief hours of our halt from the main object of our visit, which it is hardly necessary to tell you was the celebrated pyramid.
This vast mound, in spite of the waste of centuries, which has destroyed the regularity of its form, rounded and broken down its angles, confounded its terraces, and given it the air of a shapeless mass of earth, is still a marvel and a wonder in the land, and will probably remain so to the end of time.
​It stands to the east of the present city, upon a base of one thousand four hundred and twenty-five feet square; and originally consisted of four stages, terminating in a platform, one hundred and seventy-seven feet above the plain.
It is now very difficult to trace the several proportions among the slopes and brushwood, and the heaps of crumbling brickwork with which its acclivity is covered.
As soon as the sun was up we passed through the outskirts of the city, and round the foot of several elevated mounds, evidently artificial in their origin, towards the base of the teocalli. A little in advance are two enormous masses of earth, displaying in their perpendicular sides the regular courses of unburnt brick and clay, of which they, as well as the principal pyramid, are wholly constructed. A sloping road of modern formation leads over the three lower divisions of the great pyramid to the level of the third terrace, when you are conducted by a flight of stone steps to the principal platform, upon which the church with two towers and a dome has replaced the ancient erection raised here by the Aztecs or their predecessors, to the worship of their principal divinity, Quetzalcoatl.
The area of the platform, according to a former traveller, measures three thousand four hundred square yards. Its sides are well faced with stone, and thus preserved; yet the waste of the soil has been so considerable on the eastern side, that the building is there wholly supported upon arches.
Two large evergreen cypresses and a massive cross stand before the principal entrance of the church. Many groups of trees, principally "schinus," are scattered over the surface of the pyramid, and the view from the platform, though not to be compared with those in the vicinity of the capital for beauty, is of vast extent and great interest, and includes the three great Nevadas of Mexico—Popocatepetl, Iztaccihuatl, and Orizava, with their advanced chains.
How far the vulgar tradition that the great pyramid of Cholula is hollow may be borne out by the fact, it is ​impossible to say. One chamber was discovered some years ago in the lower story, in consequence of the road to Puebla having been cut through it; and two human skeletons, with a number of idols in basalt, and some painted vases, were brought to light. This chamber, which was faced with stone and supported with cypress beams, proved to have no connection with the exterior; and the main mass of the teocalli has, as yet, remained untouched. In the same manner as I have described at San Juan Teotihuacan, the great pyramid of Cholula was surrounded by many inferior erections of the same character, though I am not aware what was their precise arrangements. The ruins of many are seen from the summit; and doubtless divers of those isolated mounds which break the uniformity of the great level in the vicinity for many miles round have a similar origin.
The pyramid of Cholula, with those of San Juan Teotihuacan and Papantla, were found by the Aztecs in Anahuac, upon their first arrival in that country. Indeed the city of Cholula, the "holy city," was still peopled by such of the Toltec race as had maintained their position on the Mexican table land after the dispersion of their tribe, as related in a former letter; and its pyramid is supposed to be more ancient than any other in New Spain.
After the model of these, the Aztecs built their great temples in their capital and elsewhere.
I have elsewhere hinted at the probable identity between Quetzalcoatl, who was here worshipped as the "god of the air," with the patriarch Noah; and also the supposition that the original purpose with which this pyramidal structure was raised, was one and the same with that which is known to have given rise to those of Asia. To Quetzalcoatl, all the ancient tribes of Anahuac attributed their knowledge of melting metals—their rites and ceremonies of religion—and their arrangement of time.
But He, who was at once king, priest, and lawgiver—"born of a virgin"—the "precious stone of suffering and ​sacrifice"—whose disappearance is recorded, and return to earth so clearly expected by the Mexicans, has well been termed the "most mysterious and inexplicable personage in the Mexican mythology;" and the mind becomes perfectly bewildered in attempting to glean probabilities from the scattered traditions concerning his history, or to reconcile his various attributes.
La Puebla, to which we repaired in the course of the morning, has been called the City of Angels, from the legend which records the assistance given by those beings in the construction of the cathedral. It may with much more reason be termed the "City of Bigots," for in no part of Mexico is hatred against those of another faith so undisguised, as the stones hurled against many a European traveller testify. And, if an anecdote which was related me in the capital was true, it would seem that even the irresponsible hide of a brute beast might not shield it from lapidation, if the owner was known to have been bred and nurtured without the pale of the church.
Some time since two English dray horses were procured by a European resident in Mexico, and unshipped at Vera Cruz; colossal, big-boned, muscular animals, compared with which the Mexican breed were but shelties. They may have found their long voyage disagreeable, but they were doomed to find their land journey to the capital yet more so. Wherever they passed, there was a perfect ferment among the populace. The heretical horses!—there was no possibility of smuggling them through the country, or of concealing their unfortunate lineage. They were everywhere regarded with detestation. They and their grooms were loaded with maledictions at Vera Cruz—pelted at Jalapa—execrated and pelted at Perote—execrated, pelted, and stoned, with might and main, at La Puebla de los Angeles—and hardly escaped with their lives, to be repelted and restoned on their arrival at their journey's end. There, however, they arrived; but for any use they were to the possessor, they might as well have been peaceably employed in starting casks in London among their fellow heretics, biped and quadruped; for they had to be ​confined to their stable morning, noon, and night—such was the tumult excited by their appearance and character. At length the possessor was fairly driven to bow to popular opinion.
There is a certain church in Mexico, of which I have omitted to note down the patron saint, but I know that you leave it a little to the left hand as you approach the garita on the road to San Augustin. To this church, from time immemorial, it has been the custom of the country, for the inhabitants of the city and adjoining valley to bring their domestic animals for baptism by the hands of the priest; the popular belief being, that till this is done, they do not belong to the Catholic church, and cannot possibly prosper.
And here, at the proper time, in company with many animals of less pretension, came the two English dray horses. They were regularly sprinkled, the fee was paid to the cura, and from that time, being considered as Christianos, they were allowed to hold up their heads and perform their labours without molestation!
Our stay at La Puebla was, as you may suppose, very hurried, as we here found the report that the packet really sailed on the first instant fully confirmed. My sketch, therefore, like my survey, must be hasty and brief. The city is large, and regularly and handsomely built, with a population estimated at 60,000 souls; and the traveller sees much to remind him of the capital. It was founded three centuries ago, by the Spaniards. A hill clothed with wood rises to the north; and the plain in its immediate vicinity is well cultivated, and produces a vast quantity of wheat and maize. In adornment and arrangement the houses resemble those of Mexico in every particular. Sixty-nine churches, many of them richly endowed, many monasteries, nunneries, and colleges, prove the sanctity of the city and the piety of the inhabitants.
The cathedral is the most splendid and richest structure in New Spain, superior to that of the capital in the beauty of its architecture and for the mass of riches collected within its walls. The high altar, throughout its ​gorgeous details, is of almost unrivalled magnificence. Our short stay was sufficient to show us that the mass of the population comprised a considerable number of leperos.
The city was in a disturbed state; and it was rumoured that the general feeling was hostile to the present government, and only awaiting an occasion for a demonstration in favour of the clergy now in disgrace. The bishop, the most energetic and talented man in the country, being personally obnoxious to the members of the present cabinet, which had given orders for his arrest, was at this time in concealment somewhere in the city; it was whispered in one of the convents.
As it was our intention to pursue our journey the following morning towards Jalapa, we lost no time in taking the necessary steps. A coach was hired with its train of mules, and an escort of five dragoons obtained for it, by an application to the commandant. As to M'Euen and myself, we stoutly determined to continue our route as hitherto, on horseback, and to trust to our savage appearance, or rather to the keeping of Providence, for escape from the dangers of the road to the coast.
At daybreak, April 26th, we were en route on the beaten track, and a barren one it was, after quitting the Haciendas de Trigo, or corn estates, in the vicinity of La Puebla, till we reached the swelling hills covered by a pine forest, known by the name of El Pinal. This is one of the most accredited stripping places on the road.
Here, hardly a month earlier, the diligence from Vera Cruz to the capital was robbed, with the most ludicrous regularity, for weeks together. When stopped, the passengers—who generally contrived to have nothing on their persons that was worth fighting about, and no arms to fight with—were told to alight, and to lie down in a row on their stomachs on the sand, into which their noses were unceremoniously thrust, with threats of instant death if they stirred. Their persons and the coach were then thoroughly rifled; and they were left, with the warning, that if any moved or looked up for the ​space of half an hour, the carbine or the cuchillo should settle matters. After some patience and cautious peeping, they would gather themselves up, shake their ears, clamber into the diligence, and proceed thankfully on their journey. But as to ourselves, we have no adventures to relate.
During the whole of our morning's ride, the beautiful mountain, La Malinche, lay on our left hand. It is the highest summit between the chain of Orizava and that of the Mexican Nevadas. I have, upon what authority I cannot now recollect, elsewhere termed it the volcano of TIascala, but though its form would favour the conclusion, I am not prepared to prove that it is such. We made our noonday halt at a village a little beyond the Pinal, after a ride of ten leagues, many of which lay through deep sand.
And here I took the liberty of prying a little into the character of our doughty escort. It consisted of four privates and a corporal; and five more inoffensive warriors never mounted on horseback. Their horses were none of the best, but quite good enough for the purpose. The riders were dressed in a species of uniform, consisting of red coats and a black round hat, with a narrow strip of white linen tied round it. Their nether garments were not conformable; and it was evident their pay and discipline did not extend so far down. "But it is not the dress, after all, that makes the soldier," you may say: true, there are the arms and the valour! As to the arms, all were furnished with a long lance, with a little green and red penoncelle fluttering at the end, which they carried in proper military fashion—a dangerous weapon if used with determination and discretion. Moreover, all were furnished with carbines and cartridge boxes, and the leader was armed with a sabre with a leather sheath. This was not so much amiss, and would do very well at a distance: but during the two hours' halt at the village aforesaid, I took it into my bead, while the owners were enjoying their siesta under the shade of the gateway, just to stride in among them, and take a nearer inspection of the weapons, and ​I furnish you with the following note made at the moment of my scrutiny:—
"Carbine I. Much worse for wear—no flint and a broken trigger—cannot imagine how it is to be discharged.
"Carbine II. Seen much service, no flint, no ramrod.
"Carbine III. Lock broken short off, and otherwise damaged.
"Carbine IV. Utterly devoid of all appearance of lock.
"Carbine V. Furnished with all the outward signs except ramrod; but from its appearance, doubt very much its efficiency, especially as I have no proof that there is a single cartridge, either in the weapons or in the cartridge boxes."
So much for the arming of our escort. Now as to their valour.
For what purpose were they hired—at the cost of eighteen dollars, to ride by the side of the coach, from La Pueblo to Perote? To scare away thieves and robbers. But if the thieves would not be frightened—to fight? No! such an idea never came into their heads. To fight!—he, he—ha, ha—ho, ho!—to get, perhaps, a shot from a real carbine, or a slash across the nose—or at least to be lassoed, half strangled, dragged from horseback, and ground to powder, by being hurried along the road for a few hundred yards—and all that for only eighteen dollars! and for the pleasure of their valours, the three heretic dons? No, the idea is ridiculous! Does it not appear almost such to you? Seriously speaking, I believe an escort in Mexico is never expected to fight, not only because I never heard of a well-accredited case of their doing so, but from the peculiar style and character of the arms wherewith they are furnished. This strange circumstance apart, I must give our dragoons a good character. They gave us no trouble, always stuck to the carriage, spoke not an unnecessary word, and were dismissed at Perote, where all danger from banditti was supposed to be at an end.
To resume the notice of our journey. Six leagues ​of road over the wide undulating surface of the sandy plains brought us towards evening at our halting place, Ojo de Agua; a posada built at a spot where a clear and abundant stream issues forth from the foot of a mass of volcanic matter, and forms a green oasis in the middle of the desert. Till the afternoon of this day, we had been unable to catch a glimpse of the great cone of Orizava, towards the northern extremity of whose chain we were gradually approaching. The weather had been dull and hazy ever since we reached Cholula, whence we should otherwise have been able to descry it. Now, as we trotted slowly over the plains, our eyes were busily engaged in searching among the shifting layers of light cloud which rose above the distant horizon, for some indication of his presence. One bright spot after another was the production of much speculation and ultimate disappointment; at length, about two hours before we reached our resting place, we became unanimous in believing that a certain indistinct whitish mass, high up in the smoky atmosphere, formless and vague as it was, could be no other than the object of which we were in search; and true enough, as the sun went down behind us, and the air cleared, we saw it become brighter and brighter; and, in fine, shaking aside its veil, the colossal cone stood before us in majesty, at the limit of the table land over which it soared to the perpendicular height of ten thousand feet.
As we proceeded over the almost interminable plains the following day to Perote, it stood revealed in all its sublimity, as well as the whole of the chain with which it is connected. This range is terminated to the north by the extinct volcano called the Cofre de Perote. A sudden change in the air about noon, which we were all sensible of, was immediately recognised as indicating a norte on the coast. At Perote we arrived towards evening, after halting for two hours in the vicinity of an isolated volcanic mass, called the Cerro de Pizarro.
Perote is a small decayed town, with a fort, or rather a depot, in the vicinity, situated at the height of 7691 ​feet above the gulf, near the eastern limit of the table land. An early march of a few hours the following morning brought us to the crest of the Pass, to the north of the Coffre de Perote, and to the commencement of the great descent to the coast.
Our journey thus far from Perote had been rather barren of interest, but upon gaining the elevated alpine village of Las Vigas, it was far otherwise. The sandy route now gave place to a steep Calzada, over which the unwieldy coach came lumbering down, with many a jog and many a jolt, to the great discomfort of the occupant, and the apparent peril of the train of mules. The upper part of the road crosses the flanks of the Coffre de Perote, a mountain so called, from a square, chest-shaped eminence which crowns its long ridge, and contains the crater of a volcano, which, however long dormant, must once have been the vent of tremendous eruptions, judging by the signs scattered over the neighbouring country. Las Vigas lies at the height of 7820 feet above the gulf, and consequently within the limit of the tierras frias. The forests in the vicinity are chiefly pine. At this elevation we were enveloped in cold driving mist, worthy of the Alps; and though its partial clearance before we descended to Jalapa, three thousand five hundred feet lower, gave us many a glimpse of the magnificent scenery around, yet it must be conceded, that we lost much by not having a brighter and less clouded view. Some distance below Las Vigas, we entered upon a pedrigal covered with scanty vegetation; and we continued for many miles to descend over slopes covered to a great depth by volcanic deposits; here thick beds of black cinders and scoria, coating the rock with a thick stratum, and lying just as they had rained from the heavens; there floods of black lava, hard as adamant, and yet bearing upon their unequal surface abundant signs of the liquid state in which they had poured down from the mountains above. As usual, the surface of the lava was never smooth, even in places where it had met with the least obstruction, but displayed an infinity of sharp wrinkles overlapping each other, or rather, I should ​say, shooting from under the other. In parts of the country where rocks, or inequalities of the original surface, had interposed impediments to the gentle flow of the volcanic matter, the scene of confusion was truly terrific. Here, the surface would be heaped with huge blocks of solid rock, hundreds of tons in weight, masses which had evidently once floated like corks upon the irresistible flood; and their black rifts and yawning caverns would mark the struggles of the fluid, as it pitched down some mountain steep to a lower level.
We halted for breakfast at a hamlet situated in the very centre of this volcanic matter, and afterward resumed the sharp descent. Below the lavas, the forests became more luxuriant, teeming with curious trees and shrubs; and the views far more open. Judging from what we saw, they must be of a most splendid description, and that epithet may be worthily bestowed upon the situation of the city of Jalapa, where we arrived at two o'clock in the afternoon, having left Perote at four a.m. The change from the sterility of the table land above to the luxuriant and teeming vegetation of this lovely region, was more striking than the contrast between the characteristic features of the great level plains with their barren volcanic cones, to the varied and beautiful wooded hills, vales, and mountains, which characterize this most lovely region of New Spain.
You and others have asked me, what comparison can be drawn between the Alps of Europe and the Cordillera? I was going to say none, but the traveller must learn not to be rash. The lines of just comparison are very faint. The highest summits are covered with snow; the green swelling mountain and pastures of the middle region have a general resemblance with the lower Alps of Switzerland, in their outlines and colouring, though hardly in their climate; and there is something in the general features of the upland vales of the Cordillera, where they break down towards the coast, which puts you in mind of the scenery of those magnificent valleys, where the icy streams of the great southern chain of the Alps precipitate themselves towards the sunny plains of ​Italy, and carry far down into the clime of the vine and chestnut, the debris of the inhospitable regions of bare rock and snow.
But as to those details, which you would take as chiefly characteristic of either chain, no similarity whatever can be established.
In the limestone, slate, and granitic ranges of the Alps, beauty of outline is far from being confined to any single ridge. It is an attribute of the secondary, as well as the most elevated; of the parallel chains, as well as of the diverging mountains, which, like ribs, start out from the great back bone of the continent, and sink gradually to the level of the plains on either hand. Piled, range behind range, with deep vales between—with numerous lakes, and clothed up to the very limit of eternal snow, with green or forested slopes—they are eminently picturesque; and the gentle luxuriance of the lower valleys contrasts felicitously with the precipitous rocks and masses of snow which occupy the higher regions. The scale and the structure of the Alps permit the eye to command, in almost every situation, the whole of their varied detail. The enormous extent of the glaciers on the upper plains and acclivities, and the peculiar manner in which they descend towards the valleys, are mainly characteristic of these mountains.
Now as to general outline, both from what I have seen and have heard with regard to other parts of the Andes, that of the great porphyritic chains of the Cordillera can hardly be said to be generally picturesque. It is scarcely broken enough; its details are too vast. One enormous wall of mountains rises behind another, each buttressing a broad step of table land, but in general the interval between them is far too great for the eye to command more than one at a time. Here and there, from the general level of the undulating mountain ridge, rises a tremendous cone, with a breadth of base, and an even smoothness of outline, which, at the same time that they proclaim its origin, and add to its sublimity, take from its picturesque beauty. The summit bears its mantle of snow; but compared with the mass, it is but a cap—not ​a flowing mantle, with its silver and purple folds and its fringe of ice.
There are again, for the reason stated, few positions in which your eye will command, at the same time, the rich and gorgeous vegetation of the lower slopes of the Mexican Cordillera, and the sublimity of the superior ranges. The vast sheets of the barren table land are interposed, the tierras templadas separate the calientes from the frias. Each has its peculiar characteristics, but they can seldom, if ever, be comprised in one and the same picture.
You look in vain among all the exuberant forest growth and the giant flora of Mexico, for the sweet cheering freshness of Alpine vegetation; that luxuriance without rankness, which clothes the lower valleys.
From this you will see, that where the two chains might be supposed to have points of resemblance, they have little or none.
Besides that, in the style of its vegetation, both in the torrid and temperate regions, the plains and their peculiar characteristics, the prodigious barrancas, the whole series of volcanic phenomena, which prevade the country, from the sands of the coast to the craters of the highest volcanoes, as well as in colouring, the more prominent features of Mexico are so marked and so utterly different, that they extinguish the idea of comparison.
Suppose us now at Jalapa, a picturesque town situated high upon the broken sides of the huge mountain rampart which serves as a base for the great chain of the eastern branch of the Cordilleras. A lovelier sight, and more beautiful scenery, you need not seek in the torrid zone! Below you, a steep descent leads rapidly down the verdant and fresh slopes, towards the shore of the gulf, which is just visible from the highest parts of the town, at the distance of twenty leagues and upward. Above you rises ridge above ridge, crowned by the Coffre de Perote; and yet farther to the southward, by the magnificent snow-covered summit of Orizava, in ​comparison to whose sublime and majestic stature, the elevated mountains which cluster round its feet appear but as pigmies. To the right and left, extending along the mountains' sides, at the height of between four and five thousand feet above the sea, lies a delicious and salubrious region, covered with magnificent forests, and diversified with some of the most beautiful towns in New Spain; a country, smiling with an eternal spring, under the kindly influence of the heavy mists and dews, which, rising thus midway up the steep cordillera from the bosom of the gulf, pause here in midair, and promote that rich verdure, which is equally grateful to the inhabitants of the arid and steril table land, or of the fervid sands of the seaboard.
To this "city of refuge" flies the unacclimated European from the port below, as soon as that dreaded sickness, the vomito prieto, makes its annual appearance within the narrow walls, forgetting the thirst of gain, in sudden solicitude to preserve dear life. To this point, the moment he lands, the panting traveller presses up the steep mountains with might and main; and blesses God when he feels the fresh air of the mountains, and sees the white walls of the convent of San Francisco crowning the steep: and here the inhabitant of the table land, or the departing stranger, pauses and lingers, ere he descend into the infected tierra caliente, and ventures to inhale the hot and subtile breath of fever and disease.
Our view of Jalapa was but a glance, but it was one which has left on my mind a delightful impression of beauty; and I often linger in fancy among its low, red tiled, broad-eaved habitations, or exuberant gardens, and muse upon the marvellous beauty of its convent-crowned hill, and the freshness of its gushing waters, lakes, and shady woods.
In architecture, the town affords a delightful example of the old Spanish style, and many of the country seats in the vicinity are delicious retreats.
The population amounts to thirteen thousand. We here met with the majority of the gentlemen who were ​to be our fellow-voyagers in the packet; and, as the exact hour of sailing was now known, and our departure from Jalapa in company fixed for the evening of the following day, our short stay was fully occupied. In fact, far from being a day of repose, as was advisable, it was one of unremitting alacrity of body and mind.
To dismiss our retainers, to sell our horses and furniture, to make all the dispositions for final departure from the country, entailed upon us more fatigue than you can perhaps imagine.
But about noon, somehow or other, all was arranged! The arriero was on his way back to Perote, with the baggage of a party ascending to the capital. Garcia and Jose Maria, neither of whom had the slightest wish to risk their precious lives by advancing a step farther, were remunerated for their services; if not to their hearts' content, far beyond their deservings: and, masters of two of the horses of the train, were at liberty to seek other and equally gullible masters. Poor Pinto had to partake the fate of his comrades, and learn to obey another bridle and another spur, and those perhaps none of the mildest, being sold for less than the cost of his shoes. When I think that he may have found a hard master, I have sometimes regretted that I did not shoot him with my own hand; for he had been a noble and fleet horse when young, and one of some renown; and was still active and generous, notwithstanding his rough coat and wisp of a tail; and I had insensibly become attached to him. We had travelled three months cheerily together, and gone through many strange scenes; and when I passed my hand over his neck for the last time, I own that I felt a very disagreeable tightness about the lower end of the gullet. I love poor dumb beasts.
Since our first landing in America, Pourtales and myself had made trial of almost every imaginable mode of travel and locomotion—carriage, coach, gig, sulky, carryall, and carry nothing, mud waggon, dearborn, horse, mule, steamboat, steam carriage, goelette, shallop, skiff, wooden canoe, bark canoe, raft, rail, tree stump, the back of an Indian, and what not. We were now to ​adventure our persons in yet another manner. The Mexican littera is a kind of oblong box, about a foot deep, three feet wide, and six feet long, unfortunately more frequently shorter than longer. Two long poles passing down and fastened to the sides, project ibre and aft, and serve as shafts for two mules, to whose pack saddles the ends are attached by straps. In short, a long box Histead of an upright one, a recumbent and supine position, instead of a sitting one, and two four-fooled porters instead of two biped ones, are the main points of difference between the littera and the sedan chair. It is furnished with a leather awning and cotton curtains, and ordinarily with a well-worn mattress, through which you may feel the rough boards upon which you recline.
We had heard the litter described as the most luxurious mode of travelling; and accordingly, each slipped into his independent vehicle, with a feeling of great satisfaction.
We formed a train of ten, with a horde of sumpter mules. Each litter, besides its two mules, was furnished with a mounted leader, a driver, and three spare animals, to serve as relays. The price of each, to the coast, was forty dollars.
So down the deep paved street we clattered, amid the plaudits of the poblanitas from window and balcony: we were soon beyond the town, and travelled forward for hours through the forests, which gradually changed their character—the oak and his congeners disappearing, and the mimosa taking their place.
Night soon closed in; and when we halted, we found it was four o'clock in the morning, and that we had reached the celebrated bridge called by the builders, Puente del Rey; still later, Puente Imperial; and now Puente Nacional; where we were to lie quiet for twelve hours, the heat being such as to forbid advance. We had passed, between waking and sleeping, the villages of Encero and Plan del Rio.
I was now in some degree authorized to judge of the luxury of the litter. Pourtales was, it is true, in ecstasy ​at the bliss of being thus transported from place to place, with no effort on his part but what was necessary to lie steadily on his back, light another cigarita, or demolish another pineapple or watermelon, with which we had taken care to furnish ourselves; and, by-the-by, compared to the pineapple? of Jalapa, all others are but turnips. M'Euen was extremely quiet—probably from there being something in the swinging movement of the machine which gave him a foretaste of the coming sorrows of salt water, from which he always suffered grievously. For myself, I admit that novelty had charms for about ten minutes; when I discovered that my litter wanted in length what it had in breadth. It was at once too broad and too short for me; and I had, in consequence, to double myself up, both from necessity, and to steady myself as it swung from side to side. In addition, a found both dust and heat nearly insupportable; during the night especially, when it seemed probable, that I should be quite dissolved before dawn. Then there was the motion—soothing enough when the ground was even, and the mules well behaved, but extremely disquieting when they were not of one mind, or when they stumbled down one of the sudden pitches which are common upon this mountain road. It sometimes appeared inevitable, that I should be shot forth on my feet; at others, that I and the litter should be dragged in twain; and long before we came to a halt, I made up my mind, that, "were it not for the honour of the thing," I would much rather have walked.
This being the state of affairs, it was a great relief to escape from my shell, and take a little rational exercise at Puente del Rey: it is my temper to prefer old names to new ones. The river Antigua, over which this noble causeway and bridge were constructed early in the present century, is formed of the combined waters of two dashing mountain rivers, which issue from their several glens at this point, and intermingle their streams just above the bridge. The whole scene is very striking, from the massive and noble character of the bridge and its approaches, contrasted with the savage character of the ​defile. The acclivities are very steep, rocky, and mostly covered with forest. The elevated promontory between the two forks, forms a commanding, but not a very tenable position. It is fortified, if that term can apply to the existence of a rude fort, with a few pieces of cannon, without either soldiers or ammunition. It has, however, been frequently squabbled for during the last twenty years.
A long, sleepy, broiling hot day was passed among the palmetto-thatched cottages of the hamlet near the bridge, which is far from being unpicturesque; and at five in the evening, we crept into our litters again, and resumed our journey. Barren roads, covered with low bushes, conducted us to Santa Fe, which we reached at two in the morning. Here, for the second time, pursuant to the system of caution which terrible experience has inculcated, our line came to a second halt within three leagues of Vera Cruz. At Puente del Rey, we had lost many of the hangers-on of the train; and here all who were not quite acclimated, or whom necessity did not compel to enter within the infected border, took their leave, as now farther advance would bring us within the influence of the danger.
At five we set forward again. The level surface of the country became open, sandy, and steril; and forbidding beyond all description—without a hut or patch of cultivation—and the scenery glared upon us in a ghastly manner in the white light of the newly risen sun.
In the course of two hours, escaping from the long ridges of sand with which the lower levels are covered, we arrived upon the hot beach of the gulf, a little to the north of the city. We straightway despatched a messenger to the merchant to whom we were recommended, and passing the gate, threaded a few deserted streets, and heedless of anything but escape, alighted at a fonda on the quay. Half of an hour sufficed to transact our business. Our baggage had not arrived from the capital, and we found we must sail without it. By nine or soon after, on the first of May, we were already on board the New-York packet, then lying in the roadstead—for port it can ​hardly be called—abreast of the celebrated castle of San Juan de Ulua, and within full view of the sea wall, and the numerous towers, cupolas, and the batteries of the city. Low shores and bunks lay on either hand, and the Island of Sacrificios just broke the watery horizon to the east.
After reading the above, you will not expect me to say much in description of La Villa Rica della Vera Cruz.
Regularly and even beautifully built, with fine open streets, a noble spacious square, and many churches—the principal channel through which the riches of New Spain are poured into the Old World—Vera Cruz is deserted in its appearance, and forbidding, from the utterly steril character of the shore on which it is based, and the flights of unclean birds which perch upon its roofs and churches, and hover round its walls. Mammon is the sole god of the city which is called after the symbol of our faith; and here the bones of thousands of his worshippers whiten in the sands. The population has dwindled down from sixteen thousand to five thousand souls; and every year, a large proportion of the new inhabitants, or the foreign arrivals, whether from the cool table land above or from beyond sea, are carried off by that terrible malady the "black vomit."
The season when the vomito displays its greatest virulence is commonly from August to October. This year, it had never ceased to carry off newcomers, even during the cool months following the preceding rainy season, and already in January it had made considerable ravages At the time we thus came within its power, forty deaths a day were reported, and it was supposed many more actually occurred.
The intense heats of the climate, augmented by the high walls of the city, and the rise of the sand hills—together with the stagnant waters in the neighbouring lagoons—are supposed to be the nurses of this terribly malignant and subtile form of bilious fever, to which experience has proved that the unacclimated is exposed, though he breathe the infected atmosphere but a ​single hour. No care, no precaution, no previous course of medicine—no certain antidote can be prescribed. In daring it from necessity, you must rest satisfied with following the advice given, and taking those measures which, however vain in many cases, experience has sanctioned, and throw yourself upon the mercy of God for the rest.
And this we had done to the best of our ability. We were told that the preceding three days' norte was, to a certain degree, in our favour, as during its continuance the pestilence abates something of its virulence. On shipboard we might be considered to be in no danger; but we had passed two or three hours within reach of the infection; and though there was a strong impulse in our bosoms to chant Te Deum, there was that uncertainty in our position which mingled the wailing accents of Miserere mei, Deus! with the song of praise.
The castle of San Juan de Ulua belongs to that class of fortresses whose real strength is much more remarkable, than their outward appearance is striking or picturesque. It lies low on the water, in the midst of the harbourage, having for its base nothing more elevated than a mere sand bank, of which the shallow flats form its defence to the seaward. We had a permit for the inspection of the interior, but were in nowise tempted to take advantage of it. The morning passed away swiftly, in making the necessary arrangements for the voyage; and the afternoon, in hourly expectation of departure. One by one, our fellow-passengers came dropping in; and all being on board by five in the evening, we were glad and thankful to weigh anchor, and see the bow of the handsome vessel turned to the northeast. The sun set in haze and cloud, over the summits of the distant Cordillera. Orizava was completely covered. The wind was favourable, and long before dawn, we had lost sight of the coast of New Spain.
And now what would you have me say more.
​It would be deemed presumptuous in one who had spent but three months in a country, if he were to pretend to speak decidedly as to the condition of its inhabitants and character of its government. Little as we saw, nevertheless there are certain broad traits which strike the foreigner immediately, and I believe the correctness of his first impressions is fully substantiated by the experience of all whose position has yielded an occasion of looking at the state of society more closely. My hastily imbibed impressions of the inhabitants of New Spain were far from being favourable either to the people or to the system they have been pleased to adopt for their guide. If I may judge by what I saw and what I learned, I should infer that the barber, whose opinion I have elsewhere mentioned, was in the right, and that, of all countries I had ever seen, New Spain contains the largest proportion of canaille. How few, in that motley population, from the bedizened official of an hour to the lazar sleeping on the steps of the churches, merit any other name.
In the United States, however strong your bias to the opinion, you pause in asserting that the theory of popular self-government can never be reduced to successful practice among the present races of mankind. However strong your secret conviction, that, though circumstances may have there favoured it thus far, it will, however wise and however reasonable in theory, ultimately prove itself inapplicable to man in his fallen state, even in that vaunted instance, there exists, for the time being, so much which would appear to tell in its favour, that you may as well shun the war of words. You feel that you had better hold your tongue and not argue, but let Time, the prover of all things, speak for you. But here in New Spain the case is otherwise; and the same may be said of all its southern neighbours in like positions: the experiment is one of which the madness is evident, and that it has not been, thus far, attended with like evils in the United States, is to be attributed to the difference of lineage, blood, and position; not that the theory is a wise one.
​No one who has ever spent a month in Mexico will pretend to say that the present state of the country is flattering to the advocates of republicanism. He detects want of system; want of public and private faith; want of legitimate means of carrying on the government, of enforcing the laws, or maintaining order; total absence of patriotism; a general ignorance; indifference to the value of education, linked to overweening arrogance and pride; an incredible absence of men of either natural or acquired talent of any description; and intolerant support of the darkest bigotry and superstition. The meanest partisanship stands in the place of patriotism. The government of the moment has not the power of effectually governing, even if it were sincere in the desire. No party is trusted; no man in the country can command even the respect, much less the co-operation of all; (I say respect, because a man of undoubted talent and probity and honest views, will be respected even by his political adversaries;) and why?—because self-seeking and self-aggrandizement is the purpose of all. They vapour about patriotism, and know not the signification of the word.
The people of the United States, and the partisans of their system all the world over, find a ready answer or apology for the disreputable state of things among these their imitators; and lay the present disorganization to the charge of the ancient tyranny. No—even granting that Spain in the government of her colonies was tyrannical, there are other causes which incapacitate the Mexicans from treading in the footsteps of the states more to the north, and which will, it is probable, always prevent them attaining to their respectable position, however it were to be wished. They have neither the principles of government, nor the reason, nor the conviction of the value of education, and more than all, the strong moral sense and general diffusion of religious principle, which distinguish their more northern neighbours. And what is to give it them?
I have now but little more to add of a character likely to interest you. ​The "Mexican," for so our packet was called, was a fine new vessel, clean and well-ordered, a fast sailer, and altogether the most comfortable ship I ever was in. We had our staterooms on deck in a kind of open roundhouse.
The voyage was, upon the whole, prosperous; and for many days it seemed as if it would have been made in an unusually brief space of time—such was the rapid advance made under the influence of a steady breeze, and the rapidity of the great gulf stream, whose current was in our favour. In one forty-eight hours, we logged an advance of full five hundred miles. However, three days' storm in the latitude of Cape Hatteras, delayed us considerably; and it was on May 9th before we crossed the bar at Sandy Hook, and entered the port of New-York.
There was one occurrence on board, however, which made a great impression upon the ship's company at the time, and with the mention of that I terminate my chronicle. Among the Europeans who had come down from the capital with the other passengers for the packet, was Mr. P., a young French gentleman of family, an attache of the French legation. He had spent two years in the country, and was now returning to New-York and Paris with despatches, to the joy of his parents, to whom, as we learned afterward, this long separation had been a grievous trial.
Gay and careless, on arrival at Jalapa, far from following the advice or example of every other individual of the party similarly circumstanced, he persisted in continuing his journey to Vera Cruz without delay, laughing at the idea of the danger—preferring to pass jovially a day or two with his acquaintances in that city, to the detention in a town on the mountains, where he felt no particular interest. He went—and on the evening of sailing, he joined us on board, dilating upon the social hours he had passed in consequence of his better management.
Poor fellow!—little did he imagine, that that heedless ​contempt of danger would cost him his life; that at that very moment, the seeds were sown of the fatal disease; and that, in the eyes of more than one experienced observer on board, he was already a doomed man. In common with many of the passengers, he suffered from seasickness during the first two or three days, but when they, one by one, recovered health and spirits, he continued very ill, and evidently grew worse instead of better. The bad habit of body in which he evidently was, accounted for this in some degree; but on the fourth day, a total prostration of strength, the horribly livid hue of his countenance, and other yet more certain symptoms of the vomito, began to excite more than ordinary interest and attention. The idea of having the horrible disease among us was repulsive, as you may imagine. Many denied the possibility, and for some time the matter was rather whispered than openly debated. The fifth day brought delirium and raving. No remedy suggested by the experience of those around him, no care, brought any alleviation. It was affecting to see at this time, when the nature of the dreadful malady which he had thus introduced, by fatal imprudence, into our floating prison became unquestionable, how all seemed to front the danger with firmness. There was no skulking and no murmuring; no shunning the sick man's couch when assistance was necessary. He had no intimate friend on board, and all seemed therefore to claim an equal right to do what could be done. De Pourtales in particular, who felt not only the tie of language with the sufferer, but the similarity of their ages and positions, was unremitting in his good offices.
The night between the seventh and eighth was a dreadful one. We were off the Campeachy Bank; and soon after dark a heavy squall with thunder and lightning came on.
The poor patient had been removed from below to one of the deck staterooms, both for a freer circulation of air, as well as to diminish the danger of infection. Pourtales, M'Euen, and myself, occupied the berths in his immediate proximity, ​I cannot describe to you the effect produced upon the mind, as, during the long watches of that night, the fevered and agonizing ravings of the dying man were heard mingling with the whistling of the wind in the cordage, the wash of the sea, and the roll of the thunder. The rocking of the vessel on the short seas, and the shocks which it received, evidently aggravated his sufferings — and from sundown to sunrise, neither spirit nor body found repose. He frequently called us by name; but when we crept to the side of his berth, all was incoherence.
Poor young man! he had been brought up in the heartless school of French immorality, and had lived without God or shame; and now, with clouded reason and senses, was dying beyond the sense of sorrow and repentance for sin. The day which followed was a weary one; we all trod the deck in silence. The patient got no rest. His spirit was literally "raving round its prison walls," and seeking exit. Towards evening, the last fatal symptom of his dreadful malady came on — the black vomit — and yet he lived. We could none of us rest, but watched when the end would come. Our captain was a noble character, and his behaviour was, throughout, such as to reflect honour on himself and the service. Had he been the dying man's brother, he could not have evinced a more complete and more generous devotedness than he did from first to last. There he sat, hour after hour, supporting the languid head, and watching the gasping breath, perfectly regardless of the risk of infection; and when about half past one, on the morning of the eighth, the sufferer at length ceased to breathe, he was still at his post.
When all was over, energetic measures were immediately adopted to avert danger to the passengers and crew. The body was strongly sewed up in canvass; and by seven o'clock most signs of the past trial had been carefully removed. But there was still the shapeless corpse, which, covered with a flag, lay extended upon a plank, resting upon the starboard bulwarks of the vessel.
There had been no indecent hurry — at the same time ​that there was no risk knowingly incurred. Out of respect to the dead and the living, and for the sake of those for whose breasts this heavy blow was preparing, it was unanimously decided that all that decency could suggest should be done. He might not be of our faith — he might not have lived and died to the Lord: our duty as men was clear; and for the rest, we left judgment to Him that judgeth righteously.
At sunrise the small crew clustered round the mainmast, and the passengers under the roundhouse. The ensign of the United States, with its stars and stripes, floated halfway up the rigging; and the ship was kept under easy sail on the fresh but favourable breeze which had sprung up after the squall. The sky was without a cloud. In the absence of a clergyman of any church, the duty of reading the service over the body was imposed upon me. I never heard that exquisitely beautiful portion of the ritual of the Church of England read without emotion, and none need wonder that I felt my voice tremble, as now, in the face of the broad blue sky, and amid the world of waters, I was called to utter its solemn strain over the lifeless remains of the companion who had thus been suddenly taken away while we were left. Others may have forgotten the incident long ago — I never can forget it. Yet the circumstances were such as sobered the most unreflecting for the time. All saw before them a striking proof that "Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery!" and that "In the midst of live we are in death."
Thus we committed the body of our fellow mortal to the deep, to be turned into corruption: looking for the resurrection of the body, when the sea shall give up her dead.
THE END.