There are two things that the settler will find gaining a hold on him after a short residence in Mexico, namely, cigarette smoking and indolence. Very few foreigners successfully resist the seduction of the _siesta_. However fierce their original abhorrence of the practice may be, gradually the climate saps and softens it, and induces them to regard it leniently. It is hopeless to attempt to combat the native predisposition to midday slumber. The custom of generations has become an instinct. For the time being all idea of business is as completely relinquished as during the hours of midnight. There is nothing for the best intentioned and most energetic individual to do but wait until in due course the Mexican world wakes again. And this period of enforced idleness it is which proves so fatal to the good intentions of the stranger in the land.

The laws that govern the attraction of cigarette smoking are more mysterious; but their influence is also more swift and certain. I believe that no one escapes this injurious habit. As for me, I did not endeavour to do so, but avoided a good deal of trouble and self-mortification by falling into it at once; and although a rooted indisposition to sleep in the day-time under any circ.u.mstances preserved me from indulging in the _siesta_ during any of my trips into Mexico, I must confess that about that period of the day which may be designated the fore-afternoon, a sense of most enjoyable laziness would steal upon me, when not in the saddle.

No doubt there are lazier creatures than the typical Mexican; for all intents and purposes, however, he is lazy enough. He unites with his indolence a const.i.tutional indifference which is very enviable. I have seen the combination described somewhere as "the tropical philosophy of the Mexican." He can be idle without reproaching himself, poverty-stricken without repining. His soul is unvexed by envy or those yearnings of vulgar ambition, not unfrequently mistaken for the still, small voice of conscience, urging us to labour. Life with him is one long _siesta_. In the fulness of our restless hearts let us not condemn his equanimity too hastily. To struggle and strive are not essentially admirable unless the ulterior ends of those who are so occupied are disinterested and n.o.ble. And, as a rule, unselfish and n.o.ble views, grand schemes, are usually propounded, not by the hard-working citizen, but by the more or less unreliable dreamer, of more or less dubious integrity. The "tropical philosophy" of the Mexican is often evinced in an amusing fashion.

Whilst we were at Corralitos, the blanket-maker of the _hacienda_ came into the office one afternoon on business, and Mr. Neil, the book-keeper, took the opportunity of telling him that, upon their last regulating his accounts, he had been charged by mistake with owing the company three hundred, instead of two hundred and odd dollars. A considerable difference this to one in his position. But the ragged old weaver merely waved his hand, and shrugging his shoulders indifferently, said, with all the air of a prince receiving the intimation: "No hay differencia." There may have been some truth in this literally, however, inasmuch as, like most Mexican ranch hands, he doubtless intended to die, as he had lived, in debt to his employers.

The reply of the Corralitos store-keeper to his customers, when they inquired whether the stock of sugar (which had been exhausted some days before) had been renewed--sugar being the very light of a Mexican's life--was also characteristic. "Azucar? No hay, Senores, pero tengo muchos frejoles." Who but a Mexican, when earnestly besought for sugar, could placidly answer that he had none, but had "plenty of beans"? To be able to distinguish any connection between sugar and beans, and offer the latter as a subst.i.tute for the former, seems incomprehensible to a practical mind. But philosophers tell us that to be able to generalise is a rare and precious gift, and surely the above incident evinces the possession of it to an unlimited extent.

But for sublime indifference, due, however, not a little in effect to the speaker's manner, a response that I received in Janos is not to be overlooked. I chanced one morning to ask a "tropical philosopher,"

seated on an erratic boulder in the street, with his _zarapa_ covering his ears, and a cigarette between his fingers, what time it was. He lifted his eyelids and gazed at me curiously. "What manner of fool is this that waits on time?" his looks said palpably, and smiling compa.s.sionately, his contempt gaining infinitely from the indolent style in which it was expressed, he murmured: "Quien sabe?"

Nevertheless, very winning traits may be found occasionally in these expatriated descendants of the old Goths. Whence comes the courtly courtesy and dignity displayed by some of the owners of little insignificant shops in Mexican towns? Uneducated and untravelled, these old fellows have lived all their lives in these out-of-the-way corners of the world, yet the demeanour of some of them is as inimitable as is any other inspiration of true genius. It is neither taught nor copied, but inherited, and is the result of long custom acting upon successive generations. "Bon chien cha.s.se de race." These men are polite for the same reason. Skin deep! you object. Very likely. But surely the beautifully combined colours and variety of artistic designs that adorn the surface of Eastern china, are more pleasant to look upon and live with, than the rough surface, scanty, vulgar, and monotonous ornamentation that offends the eye on Western crockery.

I have heard the advice given by one who knew Mexico well: "Cuff and curse the peons, bribe the middle cla.s.ses, and if you can only outvie the old Dons in politeness you are eternally heeled." One is often reminded by the native character of Harrington's lines:

"A tailor, thought a man of upright dealing, True but for lying, honest but for stealing."

By another who had had a good deal of experience with Mexicans, a broad rule for my guidance was offered to me once, in the following words: "You don't really want to treat them with delicacy. Pretend to--yes, 'pretend,' to beat h--l!--the more you pretend the better, if you want to get on with them. But don't let it enter into your heart. Never let them get a chance at your sentiment; keep that dry." The speaker was a shrewd judge of men, and was probably not far wrong. The Colonel dealt with them upon a somewhat similar principle, and I was amused upon one occasion by an example of it.

During a drive through the country, three of us had spent the night at the house of an old fellow at Janos, who had entertained us in a style that was simply delightful--I allude, of course, more to the spirit displayed by our host than to what he had absolutely offered us, for in a land where there is no costly food, and where every one carries his own blankets, and requires only a few square feet of floor to sleep upon, visitors are not a great trouble or expense. Nevertheless, we were unwilling to leave without signifying our appreciation of what had been done for us. Money, however, our host unhesitatingly refused to accept, saying that his house was ours, and that whenever we came to Janos we were to make the freest use of it. Don Cabeza bowed and smiled with politeness not less ceremonious than that of our entertainer. "We were _amigos_," he said; "we understood that; we did not dream of offering to pay for ourselves. We lived in the hope of being able some day to return in Deming the hospitality that we had received in Janos. But the Senor Don Manuel must accept five dollars for the accommodation that he had so kindly afforded our two horses." This was another matter altogether. Don Manuel took the five dollars without raising any objections, but reiterating with even greater fervour his professions of friendship and regard.

A somewhat similar incident came under my notice elsewhere. Travelling alone, I was recommended to the house of a small trader, whose courtesy and good-nature were perfectly ideal. He was a man of remarkably fine presence, and his manners were superb--easy, courtly, thoughtful, and charming, yet never for a second anything but deliberate and exquisitely dignified. They reminded me of the manners of a thorough-bred Turk, only this man had a pleasant smile, his laugh was not unfrequent, and altogether he lacked much of the solemnity which governs the usual demeanour of the Osmanli.

I had only to express a fancy, to evince, even unconsciously, a desire, and the means of gratifying it, were they procurable, were not pressed upon me, but unostentatiously placed within my reach and power. And this unwearying attention was paid me in such a way, that it never became in the least degree irritating or oppressive, as is often the case where extreme solicitude is displayed. I spent two afternoons and nights in the house of this gentleman (on my way to and from a ranch that I had gone to look at), but, unfortunately, I was using hired horses which were looked after by my guide, and lodged elsewhere, and being under no obligation to my host for their keep therefore, I was unable to avail myself of Don Cabeza's expedient, when the remuneration that I offered for my own lodging was refused. My host was by no means rich, and I was anxious to reimburse him. It happened that I asked him to change a ten-dollar United States bill into Mexican paper money. I forget the exact value of the Mexican paper dollar at that time, but at any rate it was less than seventy cents American money. My host produced some Mexican notes, and counted me out ten, of the value of one dollar each.

Then he paused to see whether this change would satisfy me, and curious to find out what he would do, I folded them up as though contented and thanked him. On his side, he placed my ten-dollar note with the rest of his own bills in his pocket, and bowed gravely, having made at least four dollars, Mexican paper, by the transaction. An odd medley of qualities therefore exists in the Mexican disposition. Traces of the traits that were so marked in their Spanish ancestors still rea.s.sert themselves, and side by side with something of the old Castilian pride and manner is found the same avarice that supported the early settlers, under the dangers and hardships which they encountered in order to obtain gold in this country.

CHAPTER XVI.

A CRUISE IN NORTHERN MEXICO.--IV.

Twenty-six miles from Corralitos lay Casas Grandes, a place containing between two and three thousand inhabitants, and a fair type of the collection of ruins, partial ruins, patched ruins, ruins deserted, ruins inhabited, and a few pa.s.sable adobe houses, that in Northern Mexico is dignified by the denomination, town. The site occupied by it appears to have been a favourite one from early times, some interesting ruins of Aztec buildings still remaining here, and traces of labour that must be referred to an even more remote date, occurring in the neighbourhood.

I had visited Casas Grandes twice without seeing the ruins (or "Casas Grandes de Montezuma," as they are called), when one morning I found myself in the company of the priest of the village. This functionary spoke some English--some Ollendorf, perhaps I should say--very little of which was intelligible, and still less coherent. But this did not seem to concern him. In an unfortunate moment I invited him to take some bottled beer at the princ.i.p.al store. He finished four bottles gaily, and was preparing to accept a further renewal of the invitation, when it occurred to me that, inasmuch as I did not drink beer, and the division of labour was scarcely a fair one, it would be wise to vary the entertainment. I proposed to visit the ruins, and leaving the shop we proceeded in the direction of the "big houses." The _padre's_ somewhat high action, the moment that he began to feel the heat of the sun, reminded me a good deal of what Skippy had said about Mac's dancing: namely, that "he only touched on the high places as he went round the room." The successor of the Apostles dipped and soared, and set to every pig, pa.s.ser-by, or obstruction in our way, with bewitching grace and lightness. It would not have surprised me at any moment to have seen him pause, cover his face in his mantle, and, after an interval of self-communion, burst into a prophetic denunciation of the degenerate inhabitants of the surrounding hovels. He was in that sort of mood. We reached the ruins, however, without this having occurred. To stand amidst such remarkable traces of past industry and civilisation, in company with an inebriated priest, a mouthpiece of the G.o.d of the race that expunged the Aztec authors of them from the list of nations, was not altogether without its moral.

The ruins still visible lie on the top of the artificial mounds on which the Aztecs often built, and extend over a wide surface. Doubtless they would still be in a state of much greater preservation but for the fact that the Mexicans have been accustomed to borrow materials from them, to employ in the construction of their houses and corrals. I am told that Coronado, who took part in the expedition of Cortez, refers to these remains in his history as being "already old;" but I have had no opportunity of consulting his work. The ruins that I saw seemed to be those of a large palace, or of some building of that nature, and were composed of blocks of a species of adobe cement, 18 x 18 x 24 inches in size. The rooms are long and rather narrow; some plaster still adheres to the walls in the interior of one of them. Judging from the elevation to which the walls still standing rise, the building appears to have been two or three storeys high--noteworthy evidence of architectural advance if the supposition be correct.

It seemed likely that the natives would from time to time have discovered Aztec relics here, but inquiry brought nothing of the kind to light, save some "_oyas de Montezuma_," earthenware pots of more or less fantastic shapes. The designs in black and red on some of them showed considerable finish and skill, and the things themselves were far superior to anything of the kind made in the country at the present time.

To turn from the Casas Grandes of the Aztecs to the modern town which derives its name from them, is to turn from ruined buildings to ruined people. In this instance the ruined people are certainly the more picturesque. Walls of mud, be they never so mighty, and dust, though it be the dust of ages, have not the charm of one of the little groups of loafers that may be seen at every street corner in a Mexican village.

Bronze faces, luminous-eyed; hair, beards, and moustaches black as ravens' wings; big _sombreros_ covered with tarnished silver braiding; deep-toned, rich-hued _zarapas_, contrasting with white (?) shirts, and perhaps a rose-coloured knot at the wearer's throat; great jangling spurs, braided breeches, a trailing _lariat_, a wreath or two of cigarette smoke, a bit of green foliage, deep shadows, golden sunlight; and all mellowed with dirt and perfect repose as a picture mellows with age. Turn where you will, such scenes may be found.

There are streets, it is true; but building and rebuilding have rendered their lines extremely vague. Here a householder has trenched upon the road for s.p.a.ce for his pig-sty; there a wattled fence encloses a fowl-yard; yonder is a small corral built of old Aztec blocks; elsewhere, a stable-shed abuts upon the right of way. But none of the domestic animals for whom these offices have been built appear to inhabit them. A lean horse, with ribs protruding, stands, looking like a big knot, at one end of a raw-hide la.s.so, which, trailing loosely on the ground, is lost to sight inside the door of his master's hotel. Cows repose placidly in the thick dust of the path, chewing an apparently inexhaustible cud. c.o.c.ks and hens stalk here, there, and everywhere, in search of their precarious livelihood. There is a large floating population of dogs that have neither name nor home; and the pigs of a Mexican town (save in the instances of those obese monstrosities that are tethered out) have evidently a strolling license to go whithersoever they list. There are busy pigs and idle pigs, clean, dirty, blatant, pensive, friendly, and aggressive pigs, cynical pigs with cold, cruel, alligator eyes, pigs that look the very incarnation of sensualism, and pigs that look chaste and pure as matrons of old Rome.

Few animals have so human an eye as this unjustly despised benefactor of mankind. For my own part, although reluctantly confessing that vulgar prejudice has educated in me a preference for him when he has fallen into his baconage, I can never entirely overlook the debt of grat.i.tude that is his due. Science has greater records than his; there are figures in statecraft, art, theology, and war, to whom it is the custom of giddy historians to a.s.sign greater prominence when recounting the world's great names; but of few can it be said that their unaided genius and research has awakened the taste of civilised humanity to a source of gratification so universally admitted, and so entirely free from alloy, as has the pig. For what, indeed, is the detecter of a new planet, the finder or conqueror of a new continent, beside the great discoverer of the truffle? Not for us is the planet, to new continents we are indifferent. These are vanities for our children to reach and cry for.

But, as weary and disillusionised we drive "Life's sad post-horses o'er the dreary frontier of age," and Time, great proselytiser, gently turns the mind to solemn thoughts of turtle-fat and beaver-tail, water-rails and canvas-back ducks, caviare, _foie gras_, some fishes, and a few wines, the truffle will be found to be connected with most of our comfortablest dreams and sweetest hopes. Yet, how have we treated its inspired inventor? Have we cherished him, and encouraged his investigations? No! The sensitive, tip-tilted nose to which we owe so much has been ruthlessly pierced and torn. The iron hath entered into poor piggy's snout. The marvellous faculty possessed by him of going to the root of things is wantonly destroyed. He will never electrify us with another discovery, never present the epicurean world with another truffle. When I speak of the truffle, by the way, I no more allude to the usual dry chips of black leather of English dinner-tables than I should be referring to the London orange, if, with the memory of the glorious fruit of the gardens of Chio in my mind, I spoke of oranges.

I could linger for pages in any one of these Mexican towns--now sketching a smallpox-marked, villainous-visaged horse-thief, with the seat of a centaur, engaged in mid-street in breaking in a colt, barebacked, and bridled only with a hackamore; and, whilst the animal bucks and bucks untiringly, exchanging jokes and laughter with the idlers near; now depicting a dark-eyed, black-haired, slatternly _senorita_ (not beautiful--that is extremely rare--but picturesque certainly), standing with her pail by the old derrick over the public well, in a cotton skirt of pink, a shawl or veil of similar though lighter colour covering her head and shoulders and falling to her waist, the whole vaguely reminding one of a cloud of apple-blossom; now describing the obscure interior of a cottage, and the group of women crouching round the wide, open hearth, crushing maize in the _matate_, or cooking one of their simple dishes; now picturing----But enough! As it is we proceed much too slowly; and many of the towns, ranches, Mormon camps, and scenes that I saw, will find no record in the limits that I have here a.s.signed myself. For, when the originality of a generation may be registered in few lines, no book can be too short.

CHAPTER XVII.

A CRUISE IN NORTHERN MEXICO.--V.

"Now, boys! now, boys! now, boys! Who--oop! Up you get, now; up you get!

No loafing! ----and -- --! We ain't going to stop here all day! Come!

it'll be sun-up directly! I'll be -- -- -- if some of you chaps wouldn't sleep round the clock!" cried McGrew, turning out of his blankets at Ramos.

Those were busy days at Corralitos, and long before daylight the cattle manager's voice was raised thus. Ramos was one of the outlying ranches on the property, of which there were four. One lay to the north of the _hacienda_, and governed the approaches to the ranch from Janos and Ascension; one to the south afforded an effectual check on the formerly unimpeded and consequently free attentions which the good folks of Casas Grandes had been accustomed to devote to Corralitos beef; Barrancas (the ruins of an old mining village) was situated a few miles from Corralitos, and was used as a dairy ranch; Ramos itself lay to the west, on a stream that issued from springs in the foot-hills of the Sierra Madre, and in the neighbourhood of grazing which would make an imported cow that had once seen it sing, "It was a dream," for ever afterwards.

Few cattle ran on the eastern half of the Corralitos property, and those few were worked from the San Pedro mining camp or from the main _hacienda_.

Ramos, once a village, had been one of the oldest settlements in the district, but, "cleaned out" many years ago by Apaches, had never recovered its former importance. At present it consisted of a few more or less ruined adobes (occupied by the _vaqueros_ and their families), which formed with the neighbouring corrals, the old church, and the mill that supplied Corralitos with flour, a large square or _plaza_.

A hurried breakfast of coffee, jerked beef, and corn-cake over, every one repaired to the horse corral, into which the cow ponies, about a hundred and fifty in number, had already been driven. Clouds of dust rose in the air as they careered madly round and round in a band, or checked, confused, and scattered, halted, and with ears p.r.i.c.ked and manes and tails flying, shied and dodged nervously amidst a score of whirling la.s.soes. Here they were kicking and biting one another; here, fighting wildly at the end of hair or raw-hide ropes; here, with wisdom born of experience, following quietly after being captured.

In the _plaza_, too, the scene was a busy one. Before every door there were signs of preparation. It might be that a _vaquero_ was vainly coaxing a colt that backed and backed steadily as he attempted to approach it with saddle or bridle; was taking a last reef in the horse-hair _sincha_ or girth; coiling his la.s.so, or fastening it to the pommel of the saddle; bending to accept a light for his cigarette from the brand that his dark-eyed wife had brought to the door. There were men in every condition of endeavouring to mount restive horses; and horses in every stage of enjoying their morning buck; whilst mingled with such brutes were a few corn-fed favourites, whose manners and appearance were of a different type altogether. Women were standing about amongst the men; and future _vaqueros_ clung to their skirts, or, having outgrown this support, emulated their fathers and swung little ropes, trying to capture every c.o.c.k and hen, pig or dog, that came within their reach.

Having "saddled up," the crowd moved towards the big corral. The gate poles were shifted; the great herd of steers already collected streamed slowly out, and pointed in the direction in which it was intended that it should graze during the day, was allowed to string out on the plain.

A few men were detached to follow and hold it; and the rest, under McGrew's direction, split up into small parties and scattered over the country to "cut out" and bring in, from amongst the cattle they saw, all the yearling and two-year-old steers. It was not always easy to turn these youngsters, and many a short, sharp burst we had over broken ground where a false step would have occasioned immeasurable grief.

Fortunately, however, the nags were sure-footed. Such scenes as these recalled many of poor Gordon's lines, and one verse with but slight alteration absolutely describes such a day's work:

"'Twas merry in the glowing morn among the gleaming gra.s.s, To wander as we wandered many a mile, And blow the cool tobacco cloud, and watch the white wreaths pa.s.s, Sitting loosely in the saddle all the while.

"'Twas merry 'mid the _foot-hills_ when we spied the _Ramos_ roofs, To wheel the wild scrub cattle at the yard, With a running fire of stock-whips, and a fiery run of hoofs; Oh! the hardest day was never then too hard."

In and out amongst the foot-hills we wound and reconnoitred, gathering steers. Where it was found difficult to separate from the bunch with which they ran those of the ages that we required, cows, calves, and bulls were driven along with them and turned in with the others, to be dropped one by one as they endeavoured naturally to escape on the way back to Ramos. In the evening, before mingling the new bands with the herd already held, the few cattle of wrong s.e.x or age that remained amongst the steers were cut out and driven off. As soon as the "round up" was completed, the herd was taken down to the _hacienda_ where the branding was to take place.

The following was a gala week at Corralitos. Every man or boy who could beg, borrow, or steal a rope presented himself to take part in the proceedings. As their services were in most cases dispensed with, they sat in flocks on the walls of the corral, and added to the din of shouts and bellowing with their cries and applause. Women, in their best attire, mounted the roofs of houses that dominated the arena, and watched the scene with as much interest as if it had been a bull-fight.

And truth to tell, it was not always devoid of excitement. These young Mexican cattle were as wild and quick as mustangs, and in the band of between a hundred and a hundred and thirty that occupied the branding corral at a time, there were always four or five, often more, that were as wicked as wild cats. In the old-fashioned and narrow enclosure it was difficult sometimes to escape their rushes. But fortunately, although a good many men were knocked down, no one was seriously hurt, a dozen _vaqueros_ being always ready to la.s.so or draw the "fighting steer's"

attention from the prostrate individual.

At one end of the corral, near the gate, and the fire for the branding-irons, were a couple of "snubbing-posts;" at the other the cattle remained crowded together when not disturbed. When steers were required two or three men would go in amongst them swinging their _lariats_, and endeavouring to separate a bunch of ten or a dozen to drive towards the posts. Generally, however, they divided off thirty or forty head, sometimes many more, and not unfrequently the whole herd would stampede, and thunder round and round the yard. As they pa.s.sed, a dozen _lariats_ would be launched at them. Perhaps one of the foremost steers would be la.s.soed round the horns, and his captor succeed in bending the other end of his _riata_ round one of the posts; sometimes two steers would be noosed at once, and both ropes. .h.i.tched to the same post, whilst the herd that followed them would rush on and fall over the tense ropes, a writhing, struggling ma.s.s of frantic animals. The noise, the dust, and confusion at such a juncture was indescribable. One by one the steers would extricate themselves, and amidst the "swoosh" of whirling ropes, the bellowing of their fellow cattle, and the cries of the _vaqueros_, would make a few false points or feints from side to side, and spring away to the other end of the corral. Kicking and rearing frantically, as they entangled themselves and one another more and more inextricably in the ropes that held them, the two steers that remained would struggle on, until in answer to the shout, "La cola! la cola!" gripped by the tails, they were turned adroitly on their sides, and covered by half-a-dozen fellows holding horns, legs, and tail, and all vociferating, "Hierro! hierro!" With a diamond A iron Murray would hasten from the fire then, and set the Colonel's mark upon the right hip; whilst with a Corralitos brand, similar to that already borne by them on the hip, McGrew would follow and score the opposite shoulder--thus venting, or neutralising the meaning of the brand altogether.

Not every one who had secured a steer succeeded in attaching his la.s.so to a snubbing-post. Under these circ.u.mstances, leaning back, with his feet set forward, the luckless one was dragged, sliding, after the rest of the herd. Sometimes the steer got away with the rope; sometimes its owner fell, and still clinging to it, was tugged about through dust six inches deep, until, in answer to his agonised cries of "Otra soga! otra soga!" his companions came to his a.s.sistance, and entangled in a network of _lariats_, the two-year-old was brought to ground, or taken to a snubbing-post.

When three or four were being marked at the same time, the order was, "No las suelten!" until the last one was finished, lest those who were occupied with steers as yet unbranded should be taken at a disadvantage by those loosed. But at a given signal the men would all rise together, dodge behind the posts, make for the walls, or clinging to the tails of the newly-marked victims, start them fairly towards the rest of the herd. Amongst the better _vaqueros_ it was a point of honour not to mount a wall, unless absolutely obliged to do so. But brought up from earliest childhood amongst cattle, as these fellows are, they display a degree of confidence and address in a corral which is the best refuge they can have. I saw one deep-chested, gorilla-built fellow, when charged in mid-corral, wait coolly for the young steer, catch him by the horns with both hands, and giving back a little presently check him altogether. A second later he sprang aside, brought his la.s.so down on the flanks of the animal, and with a shout started him on again.

Frequently, instead of quitting them when they were turned loose, the boys would sit astride of the steers they had been holding, and "stay with them" as they went bucking down the corral towards their fellows, until the proximity of these latter warned the riders to roll off and "dust."