The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1890-09-28
Midi faglt
THE SILVER CITY.

in Merida, the capital city of the state Of
Yucatan, he finds himself on ground
that teens with the associations of many
centuries. Merida lies in the very center
of the district now famous for its vast
production of henequin, and as a city it
can easily be classed in the same cate
CORY with Mexico's capital With a pop
ulation of $4,000 souls. it is thirty miles
from the gulf coast. and is connected
with the port of Progreso by line Of
railroad which runs a daily train be-
tween the two cities. Very little over
land traffic is engaged in between Mer-
ida and the City of Mexico, owing to the
wild nature Of the country.
My object is not to describe the city
Of Merida, but TO give truthful version
of one of the strangest stories that it
has ever been my fortune to hear in this
strange country-a story that l have
every reason to believe to be true; one
that by the merest chance came to my
ears, and as it was only yesterday that 1
sat in the cozy sitting room Of the fine
old hou. on the hacienda of my old
friend, Don Pepe Garcia, the words and
facial movements Of the narrator are as
vivid IN my mind as if it had been my
death sentence that | had listened to in
stead of a story straight from the lips Of
gray haired, age stricken Maya Indian
servant attached to the hacienda. That
it sounds more like an extravagant ro-
nance than Nineteenth century rela-
ton / will admit, but the location of the
swamp mentioned later on is almost as
well known to me as The Times building
in Kansas City, and. if the expression Of
mans features can serve as an indica-
ton Of whether or no he is telling the
truth, then | would side with Don Pepe
in accepting as the truth the story which
he, his wife and your correspondent lis
tened to last evening.
Senior Garcia is wei known Yucatan
haciendado, one of the wealthiest men
on the peninsula. We were sitting on
the piazza of his magnificent country
home enjoying the cool breeze that blew
across the broad henequin fields. Our
conversation turned from the wonders
of the country that lies north Of Mexico
to his own native state Of Yucatan, and
thinking Of the strange ruined cities that
lie within this Mexican state | asked
him for some information regarding
them. Hardly had the question left my
tongue when lie called to his wife, who
was sitting inside the house, and ordered
some coffee. Turning to me he said:
you ask Of ruined cities and ancient
Pancho's story and then we viii talk"
Hardly had he ceased speaking when
Pancho appeared, bearing a tray laden
with coffee cups and a steaming pot Of
the aromatic beverage. AS he placed
the tray on the table and stepped aside
with respectful Difference | noted that
he was an intelligent looking Maya In
dian some go years OF age, tall, well
formed, as are all the Mayas, and with
an eye that sparkled and glowed in spite
OF his advanced years The thing that
most attracted attention to his face was
n long, hideous scar which extended
clear across his forehead. and which
seemed TO have been made with a red
hot iron, for the flesh appeared scared
snd scorched and the central portion Of
this friShtful wound seemed to have
Sloughed away and left the very thinnest
kind of a skin to protect the skull All
of this / took in in moment, and ere
had time TO speak my host turned to the
old man and said: 'Pancho, tell us the
story Of that scar on your forehead for
the benefit of our guest, who wishes to
hear it"
The eyes Of the old mozo glistened as
he complied with the request, and as we
slipped our coffee and sat there in the
soft southern twilight | heard this
strange story told in liquid, eloquent
Spanish and with an earnest manner that
made deep impression on me. Here is
the translation, word for word:
Seniors, that scar on my forehead was
made by poisoned arrow shot from the
bow of a n-Santa-Cruz Indian, Just
eighteen months ago, and 10 tell You the
story Of it / must commence by telling
you of the swamp which hides from the
world the Silver City
South Of the city Of Merida. as YOU
know, lies a vast tract OF marshv land
known as the Black Swamp. Into this
swamp the feet Of a white man have
never trod, or if they have the world
has never known of it, for the winds
that blow from this field OF death allow
no one to reach the borders Of it alive.
1t cannot be reached from the south
on account of the extremely dangerous
rocks that line the seashore, and as |
have never heard of any one who has
passed through the experience / am about
10 relate believe that | am the only
Indian of a distinct tribe whose eyes
have beheld the sacred city Of the Chan
Santa-Cru Indians.
"Ycu are aware. as is every one. that
these Indians have never been conquered
by the Mexican troops. and that the
bleached bones of many a brave Mexican
soldier lie whitening along the border of
the dismal swamp which is the home Of
these Indians
They have successfully resisted every
effort at capture, and they are no more
under control at the present moment
than they were fifty years ago, and l
think they never viii be The troops
are always engaged IN a struggle with
them, but it is Of no avail The skir-
mishes invariably result in a heavy loss
for the troops, for the poisoned arrows
used blythe Indians are more deadly than
the modern bullet, as to a certain extent
] am aMare