MOUNTAIN EXPLORATION.

Travelling Companions—S. Lazarus Station—S. Anita—Ayotla—Tlalmanalco—Tenango del Aire—Amecameca—A Badly Lighted Town—Rateros—Monte-Sacro—Volcaneros.

On my first visit to the country, three-and-twenty years before, I had gone to the Sierra for the purpose of making a collection of photographs of Popocatepetl and the hills surrounding it. As my men were getting my camera ready I amused myself in scratching the ground with my stick, when, to my great surprise, I discovered a bit of pottery and presently a whole vase; I next tried the ground with my dagger and unearthed more vases, side by side with human remains. At that time, however, I was so absorbed by my photography, so ill prepared for gauging the importance of monuments and objects of antiquity regarding the country I was visiting, that I did not follow up my discovery; but now, deeply conscious of their interest, I returned to Popocatepetl, in the hope of finding the place as I had left it, and to be able to bring to light its hidden treasures.

Before going any further I wish to make the reader acquainted with my travelling companions. First in rank and importance stands Don Perez Castro, a Colonel of the Artillery, appointed by the Mexican Government to watch and share my labours and discoveries. Colonel Castro has taken part in all the battles and combats of his country during the Franco-Austrian empire of Maximilian; he is used to every climate, always ready to make the best of everything, blessed, moreover, with a perfect temper, a thorough good fellow, a caballero of the old school, with whom it is impossible not to get on. Next comes my private secretary, young Albert Lemaire, a promising topographer, a good draughtsman, who accepts cheerfully the hardships, privations, nay, the occasional perils of the expedition. Our servant, Julian Diaz, completes the list. He is a good specimen of a Calino, sweet-tempered, obliging, devoted, and indefatigable, and as simple and guileless as a child; he is never seen without his faithful dog d’Artagnan, a fine-looking animal, far too lazy to be any good against thieves or in the pursuit of game.

S. Lazarus is the station of a new line connecting Mexico with Morelos and Amecameca; here travellers must beware of the “cargadores,” who swoop down on the luggage like birds of prey, and if they are not more than quick in protecting their traps they will, in all probability, never see them again. Poor Julian learnt it to his cost, for in spite of all our vigilance, our fighting, our rushing madly after our porters not to lose sight of our things, when we reached the platform Julian’s trunk was gone. I was indignant, but he took his mischance quite philosophically, as though it did not concern him, lighting his cigar and taking his seat without a word of reproach against his unscrupulous countrymen.

The guard gives the signal, the whistle is heard, and we steam out of this squalid station, following the road by which Cortez entered Mexico. In the time of the Aztecs it was planted with beautiful trees, a glowing vegetation and pleasant groves clad the borders of the lake, over which glided a thousand light skiffs and floating chinampas; but now the waters which penetrated the city everywhere have receded so far as to be hardly visible, and the bright towns and hamlets, once washed by them, have been removed miles inland, leaving a barren strip of land with incrustations of salt on the surface. It is refreshing to abandon this unhealthy, horrible swamp to skirt S. Anita’s Canal, with its grassy banks, great trees, pretty villas, and blooming gardens overlooking the water. We perceive a few Indians among the reeds of the muddy waters casting their small nets to get a white fish to be found here. We pass PeÑon with its sulphureous springs, stop at Santa Marta, once the culminating point of the road, and we shall soon leave behind the basin of the lake once so animated, so full of life, but now mournful and desolate beyond redemption.

The inhabitants, with amazing stupidity, even since my first visit, have laid low the forests of sombre pines and ilexes which shrouded the slopes of the volcanic hills occupying the valley, and imparting to it so unique a character; and now torrential rains carry away the soil no longer held by roots, leaving the rocks bare, so that nothing grows excepting the prickly pear or the funereal opuntiums.

It is not very difficult to see where this state of things will end. We can approximately calculate the time when the requirements of the railway will attack the rare forests as yet crowning the higher hills, and their summits be denuded also!

After Ayotla the landscape somewhat improves. SANTA ANITA CANAL.
SANTA ANITA CANAL. We begin to see a few gardens, a few olive-trees, immense plantations of aloe, affording at once drink and raiment, yellow maize ready to be gathered before the impending rains. We are approaching the mountains and have passed CompaÑia and Lake Chalco on our right, and go through Rio Frio, once a favourite station for brigands. On my first journey I fell a prey to them with a diligence full of people, when like a flock of sheep we all stood to be plundered by two wretched-looking fellows one could have brought down at one blow. At that time, however, it was deemed wise to offer no resistance, for fear of unseen companions lurking close by. Now Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl, bearing to heaven their snowy peaks, become more and more distinct; here is Tematla, and a few minutes more bring us to Tenango del Aire, “windy,” where violent winds generally prevail. The line here leaves the old road which used to pass Tlalmanal, and for my part I regret it, as I miss seeing the remains of a convent built in the first years of the Conquest, which was never finished.

The ruins are composed of fragments of walls with a portico formed by five arches, supported by slender columns as finely sculptured as a Chinese ivory casket. Indian artists executed this beautiful carving after designs furnished by the Catholic Spaniards. I am told by the guard that when this line was open, hundreds of vases, statuettes, pottery of every shape and size were unearthed, none of which found their way to the Museum, the officials having shared the spoil among themselves. It is grievous to think that so many precious objects are lost to science, when it would be so easy for the Mexican Government to introduce a clause by which the contractors bound themselves to give up to the authorities any antiquities they happened to bring to light.

It was seven o’clock when we entered the station of Amecameca, having been four hours in performing a journey of some sixty-four miles. It was now pitch dark, so that our luggage was piled into the cart without our examining it, and it was not until we were in the house which was to take us in, there being no hotel in the place, that I perceived both locks of my portmanteau had been broken and £20 out of £60 taken. I naturally complained to the authorities, but as I could not say where the theft had taken place (though it must have been accomplished either at the station in Mexico or in the train) I obtained no redress, and I comforted myself with the thought that it would have been much worse had they taken the whole.

Amecameca is situated at an altitude of 626 feet above Mexico, Pg 157
Pg 158
Pg 159at the foot of Monte-Sacro, planted with beautiful trees; the air is cool even in summer and the climate good. This circumstance has made it a favourite resort for the rich Mexicans eager to escape from the excessive heat of the plain. But even in this favoured climate storms, rain, and winds prevail during several months of the year; hence perpendicular roofs have replaced azoteas, giving it the aspect of an Alpine village. No more enchanting scenery can well be imagined: to the south-east, great Popocatepetl rises to the enormous height of 17,852 feet above the level of the sea; fronting it to the east Iztaccihuatl, 15,208 feet, spreading its mantle of snow over its broad surface; and if yielding in bulk and height to its gigantic neighbour it is far more picturesque, surrounded by a belt of hills, with a thousand fantastic forms, broken peaks, massive rocks, and deep ravines, presenting a variety and richness of colouring unsurpassed anywhere. In the morning the plain is covered with a slight white mist, like a bridal veil, through which show the tapering stalks of Indian corn and the gloomy masses of trees. In this light the lower hills are of a tender peacock-green, deepening to the darkest blue in the barrancas, whilst the crests are tinged with a faint blush; but when storms, at this season very frequent, burst upon the gigantic and broken surface of these mountains, when clouds sweep across their slopes clashing against each other, and the lightning illumines the whole sky, when the thunder is re-echoed from all these peaks, from all these pinnacles, to die in the distant ravines, one understands how a primitive race peopled Popocatepetl with giants and evil spirits, whose agonies in their prison-house found expression in these convulsions of nature. But if at this season we have a succession of thunderstorms and torrential rains, if the sky is overcast at night and white exhalations rise from the plain, the mornings are bright and wonderfully calm.

The Municipality took measures some time since to have Amecameca, which numbers 1,500 inhabitants, lighted with petroleum, their finances precluding gas; but, alas! they had counted without the rateros, who on the very first night spread over the city, put out simultaneously all the lamps and carried them off. But I hear some one ask, what is a ratero? A ratero is ubiquitous and essentially an American institution. His strength as a thief lies in being a member of a very “long firm.” He is always to be found in crowds, whether in the market-place, church, or theatre; he penetrates ill-closed houses, whence he takes anything valuable; he strips railway carriages of their fixtures, and railways of their wooden rails—the largest beams are not safe from his grasp; horses and cattle are frequently driven from one district to be sold in another by the ratero. Rateros hardly ever miss a party crossing the Cordilleras, and they take care to be in sufficient numbers to ensure victory. It was a ratero who carried off Julian’s box, and a ratero had eased me of £20.

The immediate attraction of Amecameca is Monte-Sacro, a volcanic hill, fire-rent, rising from the centre of the town to a height of 325 feet. There is a grotto which was turned into a hermitage at the time of the Conquest. The place soon acquired great celebrity for holiness on account of miracles which were performed thereat; chapels, churches, and a good road with the twelve stations of the Cross, were erected by the piety and for the accommodation of devotees who came hither from all parts, and who, not satisfied with visiting the Monte-Sacro during their lifetime, often desired to be buried in the cemetery fronting the church, so that it is over-crowded.

The tombs are covered with cement and perfectly flat, with rude drawings made by the friends of the dead, who scratch with their hands and bare feet certain figures whilst the plaster is soft; but although I inquired of several people, I could obtain no satisfactory answer regarding the origin of this peculiar custom. The branches of the surrounding trees, as indeed those on the road up to the Cross, are hung with ex-votos of the oddest description: small crosses, bits of thread, coloured stuff, dead flowers, tangled hair, reminding one of offerings around Japanese temples. The view from the top of the hill is very fine and extensive, and the ascent has been made both easy and pleasant by a winding road planted with cypress trees to the north, and to the south side with ilexes of enormous size.

We were detained here by the weather, which was simply abominable, and also by the difficulty of procuring saddle-horses, mules to carry our baggage, and men inured by long experience to live and work in this rarefied atmosphere.

It was not without a feeling of deep satisfaction that we saw our last mule and our last man loaded ready to start. Our two best men are brothers, both of whom have been employed in the sulphur-mines of Popocatepetl, one as foreman for the last eight-and-twenty years, and the other even longer. The five remaining Indians are also “volcaneros,” accustomed to live at an altitude of 13,000 to 17,550 feet above the level of the sea.

At last every man is at his post, and we begin slowly the ascent of the mountain.