Part 9

Our progress was slow and monotonous; we had exhausted our conversation and were getting tired of everything, when the driver pointed out a red hill to the right as our destination, and presently, descending a steep bench, we turned up the valley of Ojo Caliente, whose former banks, like those of all these southern streams, were from one to five miles apart, and very precipitous. Between these the river wound its way, crossing from side to side of the valley, or pursuing the safe "middle course." In the bends of the stream were Mexican farms and the most dilapidated of adobe houses, some part of nearly every one of which had so fallen to pieces as to be uninhabitable. Our guide said the land was poor, and we believed him. Everything showed that the people were poverty-stricken and almost in barbarism, yet they had an abundance of land, pretty well watered, and great flocks of sheep and goats; we met a single flock which probably contained fifteen hundred sheep. Some of the dwellings had wooden gratings in place of windows; and the doors, made with auger and axe, had been rudely carved in an attempt at decoration, which time, smoothing and tinting, had rendered very attractive to our unaccustomed and curious eyes. Behind the best houses often would lie an unfenced bit of old orchard, grown almost wild. Such a half-ruined plazita, with its carved doors and grated windows; with its corner of goat-corral, and conical ovens at the side; its grassy roof, and high, gnarled trees overhead; its background of river-bend and cornfield and red rocks and distant misty mountains most of all, with its foreign humanity peering out to see who was passing, made a picture which threw our art-devotees into ecstacy; and as each was passed they declared they would sketch it--when they came back! That the declaration was kept you have evidence, though modified into a general view of Ojo Caliente.

Four miles up from the bend the springs were reached, and we gladly sat down to a dinner beginning with Baltimore oysters. These springs are hot, but endurably so, after one has tempered up to it. They flow from under the cliff on the eastern bank, and are thence led into the bath-houses close by. Excepting the hotel, which will accommodate from fifty to seventy-five guests, the only other building is a large supply-store; but you will usually find a great many people living in tents near by. These warm springs are noted for their curative and healing qualities, and have been visited for many years by invalids, with miraculous results. They do tell some wonderful stories of relief given to rheumatic and paralytic patients; while diseases of the skin _vamos_ at once, as a Mexican attendant phrased it. Such an effect is to be expected, when you find heated water analyzing into the following constituency:

Sodium Carbonate 196.95 Lithium " .21 Calcium " 4.17 Magnesium " 2.18 Iron " 10.12 Potassium Sulphate 5.17 Sodium Chloride 38.03 Silicic Acid 2.10 ------ Total 272.52

The fact that the latitude (36° 20') and inland situation give a mild, equable climate in winter, and the altitude (6,000 feet) makes the summer air sweet and invigorating, should be taken into account, however, in estimating the conditions that promote the speedy gains of health recorded.

That these springs have been resorted to from remote antiquity, is shown by the ledges above, which are covered with very ancient, almost obliterated, ruins of those cliff dwelling aborigines whose houses and pueblos are scattered in such profusion over the cañons tributary to the Rio Colorado and the lower Rio San Juan. We heard that many skeletons and relics had been found there by casual excavating, and so went up to try our luck. We could trace not only the bounds of several closely grouped pueblos, but in many cases even the estufas and the straight walls of the separate rooms. A little shoveling at once showed us that these were made outwardly of uncut stone, and inwardly of adobe, which resisted the pick, while the loose earth within was easily removed. We could only "coyote round," as a western man calls desultory digging, but saw how rich a treasure to the archæologist would be exposed by systematic excavations. In searching for the stone _metates_ and _las manas_, which then as now constituted the corn-crushing apparatus of the common people, the Mexican peasants have disclosed many ancestral bones, and we kicked about parts of human skeletons lying bleached, on the surface, at half a dozen places. At last, by chance, we struck a skeleton ourselves. It was that of a young person, for the wisdom teeth had not yet risen above their bone sockets, and the sutures of the skull were open. The bones were disordered, so that we obtained only a few, and the head had been crushed in. The same rude dismemberment and lack of burial is said to characterize all the skeletons discovered, and they are always found within the walls of the houses. The local theory is, that an earthquake overtook the town; but I believe that the pueblo was attacked and captured by enemies during the wars which we know finally resulted in the village-people being driven out of all this region, and that it was burned over the heads of the citizens, many of whom were killed within their very homes. The presence of charcoal all through the mounds of ruins, with various other circumstances, confirms this reasonable explanation.

We noticed fragments of pottery scattered everywhere. Some whole jars have been exhumed, I was told. Such ancient ware, uninjured, would be of priceless value, but probably it all fell into unappreciative hands, who despised its rudeness in comparison with the smoother modern ware. The samples we secured showed a close similarity to all the broken pottery strewn about the ancient and impressive ruins in the Mancos and other cañons of the San Juan valley, and, like them, had preserved their colors in the most wonderfully brilliant way. Flakes of obsidian (volcanic glass, which the settlers usually call topaz, or Mexican topaz) were very common, and I picked up one large core, whence scales had been chipped. They used this excellent material for their arrow-points and spear-heads, and we bought and were given a score or more of very fine specimens of such obsidian points, but found none except some broken ones, during our hurried look. We were told that a javelin-head of this material, over a foot in length and exquisitely worked, had been dug up here by a fortunate prospector for relics, and that he had refused fifty dollars for it.

Opposite the hotel and springs was a poor little Mexican hamlet called also Ojo Caliente, where an odd old church invited inspection. But between us and it

"There's one wide river to cross,"

--and the bridge gone. What then? The Artist, the Photographer, the Musician, "all with one accord began to make excuse." It was left for the only remaining male member of the party to make the effort, nor did he propose to wade; but how? The whole circle shrugged their contented shoulders and answered, "_Quien sabe!_"

Down in front of the hotel stood a cross-eyed Mexican with a vicious-looking black burro. Yes, he would let the Señor Americano take him, but he could not go with the Señor, because of the rheumatism in his knees, for which he had come over to the waters. So the "Señor" marched down to the post to which the burro was connected by a small rope looped about his neck. The untying of that rope was the scene for an action, Señor vs. donkey. The sarcastic remark of the Musician, "Now you have met your match!" was scarcely heard. It was not the Señor's vocation to chase that black burro around the yard, but he made it so without hesitation for a few minutes, devoting himself with the utmost diligence to the duty. The extreme levity of the idle spectators showed how utterly unable they were to appreciate a really good piece of burro-chasing when they saw it. Finally the course of the work brought the operators in close proximity to an old locust tree that had not cumbered the ground in vain with its useless trunk, as it had seemed to do for years past, The Señor skillfully put the donkey on the other side, and dexterously wound his end of the line around the sturdy trunk, whereupon the burro, like grandfather's clock, "stopped short." So would the adventure have done, had not the Mexican brought his squint to bear upon the scene, and, after a calculating survey, hobbled rheumatically to the Señor's assistance. Clasping both arms enthusiastically about the donkey's thick neck, he made signs for the cable to be cast off and the Señor to mount.

The saddle consisted of a pair of wishbone-shaped wooden crotches, fastened together on each side by a cross-bar at their lower extremities. The whole was then covered with raw-hide, which by its shrinking made the affair solid, while a cinch of the same material secured it to the little beast's back. A sheepskin was spread underneath, in lieu of a blanket, and wooden stirrups dangled by rude straps at the sides. It was a matter of agility to get into this primitive saddle, and the stay was likely to prove extremely brief, for the moment the Mexican let go his loving embrace, the burro ducked his head and made off in a swift, short circle, which came near disposing of the Señor at a tangent, through centrifugal force. Resisting this philosophical demonstration by locking his legs together around the burro's body, he finally overcame the circular intention by pounding the brute's head on one side, for there was no bridle and bit with which to guide him. The lookers on averred afterwards that it was as good as watching a yacht turn the lightship, to see the rolling skill with which the Señor veered away toward the gate, stumbled across the stony bottom, and dashed into the swift river. He himself remembers the devout thankfulness with which he found himself unwet on the other side, and the terror with which he discovered that his animal had broken into a gallop that threatened to dislocate every rib and rattle down his vertebræ, as a child tumbles over a pile of letter-blocks. What could he do? If it seemed almost impossible to stay on, it was altogether so to get off. There was no halter on which to pull, no mane to grasp, and frenzied _whoas_ only urged that wicked donkey faster. But a happy thought came. He had heard a fruit-seller at Conejos say _chee! chee!_ to his burros. Whether they stopped or went faster, after it, he couldn't remember, but it was worth trying. _Chee! chee! chee!_ burst from his frantic lips. Instantly the beast came to a standstill, almost impaling his rider on the sharp pommel. It was a success, and his anatomy was safe again. After that, control was easier. A dig of the heel in his ribs made the burro go; a bang on the side of his head steered him away from the wrong direction, and a blow on the other side taught him he had diverged too far from the middle course, while _chee! chee!_ stopped him altogether. So with trepidation and shying in a corn-field, and perilous climbing of steep rocks, at last the hamlet was reached, and the labor of dismounting painfully accomplished.

In the door of one of the low mud houses sat a woman, nearly hidden under the usual black shawl, which she had now drawn down over her swarthy face. The Señor advanced and doffed his hat. You are a Spanish scholar, yet perhaps would not have understood as well as that peasant woman, had you seen or heard the conversation.

"Waynass deeass, Seenyora," began the tourist.

"Buenas dias," came faintly out of a fold in the mantilla.

"Yocayrolaverolaeglahssay," was the Señor's next parrot-like remark, evidently understood by his veiled listener, for, pointing to a little man slouching past, she answered:

"No tengo llave--allí!" and disappeared in the cave-like darkness of her windowless dwelling. Meanwhile the man had gone on, sublimely indifferent to the Señor's cries and beckoning, and when followed, was found in the midst of his half-naked family, greedily devouring a melon, which he had opened by dashing it to pieces on the stone door-sill, and was now gouging out with his knuckle. After he had quite finished this pleasing operation, he got the keys of the church, and, accompanied by a little girl, led the way to the sacred edifice, whose outer court, surrounded by a mud wall a dozen feet high, was secured with a padlock.

The church itself of course was built of adobe, the façade being supported on the right of the door by a great sloping buttress, which was not only a brace, but had served in place of a ladder to those who built the roof and parapets. At each corner, in front, a little protuberance hinted that the architect had side-towers in his mind, while the center was carried up into a low gable, surmounted by a square bit of clay work and timber, bearing a wooden cross and sustaining a homemade bell, whose greenish and rough-cast exterior gave it an appearance of the most corroded antiquity. Recent rains had evidently damaged the walls very much, for great hollows had been washed in them.

Unlocking the axe-hewn and wooden-pinned doors, always innocent of paint, the Señor and the Mexican uncovered their heads, and the little girl at once knelt down, crossing her hands on her breast. Unlike the old sister who exhibits the ancient chapel of Our Lady of Guadalupe at Santa Fe, and never leaves her knees during the whole visit, however, this pious young maiden sprang up in a minute and trotted round, as full of curiosity for the white stranger as he was for _la yglesia_.

This poor church was more forlorn than most of its fellows. The clay floor had lately been a pool of water, and its drainage had ploughed deep furrows and left soft holes. The little round box of a pulpit, painted in streaks of red and blue, had replaced its lost stairway with a ladder, and its sounding-board was a spoon-shaped piece of plank about the size of a chair-seat, inside which was traced a white dove on a blue ground, its wings outspread in full conventionality. Nothing so good as a draw shave had ever worked out the supports of the altar-rail, behind which the floor was planked. The altar itself bore in the center an image of the Virgin Mary, about half life size, dressed much like a great doll. On each side of her were tall tallow candles, set in rough holders whittled out of billets of wood into a rounded pillar form; and all about the altar were small sconces stamped out of tin (generally devoid of mirror), and cheap prints, colored and uncolored, of the Savior wearing the crown of thorns, Madonnas, and other sacred subjects.

The altar-cloth was calico, trimmed with frills and flounces of cotton lace and red muslin, more or less ragged and dirty. On either side of the altar, facing each other, hung crosses bearing wooden figures of Christ crucified. These also were about half life size, and were naked, except that one had a piece of cotton twisted about the loins, and the other had a short skirt of dirty tarletan, suggesting the ballet. These effigies were painted a dull white, and hung in the most agonizing attitudes,--suffering intensified by the long-drawn lines of the haggard faces, the slant of the eyes, and the dropping of the lower jaw. To produce a more horrible representation still, the carver had given the forms extreme emaciation, the ribs standing apart, the abdomen sunken, the bones and cords of all the limbs dreadfully prominent. Add to this cadaverous appearance a network of red streaks tracing the principal veins, and great splashes and runlets of blood, and you have an image awful beyond conception. Besides these large models, there was a little one of the same style, which I should have been tempted to have sacrilegiously stolen, had not the keeper been watching me closely; and in several niches, small, tinsel-clothed puppets, which the man told me were San Francisco, Patron of the Church, and our Lady of Guadalupe, who heads the list of sanctified virgins in all the Mexican churches. Standing in these little holes in the half-whitewashed wall of mud, under their ragged little curtains, the corporal's guard of saints looked very forlorn; and I do not wonder the peasants refuse to go into the building after dark, no matter how fast they may mumble their prayers.

More interesting than the images were some silken and fringed banners, decayed almost to shreds, and the spear-points of their staves well-rusted, which once belonged to the Spanish soldiery; for this church is one of the oldest in the new world. Centuries have rolled over its adobe walls, and its roof of closely-set logs and adze-carved brackets, has echoed to the clank of men in armor, as well as to the chant of half-Indian farmers and shepherds. It is rude and ugly and barbaric, representing a phase of Christianity in some respects far worse than the simple religion those Indians over at the Pueblos thought good, a thousand years ago. But the little church is not to be despised, and the awe-struck faith of its miracle-loving parishioners may be more acceptable than the gilded worship of many a rich and learned congregation nearer the sea.

VIII

EL MEXICANO Y EL PUEBLOANO.

Then they descended and passed through the luxuriant yellow plains, the sunset blazing on the rows of willows and on the square farm-houses with their gaudy picture over the arched gateway, while always in the background rose the dark masses of the mountains, solemn and distant, beyond the golden glow of the fields.--WILLIAM BLACK.

Home just in time from Ojo Caliente, we hooked our cars the same evening to the never-tiring express, and trusted ourselves to its guidance without a thought of danger. When daylight had fully come, and from the "purple-blazoned gateway of the morn" the sun was begging entrance at our curtained windows, somebody--I think it was the Photographer, a man utterly without nervousness or regard for it in others--startled all our tranquil slumbers by the shout, "_Comanche!_"

It was not Indians though--only a respectable sort of cañon, with great black walls, and rugged hills wedged apart by the stream, and the train hanging invisibly half-way betwixt top and bottom, always going in and out of nooks and gulches, always gliding down nearer the water, until finally, between strange farm-fields, the noble Rio Grande came in view, and once more we ran upon a level track. Emerging from Comanche Cañon, a bend to the southward is made along the western bank of the lower part of the cañon of the Rio Grande. In many portions of this narrow valley, only about twenty miles in length, features of great interest to the eye occur, equaling the walls of Comanche, which was itself ignored until the railway brought it to light. The river here is about sixty yards wide, and pours with a swift current troubled by innumerable fallen rocks. To-day it is swollen and yellow with the drift of late rains, but in clear weather its waters are bright and blue, for it has not yet soiled its color with the fine silt which will thicken it between Texas and Mexico.

On the opposite bank, near the level of the river, runs the wagon road that General Edward Hatch, formerly commander of the department of New Mexico, cut some years ago to give ready communication between his headquarters at Santa Fe and the posts in the northern part of the Territory and in southern Colorado. This is the track now followed by all teamsters, but the old road from the south to Taos ran over the hills far to the eastward, passing through Picuris.

An odd conical hill (shown in our engraving) stands near the mouth of the cañon, dividing the current of the river. Noticing its resemblance to a funnel, the Mexicans called it Embudo, and the adjacent station takes the same name. Embudo is chiefly important as the point of departure for Taos, thirty miles distant.

While breakfast was preparing we were interrupted by the sudden apparition at the side-door of our car of two long ears, then a forehead, bulging by reason of the bushy hair that covered it, and immediately afterward the neck and shoulders of a donkey. But if you say _donkey_ down here few comprehend you. The proper word is _burro_ (boó-ro). This animal bore upon his round back a small saw-buck saddle, from each side of which hung a square panier of wicker-work. These paniers were not nailed, but the willow sticks of which they were made were bound into place by thongs of rawhide. On top, between them, was lashed a third square basket, which would hold a half-bushel. Though this seemed very bulky, it really was a light load for the little beast, and he stepped along briskly ahead of the wrinkled old Mexican who owned him. Shining through the wicker receptacles we saw green rinds, and sang out,--

"Melones?"

"Si, Señor," came the husky answer, whereupon the burro was seized by the tail and brought very willingly to anchor. Slipping several of the sticks out of their leather-loops, half a dozen long yellow specimens, something between a melon and a cantaloupe, were held up for our inspection. We hammered them with our knuckles, testing their soundness, and finding some to suit, enquired the cost,--

"Cuanto pide vm. por estos melones?"

"Dos realles!" (two shillings) was the reply; so we bought three at an outlay of seventy-five cents.

They proved muskmelonish and somewhat tough, but by no means bad. There seems to be no reason why much better melons should not be raised, since the conditions are favorable and every farmer does more or less at it. This question _why_ served to spice our chat at luncheon. It was ultimately concluded that the continued degeneracy was due to the fact that all the good ones were stolen and eaten, only the very poorest being left to mature their seeds; thus the worst, instead of the best, were used to propagate from. I recite this, to show the thoughtful reader that we are not always frivolous, but often introduce grave themes into our discourse, and discuss them in a philosophic way.