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Title: The City of the Sacred Well
Author: Willard, Theodore Arthur
Language: English
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THE CITY OF THE
SACRED WELL
[Illustration: “A last forward swing and the bride of Yum Chac hurtles
far out over the well.”]
THE CITY OF THE
SACRED WELL
BEING A NARRATIVE OF THE DISCOVERIES AND
EXCAVATIONS OF EDWARD HERBERT THOMPSON
IN THE ANCIENT CITY OF CHI-CHEN
ITZA WITH SOME DISCOURSE ON THE
CULTURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF
THE MAYAN CIVILIZATION AS
REVEALED BY THEIR ART
AND ARCHITECTURE, HERE
SET DOWN AND ILLUSTRATED
FROM
PHOTOGRAPHS
BY
T. A. WILLARD
[Illustration]
THE CENTURY CO.
NEW YORK & LONDON
Copyright, 1926, by
THE CENTURY CO.
360
Printed in U. S. A.
PREFACE
This book is primarily an attempt to recount the many thrilling
experiences of Edward Herbert Thompson in his lifelong quest for
archæological treasures in the ancient and abandoned city of Chi-chen
Itza, for centuries buried beneath the jungle of Yucatan.
As a boy Mr. Thompson—or Don Eduardo, as he is affectionately known
to the natives about the Sacred City—sat in his snug New England home
and read of the adventures of Stephens in Yucatan, descriptions of the
old Maya civilization, and the legends concerning the Sacred Well at
Chi-chen Itza. Then and there he determined that his life-work should
be the uncovering of the age-old secrets of the ancient city.
When still a mere youth he was appointed by the President of the United
States as the first American Consul to Yucatan, the appointment having
been urged by the American Antiquarian Society and the Peabody Museum
of Harvard University, both of which were anxious to have a trained
investigator on the peninsula.
Enthusiastically Mr. Thompson undertook his double mission. For over
twenty-five years he remained at his post as consul. During this long
period, sometimes at the head of regularly organized expeditions under
the auspices of American archæological institutions, at other times
with only his faithful native followers, he discovered ruined cities
until then unknown to the world and carried on exhaustive researches
among those already discovered.
At last Mr. Thompson resigned the consular office, in order to carry
on the various scientific undertakings that required all his time and
energy. Chief among these was the search for relics that for hundreds
of years had lain buried in the mud at the bottom of the Sacred Well.
Many and many a night, under the gorgeous moonlight of Yucatan or
by some cozy fireside in the States, I have listened entranced, as
the hours glided by, to the true tales Don Eduardo tells of his
experiences or of the customs and the folk-lore of the country. I know
intimately this lovable, modest, blue-eyed six-footer, this dreamer
and adventurer, gray-haired now but still with the heart of a boy. I
know him better, perhaps, than does any other man, and if I do not
write down the things he has told me they will never be written, for
Don Eduardo will not do it. Therefore I have asked and received his
permission to write, from memory and from his notes and my own, this
book, which he has read and corrected.
It is a faithful account of the many valuable archæological finds he
has made, but, though written as if Don Eduardo himself were speaking,
it inevitably lacks the color and fire of his word-of-mouth narrative.
It contains, further, such description of the Maya culture and history
as may help the reader to understand this ancient civilization. The
writer hopes that it may be acceptable to the avid reader of travel
and adventure, and there is also the timid hope that it may be of some
little educational value to the serious-minded reader, to the end that
he may feel that he has not wasted time on a mere “yarn.”
T. A. WILLARD.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
The author is indebted, for information and assistance, to many good
friends in Yucatan, but chiefly to Señor Juan Martinez H., to the late
Teoberto Maler, and to Mr. and Mrs. William James for their timely
hospitality.
The books and writings of the old priests, as well as current books on
the Maya era, also have been of much aid.
T. A. W.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I YUCATAN, THE LAND OF THE MAYAS 3
II THE CHURCH OF SAN ISIDRO AND ITS FRAGRANT LEGEND 24
III THE FIRST AMERICANS 32
IV DON EDUARDO’S FIRST VIEW OF THE CITY OF THE SACRED WELL 49
V THE ANCIENT CITY 58
VI AN IDLE DAY IN THE JUNGLE 88
VII THE SACRED WELL 97
VIII SIXTY FEET UNDER WATER 118
IX TWO LEGENDS 150
X THE CONQUEST 166
XI THE FINDING OF THE DATE-STONE 179
XII THE CONSTRUCTION OF MAYA BUILDINGS 189
XIII STORY-TELLERS OF YUCATAN 198
XIV FORGOTTEN MICHAEL ANGELOS 211
XV THE TOMB OF THE HIGH PRIEST 236
XVI THE LEGEND OF THE SACRIFICIAL PILGRIMAGE 261
XVII THIRTY YEARS OF DIGGING 278
APPENDIX 285
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
A last forward swing and the bride of Yum Chac hurtles far out
over the well _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
The Nunnery, the only three-storied structure in the Sacred City 64
The second story of the Nunnery 65
All that remains of the third story of the Nunnery. Several
inscribed stones built hit or miss into the wall were
doubtless taken from the older city 65
El Castillo, the Temple of Kukul Can, on its great pyramid,
is the center of the Sacred City and the largest edifice 112
Looking down into the Sacred Well. Because of the size of the
well and the fringe of trees about it, the whole scene
cannot be photographed 113
A sculpture in bas-relief showing a warrior-priest in ceremonial
attire, representing the Maya hero-god Kukul Can, the plumed
serpent 240
A religious ceremony depicted in the Temple of Bas-Reliefs. This
is but a small section from the interior walls, which
contain more than eighty figures 241
THE CITY OF THE
SACRED WELL
CHAPTER I
YUCATAN, THE LAND OF THE MAYAS
Imagine yourself the sole owner of a plantation within which lies a
city more than twelve square miles in area; a city of palaces and
temples and mausoleums; a city of untold treasures, rich in sculptures
and paintings. Would you not feel shamefully wealthy? And does it not
seem strange that Don Eduardo, the master of such a plantation, takes
the fact of his ownership with apparent calmness?
But, before your fancy carries you too far, let me tell you a little
more about this remarkable city, which may dampen your ardor for
ownership, but which only increases its value in Don Eduardo’s eyes.
It is a dead city. Its thousands of inhabitants perished or abandoned
it nobody knows how long ago—probably before Columbus first saw the
shores of America. And it is in the heart of Yucatan, where Mexico,
ending like the upflung tail of a huge fish, juts into the gulf, while
Cuba serves as a sentinel a hundred and fifty miles to the eastward.
The Treasure City, the City of the Sacred Well, with the queer-sounding
name of the Chi-chen Itza (pronounce it Chee´chen Eet-za´), is for the
most part overgrown with tropical jungle. Its treasures are valuable
only to the antiquarian.
Early in our conversations about the City of the Sacred Well, Don
Eduardo told me that because at the time of his purchase the plantation
was well within the territory dominated by the dreaded Sublevados,
the rebellious Maya Indians, no planter dared live in or even visit
the region for long, and so he was able to secure the land from its
absentee owners cheap, as plantation prices run in Yucatan.
[Illustration: THE ANCIENT CITY OF CHI-CHEN ITZA IS AT NO GREAT
DISTANCE FROM THE UNITED STATES.]
“My life-interest has been American archæology,” he said, “and I came
first to Yucatan, thirty years ago, to explore its ruins and relics of
an ancient civilization. Even before that I had read of the immense
Sacred Well at Chi-chen Itza—a well as wide as a small lake and deep
enough to hold a fifteen-story building—and had made up my mind that
I would be the man who some day made it yield up its secrets. For a
long time I tried to persuade various wealthy Americans to finance the
undertaking, but organizing a stock company to raise sunken galleons
along the Spanish Main would be a simple task as compared with my
difficulties in promoting what seemed a will-o’-the-wisp project. At
last, however, I did succeed.”
But I am ahead of my story.
The trip from New York to the City of the Sacred Well requires but
a week and may now be accomplished luxuriously, whereas my earlier
journeys over the same route were anything but comfortable. Mr. John
L. Stephens, who was sent to Yucatan by the United States Government
in 1841, describes, in his interesting book “Incidents of Travel in
Yucatan,” the difficulties of travel which he met. They might have
daunted any spirit less courageous than his. His four volumes, although
written nearly eighty years ago, retain their pristine freshness and
are still authoritative. I recommend them heartily to the reader.
On any Thursday the traveler destined for the City of the Sacred Well
may board at New York a Ward Line steamer bound for Progreso, the only
port of Yucatan. The liner stops over at Havana, and a day and a night
after leaving that hectic city one awakes in the early dawn to the
deep-chanted tones of a sailor who is casting the lead. “Four fathoms,”
he cries; then, “Three fathoms,” and finally the engines are hushed and
out goes the anchor. Through the port-hole is seen a lighthouse and
behind it a faint, foggy vista of low-lying sandy shore.
By the time the unhurried ritual of arising has been performed and one
appears on deck all is flooded with brilliant sunshine. The sky above
is a cloudless cobalt blue. The day is hot, but the sea-breeze keeps it
from being uncomfortably so. One senses, nevertheless, in some subtle
way, that he is actually in the tropics. So shallow is the water that
ocean-going vessels may not safely approach to within less than five
miles of the rather uninspiring port of Progreso, marked by several
long piers jutting into the sea and the aforementioned lighthouse.
Passengers and goods must be taken off in lighters or in small boats.
On approaching the shore one sees rows of pelicans sitting alongside
the wharves—the most serious and sad-looking birds imaginable. They
remind one of the rows of Glooms frequently portrayed by one of our
cartoonists in the daily newspaper comic strip.
There is little reason for tarrying in Progreso, even though it is
the third most important seaport in Mexico. It is from here that the
henequen of Yucatan is shipped, and the cultivation of this cactus-like
plant, from whose fiber rope and twine are made, constitutes the chief
enterprise of the province. Two railroads, one narrow-gauge, the other
standard, cover the twenty-four miles between Progreso and the lovely
city of Mérida, capital of Yucatan. Oddly enough, the fare is higher
on the narrower, longer, and poorer road than on the road of standard
gauge. The latter is modern in every respect and provided with coaches
and locomotives imported from the United States. The daily Peniche
Express starts on time and arrives in the same fashion.
The Grand Hotel at Mérida is the customary stopping-place for all
foreigners and is a very good and well-operated institution. It faces
the beautiful tree-lined Plaza Hidalgo, but is, unfortunately, located
close to a number of churches and a cathedral whose cracked bells
are rung mightily at various hours and particularly when one wishes
to sleep. As a result, persons not yet hardened to this venerable
Spanish-American custom are likely to have a broken night’s slumber.
Mérida is a city of 63,000 people and is modern in many respects. It
is hot there in the sun but cool in the shade, for there is always a
breeze from the perpetually blowing trade-wind. The city is healthful,
well paved, electrically lighted, and excellently served with street
cars, and it has many handsome buildings and residences. Its population
varies all the way from the pure Castilian, through the Mestizos, to
the Mayas or full-blooded Indians. Almost every night a band plays in
one of the several plazas or parks. North-American airs are favored
and I have heard them much more badly played by musicians in our own
land than here under the tropical moonlight, in a setting of rarely
beautiful and fragrant flowers. During the band concert daintily clean
Indian girls, in their voluminous embroidered dresses or _huipiles_
and embroidered sandals, circle about. In another circle stroll their
Indian beaux in high-heeled sandals and starched white cotton suits.
The ladies of the upper class, dressed in the Spanish or European
manner, are driven slowly about the plaza in their automobiles.
Formerly carriages—the sort we call, or did call, landaus—were used,
but the automobile has displaced these and in so doing has destroyed
half the charm of the scene. Nevertheless it is still charming. The
romance of it may be guaranteed to put a thrill into the cold heart of
the loan shark from Chicago. It alone is worth the trip to Yucatan and
it cannot be described; it has to be experienced at first hand.
During the month of February there is a carnival in Mérida, ending with
a fancy-dress ball for the four hundred socially elect. The carnival
rivals the Mardi Gras of New Orleans and is enthusiastically celebrated
by the whole populace. The floats and decorations are quite as costly
and tasteful as any seen in the New Orleans celebration. One year I
happened to be in Mérida at the time of the carnival and through the
kindly assistance of my good friends Mr. and Mrs. James I received
an invitation to the ball. This gorgeous affair would have compared
creditably to any similar festivity in New York.
The ball took place at the palatial home of a wealthy Yucateco. This
house is built in the usual Yucatan fashion. In front is a large
doorway guarded by a heavy wrought-iron grill or gate. On each side
of the doorway are the living-quarters, consisting of a dining-room
and what we should call a living-room. These rooms form the front of a
quadrangular structure surrounding a patio in which are flower beds,
fountains, and tiled walks. Around the inner wall of the quadrangle is
a promenade wide enough for several people to walk abreast and this
is roofed over, the tile roof being supported by pillars and arches
of Moorish type. The wings and rear section of the house contain the
chambers for the family and guests, the kitchen, and the servants’
quarters. I imagine that this particular residence had cost not much
less than a million dollars. The interior is finished in Italian marble
and luxuriously furnished in the Parisian manner.
And this is by no means the most palatial residence in the capital.
The wealthy people of Yucatan spend much of their time in Europe and
their homes show the effect. The houses have beautiful tiled floors and
the walls are frequently frescoed or covered with excellent paintings;
yet as a rule the rooms are somewhat bare of furniture. One building
particularly worthy of mention is the most ancient in Mérida, erected
in 1549 by Don Francisco Montejo, the Spanish conqueror of Yucatan. On
its façade is a grotesque Indian-Moorish representation of two armored
knights trampling on prostrate Indians, while below is a stone tablet
bearing the name of Montejo and the date of building.
Recently an American club was started in the city, with a membership
of several Americans, three or four Britons, and the remainder
Yucatecos who speak English; and some do speak it fluently. The club
is predominantly masculine, as the only ladies who attend are those
who have lived at some time or other in the States and have acquired
our customs. As a rule the women of Yucatan observe the old Spanish
custom of seclusion. Girls are not permitted to go out with young men.
A girl’s lover may spend the evening standing before the barred window
of his inamorata’s home, conversing with her and strumming upon his
mandolin or guitar for her edification. If he is finally accredited as
a suitor, he is permitted to enter the house and sit in a stiff-backed
chair across the room from his sweetheart, but Mamma and Auntie and
all the other ladies of the family are there, too, to insure decorous
behavior.
The population of Yucatan is chiefly composed of the native Indians or
Mayas. They are simple, kindly people and capable of development, for
they are highly intelligent. To the best of our knowledge they are the
direct descendants of the early Mayas, who in culture and achievements
compare favorably to the people of ancient Egypt. Some of the wealthy
Yucatecos are descendants of the old Maya nobility and still retain the
original names denoting noble birth. But many descendants of Maya kings
of old are now sunk in poverty.
Most of the present-day Mayas speak a language which has developed
little from its primitive syllabic form. The Japanese, many of whom
are found in Yucatan nowadays, learn the Maya tongue easily. In fact,
many Japanese and Maya words are identical in sound, but as far as I
know they have absolutely no kindred meaning. Some theorists have even
advanced the idea that the similarity in form and construction of the
Japanese and Maya languages indicates a common prehistoric origin. But
there is scant proof of this, inasmuch as all primitive languages are
syllabic in form.
The Maya is short in stature but surprisingly sturdy. A native will
carry a load of a hundred pounds for fifteen miles without showing
signs of undue fatigue. The carrier supports the load on his back and
it is held in place with a band or strap passed around the forehead.
Occasionally the carriers stop and let down the loads, but never for
more than a few moments. An Indian porter will trot upstairs with a
trunk which an ordinary mortal could hardly budge and which, alone, he
contrives somehow to lift upon his back. I remember seeing two Indians
carry a piano, supported on poles, for a distance of two blocks, with
their customary gliding shuffle when carrying a burden. Had they at any
time fallen out of step the piano must surely have been wrecked. This
shuffle or trot is half-way between a walk and a run and it eats up
distance.
Not uncommonly the Mayas are handsome, with regular, delicate
features. Some of the young women are very beautiful, even judged by
North-American standards. They are mature at twelve years of age and,
like the women of so many races of the tropics, they wither or grow
fat at a comparatively early age. The color of the skin is about that
of a good summer coat of tan, though possibly a bit more reddish in
hue. Dress the average Maya in our mode and put him on any street in
our country and he would pass without comment. On closer inspection he
might be said to be of foreign ancestry, but certainly he would not be
mistaken for a negro.
These people, descendants of a truly great race, are decidedly superior
to all other native American peoples. Their mentality is of a fairly
high order. At first, in my visits to Yucatan, I had no knowledge of
either the Spanish or the Maya tongue and when I had only natives for
companions I was compelled to communicate with them by sign language
made up on the spur of the moment. Even in the jungle my companions
always understood my directions easily and carried them out correctly.
The ordinary, every-day dress of the native men is a pair of
white-cotton trousers ending half-way between knee and ankle. We should
have difficulty in defining them either as long or as short. The upper
garment is a short-sleeved undershirt, and the ensemble is topped off
with almost any kind of straw hat. Usually they also wear a short
blue-and-white-striped apron fastened about the waist. Wide belts are
popular—the wider the better. Frequently the men go barefoot, but
more often wear sandals, fastened with twine about the ankle, a string
passing from the front of the sole and between the first and second
toes. When working in the fields the men sometimes discard apron and
trousers, wearing only a breech-clout and hat. Sometimes they let their
hair grow long so that it falls over their faces and then even the hat
is discarded. On Sundays and feast-days the more affluent, at least,
blossom out in starched white trousers and jacket and high-heeled
wooden sandals.
The women customarily wear a _huipile_, which garment is neither a
Mother-Hubbard nor a nightgown, but belongs, evidently, to the same
genus or species. At any rate, it is sufficiently modest. It has a
slightly low neck and short sleeves and reaches half-way from the knee
to the ground. Beneath this is the _pic_, a white underskirt tied
about the waist with a draw-string. Over all is worn the rebozo, a
kind of shawl, and the native woman feels much ashamed if seen without
this useless garment. Sandals may or may not be worn. The costume is
always essentially the same. Sometimes the _huipile_ is ornately and
beautifully embroidered at the neck and on the sleeves. I am told that
a girl will spend a year in embroidering a single _huipile_ for her
hope-chest. The garment is of ancient origin and I have seen murals in
the ruined temples, painted centuries ago, which show women in just
such embroidered garments, and at work making tortillas, which are
still the main article of food in this land.
Many of the Maya women wear gorgeously embroidered sandals or slippers.
The hair is done up in a knot at the nape of the neck and tastefully
fastened with a ribbon. Gold chains with various sorts of pendants,
such as medallions of the Virgin Mary or crosses, are very popular.
Frequently the Maya belle wears several of these chains. And they
_must_ be solid gold; plated stuff or alloy may not be worn. It simply
isn’t done. In her native costume the Maya girl is very pretty and
picturesque, but in European dress she resembles only a shapeless
bundle tied in the middle.
The Mayas are all very clean; the daily bath for men, women, and
children is universal. A sort of wooden trough serves as a bath-tub as
well as the family wash-tub. The bather pours the water over his body
and makes a little water go a long way, because water must be carried
by hand, usually from a distant well. For a man, even the humblest, to
come home at the end of the day and find his bath unprepared is just
cause for a rumpus with his wife. Clean bodies and clean clothes are
characteristic of the Maya and much of the generally considered more
civilized world might well take a lesson from him in this respect.
The women stay at home and attend to their household tasks and take
care of their numerous children while the men work in the fields.
This custom is universal even among the laboring people, and it is
noteworthy because nearly everywhere else in the world both women and
men work in the fields. In fact, in many countries the man does the
most resting.
The Maya men are exceptionally fond of children and a widow with
children stands an excellent chance of finding a stepfather for her
brood. It is not uncommon for a man of twenty to marry a widow twice
his age, chiefly for the sake of a ready-made family. Incidentally, the
unmarried Maya maiden with a child or two, especially if the children
are boys, is somewhat more likely to find a husband than her virgin
sister. The fact that there may be some question as to the paternity of
her offspring is of small consequence in the eyes of her prospective
husband. But once married, she may accept no attentions from men other
than her spouse. The husband may and does shoot on sight any cavalier
found hanging around her. It used to be the custom to suspend a string
of shells near the door, and one did not enter a house without giving
due warning by shaking the string. A man did not enter at all unless
the men of the family were present.
Maya nature is that same human nature found the world over. If abused,
these people can be ugly and vengeful. Treated in a reasonably decent
manner, they are kindly, generous, hospitable, and scrupulously honest.
Personally, I have never been cheated nor overcharged by a native. I
suppose that as more and more tourists come to Yucatan the invidious
custom of fleecing the traveler will be established here as it has been
everywhere else.
As has been said, water is scarce in this land, and frequently the
women have to go long distances for even a jugful; yet they are always
willing to share their supply with any one. The wayfarer is never
turned away from their doors thirsty or hungry, even though he consume
the last drop of water or bit of food in the house.
The Indian met anywhere, in the woods or on the trail, invariably
removes his hat and voices a polite greeting. There were employed at
Chi-chen Itza, during much of Don Eduardo’s work, about one hundred
Indians. It was their pleasant habit each evening about sunset to pass
in line before the hacienda and bid us good night. The ceremony took
place as they were returning from the little near-by church,—for all
the natives at that time were good Catholics,—and we saw no more of
them until dawn, which was our hour for beginning work.
The modern Maya is devout, but he takes his religion placidly, leaving
it to his spiritual adviser to tell him what to do or believe. In
nearly every native hut is a shrine before which are dutifully observed
the articles of faith—the faith of his conquerors who took away his
galaxy of gods and substituted Catholicism.
The Maya home is built much as it was in ancient times. It usually
consists of but one large rectangular room. The foundation is of
stone held together with plaster called _zac-cab_, which means “white
earth.” The walls are of poles or of stone plastered with _zac-cab_.
The roof is peaked and thatched with straw or with stiff palm-like
leaves. The door is of wood and there is sometimes a window, barred
but without glass. A wooden cover may be inserted from within to close
this opening when desired. No matter how poor the Maya family, there is
always a flower garden in the rear of the house. If his domain is very
limited, the garden of the Maya may be reduced to what may be grown in
a large-sized Standard-Oil can.
Within, the Maya home is very simple. There are no beds as in ancient
times; the native has adopted a Spanish innovation, seeking his rest
in a hammock suspended from wooden pegs set in the wall. The hammocks
are taken down when not in use. A simple stool or two, a bench or a
chest, possibly a table, and the ever-present shrine constitute the
furniture. Not infrequently there is an American-made sewing-machine.
The kitchen is outside, in another smaller building, and the stove
consists merely of a crude stone oven or heap of stones. The bath-room
and laundry, where there is a wooden trough to hold water, also is
outdoors. At meal-times the family sits on stools about a pot or vessel
containing the pièce de résistance, and the use of fingers is not
frowned upon.
The natives not resident in the towns or cities are for the most
part employed on the haciendas, the majority of which are engaged in
the raising of henequen. A few years ago there appeared a series of
magazine articles, under some such heading as “Barbarous Mexico,”
describing in the most approved yellow-journal style the cruelty and
tyranny of the Mexican planters. I suppose there really are some
isolated cases of cruelty, but in general the treatment of native
workers by the plantation-owners leaves little to criticize. The
native is free to leave one employer to seek another. His pay is good
and he certainly is not overworked. On nearly every hacienda ample
provision is made for entertainment and the fiestas and dances so
dear to his heart. Many native families have lived and labored on
one plantation for several generations—a fair indication that they
are not ill-treated. One of the atrocities recited in the magazine
articles just mentioned was the tying of an Indian to a post, where he
was whipped severely. The whipping-post has existed, but its use was
fostered by the Indians themselves and was reserved for the habitual
drunkard or him who repeatedly abused his wife and children. Possibly a
similar course of treatment might be beneficial to some citizens of the
United States.
There was one unfortunate event, however, which reflected no credit on
the natives, but for which they were far less to blame than a certain
class of whites. Not long ago the creed of bolshevism was spread among
these poor credulous people by a Rumanian fanatic, resulting in the
murder of several plantation-owners and the burning of several estates.
A few Indians at Don Eduardo’s hacienda, who had for some time failed
to pay the slight rental required of them, became unruly and the master
ordered them to pay up or leave. In reprisal they set fire to his
house, Casa Real, and all the out-buildings, destroying many priceless
antiquities intended for an American museum of archæology. The house
has been rebuilt, but the lost treasures can never be replaced. The
Indians also drove off all Don Eduardo’s stock and took everything in
the way of valuables that was portable.
Don Eduardo, in relating his experiences as a plantation-owner, once
said:
“A certain residue of Indians were never conquered by the Spaniards,
nor have they ever been subdued by the Mexican Government; and they pay
no taxes. They are called Sublevados and I have been warned ever since
I came to Chi-chen Itza that some day the Sublevados would go on the
war-path and wipe me and my hacienda clean off the map.
“Eventually I became tired of waiting for them to visit me and enjoy
the friendly reception I had prepared for them, which included, among
other things, the fortifying of the Great Pyramid. So I decided to
make a little reconnaissance. Traveling south into their own country,
I lived for some time in their villages, where they still practise the
ancient Maya rites and incantations, even though there is a slight
veneer of Catholicism among them. Since then I have traveled many times
into the Sublevado territory; in fact, have been made a chief of the
tribe by solemn bond and ritual. I have found them a peaceful, friendly
lot of ignorant Indians, unlikely to do any harm as long as they are
left to their own devices and in their present habitat.”
The Maya is happy-go-lucky, improvident, and usually lazy. He dearly
loves a good time, a good story, and a good joke, especially if it is
of the practical variety in which the other fellow is the butt. He is
very fond of fiestas and dances.
The native dances are quite different from ours. The men and women sit
close to the walls of the hut or inclosure, sometimes on chairs but
more often on stools. On important occasions, the music is furnished
by violins, guitars, and perhaps some wind-instruments. But always
there is one musician with a long gourd containing stones, which is
shaken in time to the music, producing a hollow _chuck-a-chuck_,
_chuck-a-chuck_ sound. Sometimes the only instrument is a flageolet.
The music is always in a minor key and is without pause or period or
end. A girl—any girl—gets up and proceeds to the center of the floor,
where she shuffles about for perhaps a minute. Then from the other end
of the room some man, who may be a stranger to the girl, comes forth
and shuffles about in front of her. They do not touch each other. They
gyrate rather slowly and move in circles, always facing each other.
When either becomes weary, he or she retires and another takes up the
dance. If the room is sufficiently large there may be as many as three
couples dancing continuously in this manner. The dancers do not smile
nor appear to be enjoying the occasion; yet they must derive pleasure
from it, for throughout the country dances are held frequently.
Knowing the Mayas of to-day, and their customs, it is interesting
to follow their history back to the earliest times of which there
is authentic record, and from there, through legends and scraps of
knowledge, into their most ancient past. For four centuries we may
trace them backward through well-known history. For still another
century the record is fairly clear. Back of that is only legend, with
here and there some startling, incontrovertible fact to prove their
antiquity. The flickering light of our knowledge becomes dimmer and
dimmer. We know a date in their history about one hundred years before
Christ, but on what preceded that no feeblest ray falls to enlighten
our ignorance.
To one man, long since departed, we owe a great debt. But for him, our
knowledge of the ancient Mayas would be almost nil, and it is only by a
lucky chance that what he wrote was not lost to us. This man, Diego de
Landa, was Bishop of Yucatan (1573-79), and he came to America on the
heels of the Spanish conquerors. His manuscript,—almost our only guide
to Maya antiquity and known as “Relacion de las Cosas de Yucatan,”—lay
hidden in Madrid for nearly three hundred years ere it was discovered
and published.
To show how little the Mayas have changed in four centuries I am going
to quote from Landa, using a very free translation but endeavoring
to preserve his meaning. I hope the reader will bear in mind that the
following is a description of the Mayas of the sixteenth century and is
chiefly interesting when compared with the Mayas of to-day:
The Indians of Yucatan are well built, tall and robust. They
are generally bow-legged, because mothers customarily carry
infants astride their hips. It is considered a mark of beauty
to be cross-eyed. The heads and foreheads are flat, having been
bound in infancy. Their ears are pierced for ear-rings and are
torn by the sacrifices. The men do not have beards and it is
said the mothers burn their boys’ faces with hot cloths so that
hair does not grow. Some do have beards, but these are very
stiff, like the bristles of a pig. The men permit the hair of
the head to grow long except on top, where they burn it off.
Thus the hair of the crown is short, but the remainder is long
and is braided and wound like a wreath around the head, leaving
a small tail in the back as tassels or tufts.
Their dress is a strip of cloth about as wide as a hand and
wound several times about the waist, with one end hanging in
front and the other in the back. The women adorn these ends
curiously with feathers. They wear large square blankets, which
they fasten to their shoulders, and sandals of hemp or deerskin.
They bathe a great deal and do not try to hide their nudity
from the women, except with their hands. The men use mirrors
and the women do not. The expression for cuckoldom is that the
wife has put the mirror in her husband’s hair above the occiput.
Their houses are roofed with straw or palm-leaves and the roof
has a considerable slant. They put a wall lengthwise through
the middle of the house and in it some doors. In the back half
are the beds and the other section is whitewashed and is the
reception room for guests. This room is like a porch, the whole
front being open and without a door. The roof over this part of
the house extends well down over the walls, to keep out sun
and rain. The common people build the houses of the chiefs and
house-breaking is considered a grave crime. Beds are made of
small rods with a mat and cotton blankets on top. In summer the
men especially sleep in the open room or porch, on mats.
All the people unite in cultivating the fields of the chief
and supplying food to his household. In hunting, fishing, or
bringing salt, a share is always given to the chief. If the
chief dies he is succeeded by his eldest son, but his other
descendants are respected and helped. The subordinate chiefs
help in all things, according to their stations. The priests
live from their offices and from the offerings given to them.
The chiefs rule the town, settle disputes, and govern all
affairs. The principal chiefs travel a great deal and take much
company with them. They visit rich people, where they arrange
the affairs of the villages, transacting their principal
business at night.
The Indians tattoo their bodies, believing that they become
more valiant thereby. The process is painful, as the designs
are painted on the body and then pricked in with a small
poniard. Because of the pain the tattooing is done only a
little at a time, and also because the tattooed part becomes
inflamed and matterated, causing sickness. Those who are not
tattooed are ridiculed. The natives like to be flattered and
they like to imitate the Castilian graces and customs and
to eat and drink as we do. They are fond of sweet odors and
employ bouquets of flowers and sweet-smelling herbs. They are
accustomed to paint their faces and bodies red, which does not
improve their appearance but which they consider beautifying.
They are very dissolute in getting drunk, from which follow
many evils such as murder, arson, rape and incest.... They
are fond of recreation, especially of dances and of plays
containing many jokes and witticisms. They sometimes become
servants for a time in a Spanish household just to absorb
the conversation and customs and these are later artfully
represented in native plays.
Their musical instruments are small kettle-drums played with
the hand and another drum made of hollow wood, played with
a wooden stick containing on the end a ball made of the milk
of a certain tree [rubber]. They have long, slender trumpets
fashioned from hollow sticks with gourds fastened at one end.
Another instrument is made from a whole turtle-shell, which is
played with the palm of the hand and emits a melancholy sound.
They have whistles and flutes of reed or bones of the deer and
from large snail-shells. These instruments are played for their
war-dances. One of these dances is called _co-lom-che_, meaning
reed. A large circle of men is formed. Two go into the center.
One has a handful of darts and while dancing in an upright
position he casts the darts with all his strength at the second
dancer, who dances in a squatting position, from which he
deftly catches each dart with a small stick. After the darts
are all thrown, these two dancers return to their original
places in the circle and two new dancers advance to the center
and repeat the dart-throwing. There is another war-dance in
which about eight hundred men take part. They carry flags and
the tempo is slow. They dance the whole day without stopping
and during the whole day not one man gets out of step. In no
case do the men dance with the women.
There are many occupations but the people most incline toward
trading, taking salt, clothing, and slaves to the lands of Ulna
and Tabasco, where they exchange for cocoa and counters of
stone which are their money. With these coins they buy slaves,
or the chiefs wear them as jewels at feasts. They have other
counters and jewelry made of certain shells. These are carried
in purses made of network. In the markets are all manner of
goods. They loan money without usury and pay their debts with
good-will. Some Indians are potters and carpenters who are
well paid for the idols of wood and clay which they make.
There are surgeons—or, rather, wizards—who cure with herbs
and incantations. Above all, there are laborers and those who
plant and gather the corn and other produce which they store in
granaries to be sold in season. They have no mules or oxen.
The Indians have the good custom of helping one another in
all their work. In working the land they do nothing from the
middle of January to April except gather manure and burn it.
Then come the rains and they plant the fields, using a small
pointed stick to poke holes into the ground in each of which
they deposit five or six seeds which grow very rapidly in this
rainy season. They also congregate in groups of about fifty for
hunting or fishing.
When going on a visit, the Indian takes a present to his host
and the host gives the guest a present of proportionate value.
They are generous and hospitable. They give food and drink to
all who come to their houses.
They take much pride in their lineage, especially if they are
descendants of some ancient family of Mayapan and they boast of
the distinguished men who have been of their family. The whole
name of the father is always borne by his sons, but not by
his daughters. But the children, both sons and daughters, are
called by the compound names of father and mother, in which the
name of the father is the given name and that of the mother the
surname. Thus the son of Chel and Chan would be Na-Chan-Chel,
which means son of Chel by his wife Chan. A stranger coming to
a village, especially if he be poor, will be received in all
kindness by any family of his name. Men and women of the same
name do not marry, for this is considered very wrong.
CHAPTER II
THE CHURCH OF SAN ISIDRO AND ITS FRAGRANT LEGEND
“One particularly lovely Sunday morning, some time after taking up
my abode at Chi-chen Itza,” says Don Eduardo, “I was awakened, as on
other occasions, by the softly melodious chiming of the bells in my
little church on the hill. As I lay in my hammock, idly listening to
the pleasant sound, I could distinguish the different tones of the
several bells and it was a pleasant thought to me to know that I had
equipped the little church with bells having a superior quality of
tone. The sound of them was indeed delightful because while church
bells in Yucatan are as plentiful as millionaires in Pittsburgh, they
are usually cracked and raucous.
“It was still early when I stood before my manor and turned my gaze
eastward toward the little stone church perched cozily on a near-by
gently sloping hillside. Both my manor and the little church had for
many years been in ruins, unused. Extensive repairs had just been
completed on both, to make them habitable. Here and there one of my
Indians, or a whole family, dressed in their Sunday best, were already
churchward bound, and the chimes continued softly to remind the
laggard of his duty. The red rim of the sun was just peeping over the
horizon behind the church, while the birds in every tree and thicket
were voicing their welcome to this glorious new day. A lazy, blissful
breeze laden with the mingled scents of a thousand tropic blossoms
ruffled the tree-tops. Before me stretched a vista of wildly beautiful
country-side with no sign of the handiwork of man other than the little
church. No towering peaks, no gushing streams, no bottomless cañons
greeted my eye; merely a terrain that is just saved from being flat.
Yet it is all divinely lovely—a study in green and blue with here and
there a spot of flaming color. The cloudless sky was of so clear and
vivid a blue that I was tempted to stand on tiptoe and take down a
handful. Foliage of some sort covered every inch of ground and was of
every imaginable shade of green, from the shadowed purple-green where
the rising sun had not penetrated, to the pale green of some of the
tree-tops, turned golden in the first slanting rays. A gorgeous parrot
flashed from tree to tree and disappeared and by his flight brought my
eye to rest on a riot of flame-flower high up in a distant tree.
“The sudden silence of the bells warned me that if I too intended to
go to church there was no time to lose. My little stone church is
not without fame, for in its then-abandoned sacristy that remarkable
traveler and historian John L. Stephens made his abode when he visited
my City of the Sacred Well. It was here that he wrote his notes on ‘The
Ruined City of Chi-chen Itza.’ Though it has been repaired, it looks
almost as he left it one cloudy Sunday morning nearly eighty years ago.
Its cut-stone walls and bell-tower are the same, but its old roof,
bowed with age, has been replaced with a fine new thatch of palm.
“San Isidro is the patron saint of the plantation—for no
well-organized plantation is without its patron saint, whose image is
venerated by all the natives there employed. The image of San Isidro
in this little church on the hill at Chi-chen Itza is of unknown
antiquity and is believed to be possessed of miraculous powers which
are constantly manifested. Veneration for the image, together with
the attraction of the three-belled chimes swinging in their places
in the tiny tower, makes the little church a sacred spot not only
to the people of my hacienda but likewise to the inhabitants of the
near-by village of Pisté and the region for many miles around. Has not
the sacred image and the big stone baptismal font been used by the
archbishop himself? Was not Mat-Ek healed, who was blinded for many
months by the vapor from the _ikeban_ plant, blown into his eyes by the
wind while he was gathering his crops? Was he not given back his sight
in less than a week after he had prayed for aid and kissed the feet of
San Isidro? And did not Mat-Ek, in token of his gratitude, have made an
eye of pure silver and give it to the sainted image—an eye which now
hangs over the altar for all to see? What more can you ask?
“The church was filled to overflowing in token of a great and special
day, for it is only occasionally that the regularly ordained priest
comes all the way from Valladolid, and confessions, christenings, and
marriage bans await his coming.
“As the congregation slowly drifts into place, the gentle rustling
of the unstarched _huipiles_ and _pics_ of the women and the louder
rustling of the stiffly starched trousers and jackets of the men sound
remarkably like the lapping of summer wavelets upon a sandy beach. The
soft laughter of the children outside the building, mingled with the
restrained voices of admonishing Indian elders, all combine to create
an atmosphere in perfect accord with the surroundings and the low-toned
service. Within the chapel many candles of wild beeswax give forth
soft lights and heavy odors which, mingling with the fragrant smoke of
incense, fall with pleasant, soporific effect upon the congregation.
“The chimes ring their tuneful, familiar message—a message come down
the centuries since the Child of Bethlehem was born in a manger; a
message brought across the seas to this little stone church, by some
unknown, long-departed padre. The solemn peals roll out and up to those
gray old temples of another faith, wherein the sacred music of the
ancient Mayas, the sound of _tunkul_, or priestly drum, and _dzacatan_,
once beat in pulsing chorus. These sound symbols of the Sacred Cross
are wafted to the altars, still standing, of the Sacred Serpent, whose
creed once reigned supreme over this land.
“The beloved priest begins the age-old intoned creed and as the
service lengthens through the chants, singing, and sermon, there
comes a penetrating, strangely sweet odor. Stronger and stronger it
grows, filling the church and floating out into the morning air. The
worshipers nod their heads. ‘The _xmehen macales_ have blossomed;
God is good to us,’ they murmur. Six graceful, big-leafed plants
like large calla-lilies had been placed upon the altar, among other
flowering plants. And as I look, the six white buds of these lilies,
each slenderly sheathed in green, open slowly to the light, revealing
blooms of creamy white. They open in unison, as if at the bidding of an
unheard voice. To me it is startling, uncanny. And here is the story
about them that met my eager questions at the close of the service:
“Francisco Tata de las Fuentas, caballero of Castile, blue-eyed and
yellow-haired, was fair of skin as a Saxon. In his youth he was as hot
of blood and of head as a Gascon and traveled the pace with the best
and worst of Castile and all the adjoining provinces. His offerings to
Venus, to Bacchus, and to the little gods of chance were so fervid and
frequent that they soon caused his real castle in Castile to become
as those common ones of the air. And his broad lands on the banks of
the Guadiana passed to more careful guardians. When nothing remained
to him but his horse, Selim, he betook himself with Hernan Cortes to
New Spain. Here, under Cortes, he learned discretion bought by hard
experience, so that he acquired some wealth. With Francisco de Montejo,
trusted friend and lieutenant of Cortes, he came to Yucatan, received a
royal grant of land with many natives, and took to himself a wife, the
lovely and virtuous daughter of a native chief or _batab_.
“Time passed and he was gathered to his fathers, leaving an only
child, a son named for him. The second Francisco Fuentes inherited
the father’s fair skin and bold blue eyes, as well as the gorgeous
gold-and-silver trappings of the once fiery Selim, not to mention half
a dozen big plantations, houses and lands in Valladolid and Mérida, and
scores of minor holdings in several other towns and villages.
“This Francisco Fuentes, or Pancho as his friends called him, had
two sons and a daughter. The sons were stalwart, upstanding fellows,
recalling in their stature and temper their Spanish ancestry, but
showing in their brown skins the admixture of native blood of mother
and grandmother.
“Maria, the one beloved daughter, had the plump figure and the sweet
temper of her mother, but her proud little head was covered with a
wealth of yellow hair and her eyes were of clearest blue, the dauntless
eyes of the first Francisco. And now Maria, the idol of her father and
worshiped by her brothers, darling of the whole village, was slowly
dying; wasting away with a strange fever that could not be abated.
By day her body was cool and her brain clear, but with the setting
sun came the fever that defied all skill of physicians and nurses. At
midnight her frail, fair form was shaken with ague and burned with a
fever almost to sear the hands of those who ministered to her as she
tossed in delirium. Wasted to a shadow, Maria seemed beckoned by the
Grim Reaper.
“The sun again touched the western horizon. The sorrowing family,
father and brothers, were at her bedside. Friends and neighbors
gathered to watch over the last hours of the helpless little sufferer,
for there seemed no hope. A knock sounded at the door, hesitant, timid,
as of supplication.
“‘It is but one of the beggars who constantly impose on Maria,’ said a
sharp-tongued watcher, peering through the window into the dusk.
“Maria, restlessly turning in her hammock in an inner room, heard the
knocking and the words of the watcher.
“‘I think,’ whispered she, ‘it is old X-Euan, come for some milk I
promised her for her orphan grandchild. Fill with milk the clean flask
which is on the shelf behind the door and give it to her.’
“Old X-Euan took the flask of milk, but from her lips did not come the
whining thanks of the mendicant. Instead, from beneath the tattered
folds of her shawl, she brought forth a vase of strange antique make,
in which was growing a broad-leafed plant with a single swelling bud at
its center. Handing the plant to the watcher, the old Maya woman said:
“‘Take this to Maria; place it close by her with the blessing of one
to whom she has done as her kind heart, guided by God, has told her to
do.’ In her voice was a note of command which brought obedience from
those who heard. Old X-Euan departed, but some—those who were nearest
and so should have seen clearest—insisted that a faint glow like a
halo enveloped her head.
“The hour of twilight had passed. The dreaded time of the quickened
pulse and panting delirium had come. Maria lay tossing in her hammock.
Close by her the virgin petals of the flower began slowly to unfold.
A fragrance, at first almost imperceptible, was wafted through the
room. As the blossom opened to full bloom and its perfume permeated the
sick-room, the restless turnings, the feverish mutterings grew less and
less and at last ceased altogether. A dewy moisture appeared on Maria’s
pallid forehead and she sank into deep, refreshing slumber.
“Amid the rejoicing there was a note of awed wonder, for in the very
center of the flower the beautiful calyx seemed to have taken the fever
heat that was Maria’s, and as her fever abated the heat in the heart of
the flower increased, until at midnight it was almost incandescent.
“A week passed. Each night, so the watchers told, the flower took to
itself the heat of the fever, while Maria, feverless, slept soundly.
And on the morning of the eighth day she was convalescent. But the
beautiful blossom was but a withered, brown, shapeless nothing.
“‘_La flor de la calentura_ has performed its task,’ exclaimed the
joyful natives, but Maria, lovely once more with returning strength,
said, ‘Alas! _La flor de la calentura_, the flower that saved my life,
is dead.’
“And thus it was told by Maria to her grandchildren and retold by them
to their grandchildren and is now known by every one in the region.
Surely it must be true! Why shouldn’t it be? At any rate, it is
accepted as literally by my Indians as the less pleasing story of Jonah
and the whale.”
CHAPTER III
THE FIRST AMERICANS
It has been said that civilization is but a layer-cake of eras—a
building up of strata, with the brute state at the bottom. Layer upon
layer, each succeeding generation adds its small bit of culture or
knowledge, until a golden age is finally reached. And, sadly enough,
from that age of enlightenment, the hope of the world, there has always
been a rapid decline, until centuries later, perhaps, again begins the
tedious gradual uplift.
And the story of man’s rise and fall, in the passing of the ages,
usually is buried in the earth, to be laid bare to our eyes if we have
but the patience to find and the ability to understand. Just as a good
woodsman can read from a scratch on a tree or a faint footprint on the
ground things not obvious to the untrained observer, our men of science
have developed remarkable expertness in divining the history of bygone
eras from the scanty traces that remain. From a skull, centuries buried
in a cave, they reconstruct the Neanderthal man. The fragments of an
earthen pot tell them the degree of culture and the period of him who
once supped from the vessel.
Wherever there are caves there is the likelihood of uncovering vestiges
of aboriginal life, for primitive men everywhere used caverns, either
as temporary shelters or as permanent abodes. Beneath the cave floor
may be the evidence of many generations of men—the relics buried in
layers one upon another as the discarded and broken implements of one
generation were trampled underfoot and submerged under the charred
embers and rubbish of the succeeding one.
The written record of the Mayas gives but little clue to their
origin and no indication at all of their descent from more barbarous
ancestors. Did these people, already of a high state of culture,
immigrate from some other land? If so, were they the first comers or
did they find the country even then inhabited? Or were their ancestors
natives of this region for hundreds of centuries before them?
Yucatan is a land of caverns, veritably a honeycomb of caves, and
eagerly the paleontologist rolled up his sleeves, shouldered his
shovel, and set out to find the answer to these vexing questions.
The answer was found and is conclusive but disappointing. Beyond the
question of a doubt, the Mayas brought with them their culture, and
they were the first inhabitants of this country. Whence they came, or
how, or why; from what race they sprang, we know not and probably never
shall know. A few conflicting legends of their arrival as recorded in
some old Maya writings constitute the sum total of our knowledge on
this point.
Many intricately derived meanings of the name _Maya_ have been offered.
The most obvious, however, is the direct translation. _Ma_ means
“not” and _ya_ means “emotion,” “grief,” “tiresome,” or “difficult.”
The combination means, “not arduous,” “not severe.” We know that the
Mayas frequently alluded to their country as the Land of the Deer and
the Land of the Wild Turkey— _U-Lumil-Ceh_, _U-Lumil-Cutz_. “Maya,”
therefore, may quite likely have been descriptive of the region as a
pleasant, comfortable place of residence. Juan Martinez, who knows the
Indian and the language, present and past, as no one else, once said to
me: “Work and grief are synonymous to the native mind. Work is grief to
the Indian; therefore a land of no grief and no sorrow may well mean
a land of no work.” However, any explanation of the derivation of so
ancient a name is little more than surmise.
According to one myth, the Mayas came over the sea from the east, under
the leadership of a hero-deity, Itzamna; hence the name “Itzas” as
applied to a part, at least, of the Mayas. In the Maya books Itzamna is
represented as an old man with one tooth and a sunken jaw. His glyph or
sign is his pictured profile, together with a sign of night, the sign
of food, and two or three feathers.
The more credible legend refers to an immigration from the west or
north, under a chieftain named Kukul Can. There are reasons for
believing that this legend may be founded upon fact. It is mentioned
in several of the most ancient of the surviving Maya records and in
the testimony of a number of well-versed natives at the time of the
Conquest. Farther up the coast, north of Vera Cruz, is another branch
of the Maya family called the Huastecs, while in Central America,
through Honduras, Guatemala, and even in Costa Rica, are present-day
Maya tribes and ruins of ancient Maya civilization. Also, there is a
close similarity between the Kukul Can legend and the Aztec annals,
indicating a common origin. Everything points to the probability of a
remote great migration of their common ancestors from the north.
The Aztec tradition is particularly interesting and describes the
arrival by boat of several different tribes at the mouth of the Panuco
River, which spot the Aztecs called Panatolan, meaning “where one
arrives by sea.” The expedition was headed by the supreme leader,
Mexitl, chief of the Mexicans, with whom were other chieftains and
their followers. They traveled on down the coast as far as Guatemala,
and some turned back and settled at various places along the shore.
On this journey an intoxicating drink was originated by one Mayanel,
whose name means “clever woman.”[1] There is a possibility that “Maya”
is derived from her name. At any rate, one tribal chief, Huastecatl,
imbibed too freely and cast aside his garments while intoxicated. His
shame was so great when he realized what he had done that he gathered
his tribe, the Huastecas, and returned with them to Panatolan and
settled there.
Landa says in his book that some old men of Yucatan related to him
the story, handed down for many generations, that the first settlers
had come from the east by water. These voyagers were ones “whom God
had freed, opening for them twelve roads to the sea.” If there is any
truth in this tradition, these progenitors may have been one of the
lost tribes of Israel. An interesting side light on this hypothesis
is the distinctly Semitic cast of countenance of some of the ancient
sculptures and murals found at Chi-chen Itza and in other old Maya
cities. The dignity of face and serene poise of these carved or painted
likenesses is strikingly Hebraic.[2]
While we are in the field of conjecture, we may as well consider the
old Greek myth of the lost continent of Atlantis. From the geological
point of view, it is not impossible. The whole of Yucatan is low and
was once the bottom of the sea, as is indicated by its surface rock
and sand. Furthermore, the stretching out of the Antilles as though to
form a bridge with the Azores, and the shallowness of the intervening
Atlantic Ocean, lends plausibility to the idea that there may have been
a cataclysmic upheaval of the ocean-bed during some past era, and not
long ago, geologically speaking—an upheaval which created the land of
Yucatan and caused what was land to the eastward to sink beneath the
level of the Atlantic. What is more natural to suppose than that in
some prehistoric period the lost continent of Atlantis did exist and
proved an easy means of passage between Europe and America?
The mist-enshrouded history of the migrations of ancient people, the
crossing and recrossing of their pilgrimages and of their blood, is a
fascinating study, but one which tells us comparatively little that may
be crystallized into fact. And so, in these various speculations as to
the origin of the Mayas, no theory contains enough weight of evidence
to warrant the assumption that it is the right one. It is, however,
pretty clearly established from the ancient Maya writings and legends
that there were two main immigrations, the greater one coming from the
west or north and the lesser one from the east.
Emerging at last from the purely legendary, we reach the middle ground
where the history of the Mayas is still unrecorded but where the word
of mouth, as handed down from father to son, is more precise and
has some relation to definite dates. Then we suddenly step over the
threshold into the historical era.
The first recorded date, which corresponds to 113 B.C., is
on a statuette from the ancient city of Tuxtla, and there is some
doubt as to whether our reading of this date is correct. The next
inscription corresponds to 47 A.D., and here we are on sure
ground. A monument in northern Guatemala contains a date prior to
160 A.D., at which point the ancient Maya Codices take up
the history of the race and carry it on to the time of the Conquest.
And even at this early time, the Mayas had hieroglyphic writings
and were skilled in stone-carving and the erection of massive works
of architecture. With the written Chronicles, the many hieroglyphed
stones,—“precious stones,” I like to call them,—and the history of
progress as indicated by the different periods of architecture and
sculpture, we are able to verify and correlate most of the subsequent
dates.
The written Maya records, without which our task of piecing together
anything of their history would be almost impossible, are among the
most interesting and valuable remains of this bygone civilization. The
records are of two kinds. The first, the Codices, are the original
texts, written in hieroglyphics. The second, the Chilan Balam, are
written in the Maya language but with Spanish characters, and are
chiefly transcripts from the more ancient records.
Only three hieroglyphic Codices have survived, and they are known
respectively as the Dresden Codex, the Perez Codex, and the
Tro-Cortesianus. All are in European museums and many facsimile
reproductions have been made of them for use in other museums and
libraries. These manuscripts are painstakingly illuminated by hand,
in colors, and were done with some sort of brush, possibly of hair
or feathers. They are done on paper or, rather, a sort of cardboard
which has been given a smooth white surface through the application
of a coating of fine lime. The body of the paper is made of the fiber
of the maguey plant. The manuscript is folded like a Japanese screen
or a railway time-table. According to early accounts, some of these
records were also made on tanned or otherwise prepared deerskin and
upon bark. None of the hide or bark records has ever been found by
present-day explorations. It is known that the Mayas had many records
concerning religious history, religious rites and ceremonies, medicine,
and astronomy. The Spanish priests caused all of the Maya writings they
could find to be gathered together and burned, in the fanatical belief
that they were serving the church by so doing.
If only their bigotry had vented itself in some other way, how much
these old manuscripts might have told us! Apropos of the burning of
the priceless documents Landa says, “We collected all the native books
we could find and burned them, much to the sorrow of the people, and
caused them pain.”
[Illustration: A PAGE FROM THE PEREZ CODEX, DESCRIBING AN ECLIPSE OF
THE SUN. THIS ANCIENT MANUSCRIPT ILLUMINATED IN COLOR IS NOW IN THE
LIBRARY OF PARIS]
The group of books called the Chilan Balam, which are chiefly
ideographic transcripts of the more ancient works, written in the Maya
tongue but in Spanish characters, probably were made surreptitiously
by some of the educated natives soon after the Conquest. There are
sixteen of these books still extant. The meaning of this Maya name,
_Chilan Balam_, is interesting. _Chi_ means “mouth”; _lan_ indicates
action. Therefore _Chilan_ is “mouth action,” or “speech.” _Balam_
is synonymous for either “tiger” or “ferocity.” But the tiger was
worshiped as a deity and the combination of the words, _Chilan Balam_,
means “Speech of the Gods.” The Maya priests were sometimes called by
the name, indicating that they were the mouthpieces of the gods, and
doubtless these records took their name from the priestly appellation.
The individual books of the Chilan Balam are known by the names of
the villages in which they were found, and in a few cases the name of
the village may have been derived from the presence of the book. The
most important of these books are Nabula, Chun-may-el (which means
“something of the first” or “original”), Kua, Man, X-kutz-cab, Ixil,
Tihosuco, and Tixcocob.
Just when these books were written is not known, but there is evidence
that the book of Mani was written prior to 1595 and the book of Nabula
tells of an epidemic which occurred in 1663. While teaching the
natives to write the Maya language in Spanish characters, Bishop Landa
employed a rather original method, which is our only key to reading
these writings and which serves as our only clue to the more ancient
hieroglyphs. The ancient Maya writings were purely picture writings,
but to some extent the hieroglyphs had lost their original picture
significance and had come to have a somewhat symbolic meaning.
In arranging the so-called Maya alphabet (which was first used by the
priests in writing out the prayers for the Mayas), Landa employed a
very ingenious method and one that was practical at the time. He took
the Spanish alphabet and beginning with “A” he asked the educated
Indian to draw the character for him in which the sound of “A” was
predominant. Naturally, after many attempts by the Indian to furnish
such a character he finally selected the hieroglyph _ac_, which is a
picture of a turtle’s head and which in Maya means “turtle” or “dwarf”
or something having a slow movement. Next he took the letter “B” and
eventually chose the character _be_, which means “road,” “walk,” “run,”
and consists of the picture of a footprint. Therefore—not to go into a
lengthy description of the system—he had “A” from _ac_, “B” from _be_,
etc. With this extemporized alphabet the priests were able to write out
the Catholic prayers in such a way that the Indian could repeat them in
Spanish by using the sound of the first part of his hieroglyph for the
sound of each Spanish letter.
It may be seen from the foregoing that Landa’s alphabet cannot be used
for translating Maya, for when the hieroglyphs are made to represent
the sounds of the Spanish alphabet the result does not indicate the
original connection of a Maya word with its glyph. This fact was a
great disappointment among archæologists, who at first expected to
translate the Maya Codices by the use of the Landa alphabet. Their
hopes, however, were short-lived and they even pronounced Landa an
impostor. On the contrary, he has unintentionally given us what is
almost a Rosetta Stone.
The Codices, I fear, will never yield a connected story, as they are
written in a stenographic or shorthand style consisting of disconnected
sentences.
Many of the stones, or _stelæ_, may contain history, and as soon as
we know the meanings of, possibly, a thousand glyphs we shall be able
to make a decided advance in the art of reading the books. Landa in
his book explains not the Maya glyphs but the way the priests used
these Maya characters for religious purposes. For example, he says
_Ma-in-kati_ means “I do not want,” represented in the ancient Maya by
three simple glyphs. Written as the priests had arranged, with a glyph
for each sound of a Spanish letter, the result is a combination of five
glyphs, which, if given their original Maya pictured meanings, leads to
the rather surprising knowledge that “no dead animal was seen at this
place,” or, literally, “not see tail [animal] death place.”
Besides the Codices and the Chilan Balam, which together are frequently
alluded to as the Maya Chronicles, there are some other documents such
as titles to land, records of surveys, etc. There is a unique history
of the Conquest, written by a contemporary native chief called Na Kuk
Pech, whose name means “house of the feathered wood-tick.” The story
was written in the native language, by means of Spanish characters, and
has been translated recently by Señor Juan Martinez, whose profound
knowledge of the Maya language has eminently fitted him for this task.
The history of Chi-chen Itza is of especial interest because this was
the Holy City, the Mecca of all the ancient Maya people. According
to the Maya Chronicles, one or several tribes set out from a place
called Nonual, in 160 A.D., and apparently spent many years
in aimless wandering, arriving finally, in 241 A.D., at a
place they named Chac Nouitan. Then follows a gap in our knowledge and
the next we learn of these people is that in 445 A.D., while
they were residing at a place called Bak-Halal, they heard of Chi-chen
Itza. It is clear that Chi-chen Itza was already an inhabited city at
that time. Soon after this, these tribes moved to Chi-chen Itza, where
they lived until about 600 A.D., when, for some unaccountable
reason, they abandoned it utterly and migrated to the land of Chan Kan
Putun. And this residence was in turn abandoned two hundred and sixty
years later, because of some calamity; one Chronicle speaks of a great
fire.
For nearly a hundred years, to quote from the Chronicles, “the Itzas
lived in exile and great distress under the trees and under the
branches.” Then, some of them reëstablished Chi-chen Itza in 950
A.D., while others founded the city of Uxmal or went to
Mayapan. The second residence lasted for some two hundred years. About
1200 A.D., the Itzas, under the ruler Ulumil, invaded the city
of Mayapan and at about this same time Chi-chen Itza was attacked and
depopulated by foreigners—in all probability the Nahuas (Mexicans),
who came down from the north. The last event alluded to in the
Chronicles is the coming of the Spaniards under Montejo, who found the
Mayas already decadent and their cities long ruined and abandoned.
We have no authentic description of the actual condition of Chi-chen
Itza when the Spaniards came, but it is known with certainty that Tiho
(place of the five temples), one of the ancient cities, the site of the
modern city of Mérida, was in ruins. The temples were dilapidated and
overgrown with vegetation and great trees were rooted in the walls. The
few inhabitants living around these ruins knew virtually nothing of the
founders of the city, nor of those who had lived there when it was in
its prime.
At the coming of the Spaniards to Chi-chen Itza, about 1541, the city
was inhabited by a few people who were, I think, nothing more than
campers—inferior people using as shelters the buildings which they had
found there and of whose history they were quite ignorant.
While it has no place in this book, the last known migration of some of
the Mayas is interesting and it is certain that a considerable number
emigrated between the years 1450 and 1451 southward to Lake Peten,[3]
where they built a city on an island and there they survived, together
with their ancient culture, until conquered in 1697 by the Spaniards,
who destroyed all their temples and books and perforce made either good
Christians or “good Indians” of all the inhabitants.
Landa says, under the heading, “Various Misfortunes Experienced in
Yucatan in the Century before the Conquest”:
These people had over twenty years of abundance and health
and multiplied greatly. All of the land looked like one town
and they built many temples which can be seen to-day in all
parts; and crossing the mountains, one can see through the
leaves of the trees sides of houses and buildings wonderfully
constructed. After all this happiness, one evening in the
winter a wind arose about six o’clock and increased until it
became a hurricane of the Four Winds.[4] This wind tore out the
large trees, made a great slaughter of all kinds of game, tore
down all the high houses, which, as they were thatched with
straw and had fire inside against the cold, caught fire. Great
numbers of people were burned and those that escaped were torn
to pieces by falling trees.
This hurricane lasted until noon of the next day. Some who
lived in small houses escaped—the young people who were just
married, who were accustomed to build small houses in front of
those of their parents or parents-in-law, where they lived the
first years.
Thus this land then lost its name, which was U-Lumil-Ceh,
U-Lumil-Cutz, Land of the Deer, Land of the Wild Turkey, and
was without trees. The trees now seen all appear to have been
planted at the same time, as they are all of the same height,
and, looking at this land from some spot, it seems as though it
had been trimmed off with shears.
Those who escaped felt encouraged to rebuild and cultivate the
land and they again multiplied greatly, having fifteen years of
health and good weather and the last year was the most fruitful
of all. At the time of harvest, there came upon the land some
contagious fevers which lasted twenty-four hours. After the
fever the victim would swell up and burst open, being full of
worms, and of this pestilence many people died leaving the
fruit ungathered.
After this pestilence there was another sixteen good years
in which they renewed their passions and ravagings. In this
way one hundred and fifty thousand men died in battle. After
this massacre they were more calm and made peace and rested
for twenty years. Then came another pestilence. Large pimples
formed and they rotted the body and emitted offensive odors in
a way that the members fell off by pieces within four or five
days.
This plague has passed more than fifty years ago, the massacres
of the wars twenty years before that; the pestilence of the
swelling and worms sixteen years before the wars; and the
hurricane another sixteen years before that and twenty-two
years after the destruction of Mayapan, which, according to
this record, makes one hundred twenty-five years since the
destruction. Thus by the wars and other punishments which
God sent, it is a wonder there are as many people as are now
living, although there are not many.
This quaint account by Landa sheds some light upon the condition of the
Mayas during the century preceding the Spanish invasion and indicates
that the golden age of the race had occurred not many centuries before.
The legendary history of the coming of the Mayas to Chi-chen Itza is
alluded to by Landa in several passages. He states:
It is the opinion among the Indians that with the Itzas who
populated Chi-chen Itza, there reigned a great man called Kukul
Can, and the principal temple of the city is called Kukul Can.
They say he entered from the west, that he was very genteel,
and that he had neither wife nor children. After he left
Chi-chen Itza he was considered in Mexico one of their gods and
called Quetzal Coatl and in Yucatan they also had him for a god.
In another place Landa says:
The ancient Indians say that in Chi-chen Itza reigned three
brothers. This was told to them by their ancestors. The three
brothers came from the west and they reigned for some years in
peace and justice. They honored their god very much and thus
built many buildings and beautiful, especially one. These men,
they say, lived without wives and in great honesty and virtue,
and during this time they were much esteemed and obeyed by
all. After a time one of them failed, who had to die, although
some of the Indians said he went to Bak-halal. The absence of
this one, no matter how he went, was felt so much by those who
reigned after him that they began to be licentious and formed
habits dishonorable and ungovernable, and the people began to
hate them in such a way that they killed them, one after the
other, and destroyed and abandoned the city.
Virtually the same stories are contained in a document found at
Valladolid and dated 1618, which goes on to state that the newer part
of Chi-chen Itza was built about 1200 A.D.
The ancient city consists of two parts, the southern, which is ruined
to such as extent that it contains almost no standing edifices, and the
newer city built to the north, which contains many buildings—some of
them almost perfectly preserved. I believe that much of the older city
was built at least a thousand years prior to most of the buildings in
the newer city, and there is ample evidence to substantiate the belief
that the old city was ruthlessly robbed of its carvings and cut stones
for use in the construction of the new.
The Nahuatl influence is seen in the newer buildings. It is thought
that Chi-chen Itza reached the height of its civil power, though not
its artistic supremacy, after it had been conquered by the Aztec
warriors from the north, and the native inhabitants were reduced to
slavery and driven by their masters to the speedy building of many
temples—an undertaking which they would have gone about in much more
leisurely fashion had there been no compulsion.
Don Pedro Aguilar, one of the earliest historians of Yucatan, states
that six hundred years before the coming of the Spaniards the Mayas
were the vassals of the Aztecs and were forced by them to construct
remarkable edifices such as those found at Chi-chen Itza and Uxmal.
Herbert Spinden, in his admirable little book “Ancient Civilizations of
Mexico,” has most happily drawn an analogy between the traits of the
Mayas and Aztecs and the similar traits of the old Greeks and Romans.
The Mayas were like the Greeks, the creative race, while the Aztecs
were primarily warriors, as were the Romans.
Just what was the impulse which led these people to undertake the
mighty works they accomplished,—whether it was religious fervor or
plain fear,—we do not know. We do know that their age of greatest
progress was within the era of verifiable history. We know that they
built many large cities; and that there was a large population;
Chi-chen Itza was a city of at least two hundred thousand inhabitants,
and some archæologists believe that at one time its population numbered
no less than a million.
During their supreme period they built great pyramids and marvelous
temples. They wrote books and set up intricately carved record-stones.
They brought the whole of Yucatan into a federation of government that
held the people together in a unity which has few parallels in the
history of the human race. They evolved a calendar which is ingenious,
complicated, and amazingly correct. They read the heavens and knew the
planets and their seasons and changes. They displayed in all they did a
genius to invent and an ability to execute which cause us to rate their
culture very high; and this culture is all the more wonderful because
it was purely original and cut off by an ocean on each side from any
contact with the rest of the world.
CHAPTER IV
DON EDUARDO’S FIRST VIEW OF THE CITY OF THE SACRED WELL
Don Eduardo has described to me his first trip to Chi-chen Itza, and
his impressions, which are somewhat as follows if my notes and memory
do not err:
“I had traveled all of a hot and dusty day, on horseback, through the
jungle and over animal trails. In many places my Indian guide, who went
afoot, had to lead my horse over or around the huge stones that blocked
our path. After the first few miles I was painfully aware that running
blithely from my city into Mérida, for forgotten trifles or even for
sorely needed supplies, was another of my pleasant fancies thoroughly
punctured.
“Darkness overtook us ere we reached our journey’s end, and the ensuing
coolness was delightfully refreshing even though the dark slowed our
already snail-like progress. Just when I had abandoned all hope of
making further headway, the moon sailed majestically into view—a
gorgeous full moon in a perfect Yucatan night, lighting every object
softly, gently, with a caressing touch so lacking in the masculine
directness of Old Sol. A more lovely silver and black-velvet night
I have never seen. Truly, the moon magic of Yucatan is no less than
divine stage-craft which subtly wafts one completely away from the Land
of Things as They Are and into the Realm of Enchantment. I should
not have been surprised to meet the March Hare, Lancelot, Gulliver,
Scheherezade, or Helen of Troy. In fact, I was prepared to stop and
chat with any of them and offer a bite from the one remaining cake of
chocolate in my pocket.
“Sometime, and most reluctantly, I suppose I must go the way of all
flesh. If so, then by all means let it be in the full glory of a
Yucatan moon and the going will not be unpleasant.
“For days I had been traveling, first by train, then by _volan_,—that
satanic contrivance which leaves one bruised and bumped from head
to foot,—and finally in the saddle, dozing over the head of a
somnambulant horse.
“Even the witchery of the moonlight could not long hold alert my
fatigued body and mind. On and on we plodded, hour after hour.
Midnight passed and how many more hours I do not know, when I heard
an exclamation in the vernacular, from my guide. Startled out of a
half-conscious dream I came erect in the saddle.
“My Indian was earnestly pointing up and ahead. I raised my eyes and
became electrically, tinglingly awake. There, high up, wraith-like in
the waning moonlight, loomed what seemed a Grecian temple of colossal
proportions, atop a great steep hill. So massive did it seem in the
half-light of the approaching morning that I could think of it only as
an impregnable fortress high above the sea, on some rocky, wave-dashed
promontory. As this mass took clearer shape before me with each
succeeding hoof-beat of my weary steed, it grew more and more huge. I
felt an actual physical pain, as if my heart skipped a few beats and
then raced to make up the loss.
“Thus for the first time I viewed the Great Pyramid of Kukul Can, now
called El Castillo—the Castle. And I shall always be glad that I
had the good fortune to get my first glimpse of it in this fashion.
Times without number I have since passed and repassed this grand old
structure, yet never have I walked in its shadow without a quickening
of the pulse or without recalling undimmed the vision of that moonlit
night. And, as I look back through my years of intimate companionship
with my City of the Sacred Well, it seems to me that moonlit nights
are linked inextricably with nearly all the important events that have
there befallen me—or, at least, with those which are pleasant in
retrospect.
“By the time I had dismounted and unsaddled my horse my Indian was
already curled up and fast asleep. The poor horse was, I think, in
sound slumber the minute his feet came to a halt. But for me, weary as
I was, sleep was out of the question. I must see more of this magic
city. Reaching the foot of the steep ascent, I crawled painfully up
what had obviously once been a tremendous stairway, now overgrown with
small trees and shrubs. At the end of a breathless climb I reached a
narrow, level stone ledge eighty feet above the ground and faced the
north door of the temple—the temple of the great god Kukul Can. This
sheer pile of perfectly joined masonry pierced by a forty-foot doorway
within whose sides I could dimly discern intricate and fantastically
carved bas-reliefs; this time-grayed temple of a forgotten faith,
viewed there in the silence and solitude of eerie moonlight—is it
to be wondered at if my knees shook just a little and if I glanced
apprehensively over my shoulder awaiting the terrible, majestic wrath
of the god whose temple was profaned by the eyes of an unbeliever?
“On my eminence I turned slowly and gazed out over the dead city. Here
and there, some near by and some at a distance, were a dozen other
pyramids surmounted by buildings. A few seemed well preserved, others
were in picturesque ruins, all ghostly white in the moonlight, except
where a doorway or a shadow stood out in inky blackness. I could see
the long shadow of that old temple we call the ‘Nunnery.’ The stillness
was broken only by the monotonous hum of hidden cicadas; or was it the
distant beat of phantom _tunkuls_, or sacred drums, warning that the
ancient God of the Feathered Serpent did but sleep and might at any
moment awake?
“And then my eyes were caught and held by a broad raised roadway
leading straight away from the temple toward a vast black pool
overgrown with trees. Breathless, frozen to the spot, I could only look
and look, for in a blinding flash I realized that I was gazing at the
Sacred Way, and at its end the Sacred Well in whose murky depths even
then might lie the pitiful bones of many once lovely maidens sacrificed
to appease a grim god. What untold treasures this grisly well might
hide! What tragedies had been enacted at its brink!
“I descended and as I walked along the Sacred Way I thought of the
thousands, millions perhaps, of times this worn thoroughfare had been
trodden in bygone ages where all was now desolate. Here was I, a grain
of dust moving where kings and nobles of countless centuries before had
trod, and where, for all I know, kings and nobles may again tread long
years after I am still a grain of dust but moveless.
“At the brink of the well I peered into the blackness and continued to
gaze into its depths, picturing in my mind’s eye the awesome ceremonies
it had witnessed. The chant of death begins, swelling softly over the
slow pulsing of the drums. The solemn procession leaves the holy temple
of Kukul Can and the funeral cortège advances along the broad raised
avenue of the Sacred Way, toward the Sacred Well, the dwelling-place of
Noh-och Yum Chac, the terrible Rain God who must be placated by human
sacrifice. The corn in the fields is withering, crying for rain. If
the anger of Yum Chac be not appeased famine will follow and the dread
Lord of Death, Ah Puch—he of the grinning, sightless skull—will walk
abroad in the land.
“Slowly, slowly the cortège draws near. At its head is the high priest,
clad in ceremonial vestments and elaborate feathered head-dress,
as befits the pontiff of the Feathered Serpent. And what is this
embroidered bower borne so reverently by sturdy, sun-browned lesser
priests? Is it a bier, a stately catafalque? Is the pitiful victim
already dead? Ah, no! she moves, beautiful, flawless—the most lovely
maiden to be found in the land. Through every city and village and
country-side, for weeks and weeks, a thousand priests have sought her,
this fairest flower of Maya maidenhood. Her face is pale. She knows the
supreme honor that is hers—she who is to become so soon the bride of
the Rain God. But there is terror in those lovely eyes, a benumbing,
cold fear of the Unknown.
“And behind them, filling the whole of the Sacred Way, come the king,
the nobles, the great warriors and many priests. Already on the far
side of the Sacred Well is gathered a silent, grave-faced multitude,
the whole populace of the city and pilgrims from afar.
“The high priest enters the little temple at the brink of the well. The
dirge ceases, the drums are stilled. He performs his devotions to the
Rain God. He lights the sacred incense-burners and the fragrant blue
vapor floats, curling, upward. Again the slowly chanted dirge starts,
to the muted beating of the drums. He lights a basket of sweet-smelling
copal incense, holds it aloft, and casts it into the well. The chant
grows louder, the drums beat faster.
“Two powerful _nacons_, or lesser priests, lift the maiden from her
couch, their muscular brown arms forming a sling in which she lies as
lightly as a leaf on the bosom of a stream. They advance with her to
the edge of the well. The pitiless sun glares down into her upturned
fear-stricken eyes and she throws one slender arm over her face. Her
gauzy garments reveal the tender flesh and adolescent contours of a
girl in her early teens.
“Slowly the _nacons_ swing the feather-light body backward and forward
to the beat of the drums and the rhythm of the dirge; forward and
backward in an ever wider sweep, while the drums and chant swell to a
roar. At a sign from the high priest the drums are suddenly stilled;
the chant ends in a high-pitched wail. A last forward swing and the
bride of Yum Chac hurtles far out over the well. Turning slowly in the
air, the lithesome body falls faster and faster till it strikes the
dark water seventy feet below.
“An echoing splash and all is still. Only the widening ripples are
left. The child bride has found favor in the eyes of her lord, the
great god Noh-och Yum Chac.
“Thus I imagined the sacrifice at the Sacred Well—a sacrifice enacted
not once but hundreds of times through many centuries. Thus has it been
handed down in a dozen Maya legends and I wondered whether this grim
old well really held at its far murky bottom the relics of the ancient
rites or, after all, the sacrifices were mere myths founded on some
trivial event, which grew and grew with each telling.
“Granting that such sacrifices had been, every vestige of evidence
might well have disintegrated into nothingness a thousand years before
my time. Assuming even that at the bottom of this watery pit was
all I sought, what a mad venture it was for one lone man with but a
little money and no great mechanical skill to attempt to recover these
evidences!
“And yet my faith was strong. I felt that my quest was not to be in
vain and that somehow I would make the well yield up its treasures. At
least I must attempt the feat or continue to be haunted by the idea all
the rest of my life.
“My wearied brain could no longer sustain these speculations. My whole
tired body knew but one desire—sleep. Yet I did not wish to sleep in
this gruesome place. Half a mile farther on I should find the Casa
Real, the old manor-house that was to be my home. Wearily I strove
toward it in the failing moonlight.
“At last I approached the main arched gateway of the corral, built
more than two hundred years ago. It was boldly outlined in the pale
moonlight, while here and there were long jet shadows cast by some
broken portion of a wall or by some partially burned but upright trunk
of a great tree. All was desolation, as in the case of the ancient
temples, but a newer desolation, for this manor had been built less
than seventy years before. As I pushed my way over broken stones a
cloud came over the moon and I stumbled full upon what seemed at first
the vertebræ of a huge fish. The cloud passed as I halted and an
involuntary shudder gripped me as I looked down on the whitened bones
of a human skeleton. A little to one side on a slight elevation lay the
severed skull; and just beyond was still another and yet another. Ah,
yes! I knew the tragic story, but had not expected to be met with so
brutal a reminder of it.
“The former inhabitants of this once beautiful hacienda had all been
massacred, many years before, by the Sublevados, the untamed tribes of
Maya Indians living some miles to the south. These savages had slain
every living creature on the estate and had left the several buildings
in smoldering ruins. Even at the present time the Sublevados are still
untamed and I have often been warned of the menace of a similar fate.
“I turned and gazed at the old gateway under which I had so recently
passed—a gateway, so the records say, built in June, 1721. Under it
also had passed long lines of weeping captives, and there are men
living who remember the event. These poor captives were laden with the
booty taken from the villages of Tunkas and Dzitas as they were urged
on by their Sublevado captors in their terrible journey to Chan Santa
Cruz, the distant Sublevado stronghold. And only the vigorous men with
trades and the young women were spared for the journey, while the
other prisoners were ruthlessly murdered. Of the prisoners left alive
for the journey those who fell by the wayside were despatched with a
stroke of the machete and left where they fell. I later found many of
their pitiful skeletons.
“Poor boys and girls! What heart-pangs they must have felt; what
scalding tears must have fallen on the stone flags as they passed
beneath this old arch! Their pangs were soon stilled and the tears
they spilled quickly dried, for they all soon came to that tranquil
rest which is for eternity. Their lives were like the meteor that
flashes for a moment in the sky and is then forever snuffed out. ‘Cigar
stubs that the God of Night tosses away’ is the native vernacular for
meteors. The souls of these wretched youths and maidens seem to have
been no less carelessly tossed away by the God of the Night.
“I sank down upon the corridor of my new-old home, too utterly fatigued
in mind and body to care what army of horrid phantoms might there
abide. Let graveyards yawn and specters dance, let witches ride; loose
Beelzebub and all his imps, but let me sleep!
“And so I did until awakened by a torrid sun burning down upon me
through what once had been a roof.”
CHAPTER V
THE ANCIENT CITY
“I arose cautiously, expecting to find an ache in every bone and
muscle, and was agreeably surprised to discover myself without an ache
or a pain, though a little stiff. Apparently the hot sun had baked
all pains away. In a shady place near by sat my Indian, not sleeping,
apparently not even thinking, but just doing nothing at all, an art in
which he was an adept.
“I was conscious of an earnest desire for two things,—a bath and
breakfast,—and I wanted a great deal of both. Without much difficulty,
in sign language, I made my wishes clear to the native and he conducted
me a distance of half a mile or so, not to the Sacred Well but to
another well or cenote called Tol-oc, which is about two hundred feet
to the left of the road leading to the village of Pisté. How he knew so
definitely the location of the well is a mystery to me.
“This great cool, crystal-clear pool was the water-supply of the
ancient city. A wide flight of steps, now much broken, leads into
its depths and the lower steps are at present actually some distance
beneath the surface of the water. On the stone rim of the sides of the
pool are deep grooves, worn in olden times by the ceaseless raising and
lowering of rope-suspended water-jugs or gourds. And can’t you picture
the women of old Chi-chen Itza in a constant stream passing from dawn
till dusk along the road to the well of Tol-oc?—the servant glad
to escape for a time the sharp tongue of her mistress; the wrinkled,
toothless crone to whom a trip to the well means an opportunity to
exchange the latest gossip; the comely young matron anxious to get back
to her household tasks; the belle of the neighborhood, on her way to
the well, light-heartedly swinging her empty water-jug and bantering
those who pass. This is a phase of life as old as communal existence.
One may see the same scene enacted to-day almost anywhere south of the
Rio Grande or in Spain, Egypt, or the Orient.
“As I swam about in the pool fresh vigor flowed into my veins, and I
emerged with an increased craving for breakfast. When I reached the
hacienda I found my Indian had anticipated this and while the repast
he provided might not have appealed to a pampered appetite, I found it
a Lucullian feast; and my guide proved no mean trencherman, either,
although I suspect he had fortified himself with no less heartening a
meal two hours earlier, when he found me asleep.
“While he performed the housewifely task of doing the dishes, which
consisted of throwing away the big green leaves we used as plates, I
sat in the shade of a magnificent old _yax-che_—the sacred tree of
the Mayas—and puffed my favorite and most disreputable pipe. Sitting
somewhere in the shade around Chi-chen Itza is the most pleasant
occupation in the universe, for there is a perpetual breeze and no
matter how hot the sun, one is always cool and comfortable in the
shade. Sitting thus is the favorite and major occupation of the native,
and the white man can very easily acquire the habit.
“As I sat there, at peace with the world, my experiences of the
previous night seemed unreal—the fantasmagoria of a fevered dream and,
much as I enjoyed this shady spot where I sat, the ancient city called
me.
“Taking the Indian with me, I returned to make a superficial
examination of the place. My newly acquired estate of about thirty-six
square miles included the abandoned, dilapidated manor, corrals, and
other buildings. And within its boundaries lie the Sacred Well and
all of the ancient ruins and temples that are still standing, not to
mention many others which are now covered with debris. It also includes
several Indian villages. Chi-chen Itza is really two cities. The more
ancient is overgrown by a thick forest and its location is indicated
only by an occasional grassy, thicket-covered mound out of which grow
great trees and whose sides are covered with scattered carved stones.
The newer city is clearly defined by the buildings which are still
standing. The whole, including the older and the newer city, covers an
area of about twelve square miles.
“There is no apparent plan in the situation of the various structures,
although most of them are arranged in such a way that their openings
avoid the direct rays of the sun at midday. The city was built in this
location because of the two great wells and the lesser one, which I
am sure are not the work of men, although they may have been altered
or enlarged. In all probability there were no definite and continuous
streets; with the exception of the Via Sacra or Sacred Way, there is
little or no evidence of what might be called a city street.
“I reason that there was little need for streets, because there were no
beasts of burden, nor vehicular traffic. Loads were transported upon
the backs of men, just as they are largely transported at the present
time. The ancient builders did construct very good narrow, ballasted
stone roads which led into Chi-chen Itza from various directions, but
they were roads for human feet to travel. Surely the architects of
these wonderful buildings; these people who knew much of astronomy and
who could count into prodigious figures had the intelligence to lay
out their cities in blocks and squares if any particular advantage or
convenience were to be gained thereby!
“The only evident plan is that the present buildings, which are temples
and perhaps palaces for the kings and those of high religious or noble
rank, are centrally located. Beyond these for miles about are the
remains of small rectangular foundations, evidently the sites of what
were once the dwelling-places of the large population of the city.
“In the area which I designate as new Chi-chen Itza are twelve
buildings in an almost perfect state of preservation, as though built
no more than twenty or thirty years ago. Ten of them are still covered
with their original ponderous stone roofs and are entirely habitable.
These structures alone might house a considerable population. I have
lived for months at a time in one or another of them and have found
them to be delightfully comfortable and cool. Indeed, these elevated
Maya temples are the most ideal living-quarters, much to be preferred
to the usual house built upon level ground. Although they contain no
windows, they are well lighted by the reflected sunlight striking
through the doorways upon the white limestone floors.
“Passing across what is now a lovely flower garden in the rear of my
home,—which is no other than the building in whose broken corridor I
spent my first night,—my guide and I came at no great distance upon
a rise of ground where are situated two most interesting groups of
buildings. The first one, a massive structure on our right, bears the
curious name Akab Tzib, ‘House of the Writing in the Dark.’ It is one
of the few buildings which has no sub-base or plinth of artificially
heaped earth or stone to give it elevation. It is built upon the
natural ground-level, which, however, is somewhat higher at this point
than the surrounding terrain. And it stands sheer on the edge of a
depression in the ground some four hundred feet across.
“It is possible that this depression represents the site of an ancient
quarry from which the stone for the building of the city was taken,
or it may be simply a natural hollow caused by the caving in of the
soft limestone surface rock. The front of Akab Tzib stretches a
distance of one hundred and seventy-six feet and in depth the building
is forty-eight feet. The structure is low, the façade rising only
to a height of eighteen feet. The walls, however, are capable of
withstanding a siege. They are of great thickness and constructed of
perfectly joined rectangular stones, the surfaces of which are dressed
and polished to smoothness. The expanse of the west wall is broken by
a shallow recess in the center which divides the wall into three equal
sections, with the middle section recessed or offset by a depth of
about three feet.
“This central part is pierced by three square-cut doorways. John L.
Stephens, who visited the temple more than eighty years ago, says that
in the middle section of the interior was a great stairway that led to
the roof. It has since collapsed and is now but a heap of stones and
dust. Apparently it was about forty-five feet wide. Knowing the Maya
custom, which was common, of erecting one structure on top of another,
we may surmise that this stairway was probably a sort of flying arch
and intended as a means of reaching a second temple to be built on top
of the low, massive-walled Akab Tzib. For some unknown reason the upper
temple was never erected. Many interesting theories have been advanced
as to why the architects abandoned their original plan. On each side
of what was once the stairway are doors leading into chambers. Besides
these entrances there are seven handsome doorways along the western
façade of the building. In all, there are eighteen rooms or apartments.
“The whole massive structure is an unsolved mystery. Over the doorway
of a small, dim chamber in the southeastern part of the building is
a carved lintel on which is depicted in bas-relief the seated figure
of a priest or a god, wearing a feathered head-dress and with a long
nose-plug protruding from the nostrils. The figure is seated on a
throne and holds in its hand the ceremonial _caluac_ or baton of rank.
In front of the figure, at its feet, is a graceful brazier containing
what was probably a burnt offering of some sort—copal or incense. On
each side of this well-carved picture are double rows of hieroglyphs,
the meaning of which is unknown. There are no other carvings, glyphs,
or pictures in the entire building. This fact is hard to understand,
because these ancient builders usually inscribed every available
surface. In one room is a large depression in the floor, and in the
center of the building is what appears to be a solid mass of masonry
forty-four by thirty feet and reaching clear to the ceiling. Perhaps it
contains hidden and secret chambers; that remains to be found out.
“Of one thing, however, I am reasonably sure: the carved lintel was
not inscribed nor originally designed for its present position, but
was taken bodily from some earlier structure, probably one of the now
leveled temples of the older Chi-chen Itza. It represents the period
of the highest Mayan art, which occurred before the domination of the
Nahuatls, who swept down from the north some centuries later. I believe
this building was not erected until after the abandonment of Chi-chen
Itza, the long residence at Chan Kan Putun, the return to Chi-chen
Itza, and the enslavement of the Mayas by the Nahuatls. Very likely it
is the most recently built of all the present monuments in the city,
and the one carved piece in it, the lintel, was taken from an older
building without reference to the significance of the glyphs. From this
lintel is derived the name of the temple, for Akab Tzib means literally
‘House of the Writing in the Dark.’
“Leaving Akab Tzib, we walk for the distance of a city block or so
through dense shrubbery and over an old stone fence, built perhaps
eighty years ago, and come to a most interesting building called La
Casa de las Monjas or the Nunnery. It is what might be called rambling,
yet is of exquisite architectural harmony and richly ornamented, in
utter contrast to the building we have just left. It is one of the
most wonderfully carved edifices of this old civilization to be found
anywhere in Yucatan. It spreads out for an eye-filling distance of two
hundred and twenty-eight feet, the center part of the huge pile rising
for nearly ninety feet, in three separate tiers, each smaller than the
one below it. Stretching away on each side of this center portion are
one- and two-story annexes.
[Illustration: The Nunnery, the only three-storied structure in the
Sacred City.]
[Illustration: The second story of the Nunnery.]
[Illustration: All that remains of the third story of the Nunnery.
Several inscribed stones built hit or miss into the wall were doubtless
taken from the older city.]
“How well its name fits this grimly beautiful old building is a matter
of conjecture. We know that the Maya priesthood was dominant in all
matters and that the lives of the people seem to have been governed by
a constant devotion to their pantheon of gods and especially to the
all-great Kukul Can. Their ceremonies were numerous and elaborate.
Doubtless there were many priests and perhaps priestesses. Long
training must have been required in the amazing and intricate rituals.
And the ancient historians relate that it was the custom to sequester
certain girls or women belonging to religious orders. It is not
unlikely that this vast building of many rooms and annexes, which seems
more fitted to be a place of residence than a temple, may have been
the abode of Mayan monks or nuns, or possibly a training school for
novitiates. Some believe it to have been the king’s palace.
“Not the least perplexing thing about La Casa de las Monjas is the
plain evidence that what now meets our eyes as a symmetrical whole
is, in fact, the result of several different periods of building. The
principal structure has been built in stages—for all the world as a
swallow year after year builds one nest on top of the previous one.
And the annexes evidently were built at various times, as the need for
them arose. The whole base of the building is buried in debris, which
detracts from the true and lovely lines of the architecture. I have
excavated a trench part-way around, to clear out this rubbish, and
the trench reveals the fact that La Casa de las Monjas has served as a
dwelling-place for many people, or that many lived near by even long
after the place had lost its sacred significance and its very name and
purpose were no longer known.
“Without danger of contradiction, I think we may in fancy reconstruct
this Nunnery, in the order of its building. The first structure was
a single, rectangular unit about one hundred feet in length. A later
builder caused it to be entirely filled with great stones and rubble
and cement, so that it formed a solid base or foundation. More masonry
was then erected to the same height, on three sides, to enlarge this
base area, and upon the whole was erected a building ninety feet long
and one third as wide, leaving a flat promenade twenty-five feet wide
all around, from which there is a delightful view of the surrounding
country. We have dug through the masonry of the sub-structures and
into the old, original building which was filled in with stone-work
to provide a support for the later and upper buildings, so that our
theories are substantiated that far at least.
“To reach the second structure, whose floor is thirty-four feet
above-ground, a great stone stairway of forty steps was erected, up
which twenty men might march abreast. If they were men of our day they
must surely come tumbling down again, for the steps are each nine
inches high but with very narrow treads, built for bare-footed or
sandaled folk and not for clodhopper boots or shoes.
“A third and still smaller structure—now little more than a jumble
of stones, except for a part of one façade and a doorway—was built
atop the second temple and served by another grand and steep stairway,
a continuation of the first. This topmost temple was rich in carved
stones, taken, in all probability, from the oft-ravaged older city.
The various annexes were built on to or adjacent to the first and
largest building. All this the reader will see from the illustrations
opposite page 65 and page 69. The custom of enlarging Maya temples by
such methods as just described was not uncommon. Perhaps it indicated
growing power or population. Surely it indicated long residence.
“The main building, constituting the second story, has five doorways on
the south side and one doorway at each end, and contains many chambers
and intercommunicating doorways. The end rooms extend clear across
the building. The central rooms are long and narrow, each with three
doorways. There are also very many shallow alcoves, scarcely more than
niches, which may have contained idols or scrolls—some say books. The
center portion is solid masonry, which originally may have contained
apartments later filled with stone to provide support for the third
story.
“The entire rambling structure is ornamented with symbolistic carvings
and murals in a profusion of designs, many of them of matchless
beauty in inspiration and execution. The façade of the main building
is twenty-five feet in height, with two handsome stone cornices
extending its whole length. The eastern façade in particular is crowded
with ornamentation. The dominant motif is the face of the god Kukul
Can—symbolic masks with upturned snouts which some observers have
called ‘elephant trunks.’ The same masks are seen again and again in
all these old ruins, but in many cases the projecting snouts have been
broken off by vandals; indeed, a special zeal has at some time been
devoted to this particular destruction. Linking the masks and carrying
the whole in a carefully planned and balanced decorative series are
geometrical designs and figures. Above the broad band of the upper
cornice and carved in deep relief are geometrical stone screens not
inferior to those of the Moors or of India.
“Over the main doorway are two bands of small, undeciphered
hieroglyphs, above which project six bold and gracefully curved
ornaments. From them, we may imagine, once hung a costly curtain, heavy
with embroidery. And still higher above the doorway, interrupting the
geometrical sculptures of the whole façade, is a horseshoe-shaped
frame within which may still be seen a badly defaced seated figure
with feathered head-dress. The lintels over the classic doorways are
of huge perfectly cut and polished stones, each bearing a multiplicity
of clear-cut glyphs which, like many things in this City of the Sacred
Well, tenaciously hold their secrets.
“The Nunnery stands a monument of grace and beauty whose charm is
at once evident to any beholder, and doubly so to him who perceives
how closely in every line and dimension, yet how subtly, it accords
with our modern ideas and rules of good design. But nowhere else
in the world is there anything like it. Unique, distinctive, it is
characteristic only of this ancient culture. The cut facing page 65,
representing one of the best of my many photographic attempts, tells
all that a photograph can, but it cannot begin to convey the beauty
of this masterpiece. In the great main hall were once many colorful
paintings upon the walls and ceilings, still indicated by bits of color
here and there or by an interrupted broad band of black or red. And in
the various rooms were paintings, nearly all now obliterated. They seem
to have reached quite lately their critical age, for many that were
almost perfect as recently as twenty years ago are faded or chipped
now. In a few years they will be gone forever, and for this reason I
have taken pains to obtain the most faithful possible copies of all of
them. These Maya paintings represent several periods of culture. Some
are childishly crude. Many are of an excellence of line and balance
and color not inferior to the best of modern art. Some even are drawn
in a most pleasingly free and sketchy manner which so exquisitely
portrays an idea without unnecessary detail that one almost expects
to see scrawled in the lower right hand corner the signature of some
well-known modern artist.
“The eastern or ground-level portion of the added basic structure
contains many rooms entered by way of six wide outer doorways.
“Near the main building are two smaller detached ones, the more
interesting being known as the Iglesia or Church. It is small in
comparison with the bulk of La Casa de las Monjas, being but twenty-six
feet long, half as wide, and thirty-two feet high. It has three
cornices and the principal decoration consists of two seated human
figures over the doorway. Hardly a square inch of its surface is
undecorated. Formerly it was stuccoed, or plastered, and painted. Much
of the original color still clings to the crevices and interstices of
its carved walls and it is evident that new layers of stucco were added
from time to time and new paint in appropriate colors. Such layers of
stucco and color may be seen where the stone has been chipped, with the
colors sometimes varying from those of the early coats.
“The carvings again portray the mask of Kukul Can, with interlinking
geometrical designs. A single doorway gives access to the interior,
once rich in murals, and the bright sunshine striking upon the white
floor floods the whole room with clear light. Close to the ceiling are
traces of a row of medallions which originally contained hieroglyphs.
“Another building of about the same size is similarly finished and
decorated with the mask of Kukul Can. It contains several small rooms.
The entire wall of one apartment has been removed, by not very ancient
builders, for the prosaic purpose of making a stone fence. In passing I
might mention also that a good-sized pit has been made near one side of
the grand stairway of La Casa de las Monjas, it being easier to get cut
stone in this way than to quarry it.
“No great amount of labor would be required to put this group of
buildings in nearly its pristine condition. Nearly all the stones that
have fallen lie where they fell and could easily be replaced. Near
the grand stairway lie many sculptured images of serpents, birds, and
animals, of massive size and carved in full relief. These formed the
balustrade and might be replaced even though some are missing. I have
no doubt that when the debris at the base of the buildings is removed
new archæological treasures will be revealed.
“As an interesting bit of authentic history, the main building was
occupied by the soldiers of Montejo, who were besieged there by the
enraged native populace. They escaped by night, through the rear of the
buildings, by means of a ruse. The besiegers did not discover until
dawn that the enemy had fled many hours before.
“Just when one decides that there is nothing new to surprise him,
in this old city, he comes upon something else to puzzle his brain,
spurring his curiosity into vain excursions after the why and wherefore
of it all.
“We leave the unexplainable Casa de las Monjas and, walking westward
less than a hundred yards, stand before the Caracol or Snail-shell,
which is entirely unlike any other building in the City of the Sacred
Well or in all of Yucatan. This curious structure, we imagine, was
either a watch-tower or an astronomical observatory—though it may have
served a quite different purpose. It is round and built on a terrace
two hundred feet square of cut stone, twenty feet in height. Above
this is a second stone terrace, twelve feet high. These terraces have
sheer vertical sides, but much fallen stone and debris have gathered
about them. From the west a stairway forty-five feet wide leads to the
first terrace; it was once bordered with great stone balusters in the
form of tremendous entwined serpents, their heads on the ground, their
bodies forming the balustrade and ending at the top in rattles. The
same sort of device is found again and again in Maya architecture. A
second similar stairway leads to the upper terrace and the door of the
building. A projecting ornamented cornice caps each terrace.
“At the top of the second stairway was once some large object which
Stephens thought was an idol, and here was uncovered a hieroglyphed
monument bearing the longest inscription yet found in the city. The
round tower is forty feet in diameter and forty feet high, with two
concentric walls, each two and a half feet thick. The inner wall
incloses a circular chamber at the center of which is a core of small
diameter, solid except for a winding stairway at its center, extending
from the ground-level to the height of the double walls. There is
also a passage, now almost obliterated, piercing the lower terrace and
connecting with this winding stairway. The building at the top of the
double walls has a deep-jutting five-tiered cornice above which rises
another and smaller single-walled tower, surrounded by a promenade or
ledge, not unlike the balcony of a lighthouse, at the height of the
cornice.
“The space between the outer and the inner wall provides an arched
chamber five feet wide and one hundred feet in circumference. The inner
chamber also is arched and is eight feet wide. The usual Maya arch
construction is employed, the arch beginning at a height of ten feet
and being about twenty-four feet at the peak. The upper ruined tower,
about twenty feet high, contained a stone-lined passage facing due
west which might have been used as a line of sight for astronomical
observations.
“The outer walls are pierced by four openings—windows or doorways,
whichever they may have been—corresponding to the four points of the
compass. Similar openings occur in the inner wall but, curiously, they
are exactly forty-five degrees out of line with the openings in the
outer wall. One of the most novel features in the construction are
the many wooden beams placed horizontally between the inner and outer
shells of masonry. As these are set in the masonry, it is evident that
they are an original and integral part of the building, probably put
there to help support the stone-work during construction. Many have
stood the test of time and are still stanch and firm. They are hewn
from the famous sapote tree, whose wood of steel-like hardness alone
could have endured through the centuries. There is no ornamentation
within the building, nor upon its walls, and the construction is pure
Maya except that it is round where all else is square.
“The curious edifice is on high ground and its construction leads
inevitably to the idea of a watch-tower. Its builders knew in their
time quite as much about astronomy as did any contemporary race—if
not more. The periods of sun, moon, and planets they knew with great
accuracy. For these reasons I like to think that their priests and
sages came to this tower, making divinations from the stars and
laboriously charting their positions and courses. Possibly they were
panic-stricken by an occasional eclipse of moon or sun, which they
called _chi-bal-kin_, ‘the moon or sun devoured by serpents or other
beings.’
“But perhaps this tower was no more than a military precaution, a
place where solitary watchers by day and night constantly scanned
the horizon. Maybe it was merely the local police station or fire
department from which could be seen any undue disturbance or the
outbreak of a conflagration. I shall leave it to you to make your own
conclusions, which may be quite as near to or as far from the actual
fact as my own, over which I have puzzled backward and forward for many
years.
“To the north a distance of four hundred feet is the so-called Red
House, or Chich-an Chob, the latter name meaning ‘strong, clean house.’
The name Red House is derived from the fact that the antechamber or
vestibule across the front of the building has a broad painted band of
red running about its four walls. This is the best-preserved building
of all my city; scarcely a stone is missing. Its four walls face
exactly the four points of the compass; its main entrance is in the
western wall, while the eastern wall is unbroken. It now rises from a
lovely grassy terrace, slightly sloping from the vertical and about
twelve feet high by sixty feet long, faced with large stone blocks
and having rounded corner stones at each of the four sloping edges
of the pyramidal form. Extending around the top of the terrace is a
regular Maya cornice, or projecting coping. Approaching the western
entrance is a stone stairway, twenty feet wide, of sixteen high and
shallow cut-stone steps—a staircase as distinctly Mayan as the mask
of Kukul Can. And this stairway is as perfect to-day as the day it was
finished, not a stone out of place or broken. It seems incredible that
it could have lain there so many centuries at the mercy of the tropical
wilderness and of passing vandals and have suffered not at all.
“Chich-an Chob deceives one at first glance, seeming to rise to a
stately height because of its twenty-eight foot façade. The roof,
however, is but twenty feet above the floor. The false front is
nevertheless very lovely, being made of stone latticework which
skilfully weaves with geometrical designs the ever-present elongated
masks of the great Kukul Can, with the upturned snouts unbroken.
The construction throughout is pure Mayan of the highest period,
typical of many buildings seen in the southern part of Yucatan and
particularly at Palenque. Three square-cut, high doorways give access
to a shallow vestibule running the length of the building. Back of
this is a wall with three more doorways, each opening into a separate
chamber. A frieze of hieroglyphs cut in the stones somewhat above the
doors completely encircles the walls of the vestibule. All of the
interior walls are plastered and painted and have been replastered and
repainted many times. The outer walls up to the stone latticework are
quite plain, the cornices or moldings are unadorned, and except for the
absence of pillars it could pass for a gem of Doric architecture. Its
very simplicity is a pleasing contrast to the Nunnery; yet it is no
less distinctly Mayan.
“Two hundred feet beyond Chich-an Chob is a level terrace, or pyramid,
sixty-four feet square, which supports a small three-chambered temple
with an entrance to the south. One end has fallen in, but two of the
chambers are in good repair. This temple, so far as I know, is nameless
and at present is of no special interest. Clustered near by, to the
right, are several smaller pyramids whose buildings are merely heaped
ruins. Some of these contain tombs. Probably all were burial-places of
great men. The principal pyramid of this group contains the tomb of the
high priest and it is the scene of one of my most thrilling adventures.”
The story of the exploration of the high priest’s tomb, alluded to by
Don Eduardo, is very interesting and will be related in another chapter.
In about the center of the City of the Sacred Well is El Castillo,
whose imposing bulk is by far the greatest of all of the silent old
structures of this ancient metropolis. Don Eduardo has told us that
this huge pile struck him speechless when he came upon it suddenly in
the moonlight upon his first introduction to Chi-chen Itza. He is not
the only one who has been struck dumb by the first sight of the rugged
and beautiful temple, high and huge above its surroundings. Coming back
from the States one year, I made the acquaintance, on the boat, of a
middle-aged American and his charming daughter, who with some others
composed a small party bound for Mérida, the capital of Yucatan. As I
had been to Chi-chen Itza many times, I naturally, in my talk with this
gentleman, was enthusiastic over the idea of showing him the ruined
city, and finally the whole party decided to go there. We arrived at
the little town of Dzitas, where the gentlemen on horseback, I on an
ambling mule, and the rest in _volans_ set out for the City of the
Well. All the way the members of the party took turns in joking me
about my pet city and my stories concerning it. I was in every sense
the tail of the procession, as my mule had decided ideas of its own,
as mules have, and would travel no faster than a slow walk; but the
rest of the party were not traveling on a bed of roses and there was
no unwillingness to stop and wait for me while they composed ironical
witticisms.
When we came near to Chi-chen Itza I ranged my mule alongside the
gentleman who was leader in the heckling. I did this knowing that we
would travel almost to the Great Pyramid of El Castillo and then, at a
sharp turn to the right, view it completely and suddenly.
My friend was in the middle of another verbal dig when the sight smote
him. His mouth simply remained open. I have not yet heard the last of
his apologies for his previous jesting remarks and I find my revenge
very sweet.
The pyramid, or terrace, on which El Castillo stands is two hundred
feet square and rises to a height of seventy-five or eighty feet. The
exact height is rather difficult to measure because of the debris at
the bottom. The top of the terrace has a level surface, or platform,
sixty feet square, upon which stands the temple. The four sides of the
pyramid rise steeply at an angle of fifty degrees and the pyramid is
terraced, each terrace being nine feet high, with a narrow horizontal
offset. The rises are faced with cut stone beautifully paneled. Each of
the four pyramid faces is vertically bisected by a wide stone stairway
more gentle in its incline than the angle of the pyramid itself but
still very long and steep. The stairs start at the top flush with the
ledge upon which the temple stands and draw away farther and farther,
as they descend, from the plane of the pyramid face, with an increasing
ratio of projection so that at the bottom they project an appreciable
distance beyond the pyramid base. Thus the stairways pleasingly break
the monotony of line—which is good art and good architecture. Like all
Maya stairways, they have narrow treads and high risers.
The cult of Kukul Can, indicated everywhere in the City of the Sacred
Well, nowhere attains so overshadowing an importance as here in this
vast temple. Each of the four corners of the pyramid is bounded by the
huge undulating body of a stone serpent, extending from the ground
clear to the top of the pyramid. Each undulation of the serpent’s body
marks a terrace or gradient and to lift a single stone section of one
of these mammoth serpents would be a task for a dozen men. Everywhere
on the horizontal levels of the terraces springs up each year a thick
growth of grasses as high as a tall man’s head.
The principal stairway, facing the north, is guarded at the base by
two huge heads of feathered serpents, jaws open, fangs displayed,
and forked tongues extended. And each of these heads, excepting only
the forked tongue, is hewn from a single solid block of stone, with
every crotalic detail perfectly carved. The bodies belonging to these
serpent heads, conventionalized into two broad, flat bands, extend up
the mound, one on each side of the stairway, to the principal entrance
of the temple. On the narrow platform and forming the main doorway of
this holy of holies are two more immense monolithic serpent heads,
now partially destroyed. They are used as pillars trisecting into
three parts the great forty-foot doorway. The conventionalized and
foreshortened head of the serpent forms the base of the column and the
foreshortened tail forms the capital which is, in its own way, no less
a worthy architectural creation than the Greek Corinthian column, with
its capital of acanthus leaves.
The triply vaulted ceiling rests upon great sapote beams supported by
three-foot-thick walls and massive square-faced, paneled stone pillars.
This sapote wood, called _ya_ by the natives, is dark red in color and
turns chocolate brown with age and exposure. It is nearly as heavy
as iron and is very hard. In many ways it resists the action of the
tropical elements better than metal, and insects seem to produce no
effect upon its adamantine surface. These beams are wondrously carved
and with few exceptions have faithfully sustained the tremendous weight
of stone put upon them. Only a few have broken with age, so that but
a part of the façade of the temple has fallen. For a thousand years,
at least, they have stood and at the time of the Conquest in 1540 they
were in much the same condition in which we now find them.
In front of the main doorway originally stood a great stone table
with an intricately carved surface. It was supported by curious
Atlantean stone figures and some of these strange male caryatids were
bearded. Other figures on piers and columns within the temple also are
bearded—with one exception the only bearded figures portrayed in this
whole city which was inhabited by a beardless race. Close examination
shows, however, that the carved figures wear masks and it is the masks
which are bearded. This fact only enhances the mystery, pointing to the
possibility of a still more ancient past and of ritualistic traditions
so remote in their beginnings that all memory of their original meaning
has faded and only the ritual or empty shell remains of what was once
living fact. Analogous are some of the archaic Greek rituals and
Druidical rites.
Who were the prototypes of these bearded figures? Were they the
mysterious, blue-eyed, fair-skinned people clad in armor who were
supposed to have once landed at Tamoclan near Tampico? Norsemen? Or
were they the old Atlanteans whose country Plato says “sank in one day
and one night beneath the waves of the ocean”?
Of the many marvelous carvings and paintings in this temple I shall say
more in another chapter.
Doubtless upon the wide level roof of the temple were performed
religious rites,—solemn invocations to the sun and the like,—for,
throughout, this edifice leaves one with the impression that its
character was purely religious. There are no warlike scenes pictured,
only solemnity and high reverence for the great gods.
Lying within the shadow of El Castillo are the broken remains of
another building, called the Temple of the Tigers. It takes its name
from a frieze of bas-reliefs which is one of the outstanding treasures
of the lost art of the Mayas. In these wonderful carvings the sculptor
has perfectly caught the feline vigor and grace of the American jaguar.
No doubt he had a first-hand knowledge of jaguars, which were very
plentiful then and still abound in this vicinity if one wishes to
go to the trouble of looking for them. To the Mayas the jaguar was
the “Protector of the Fields” because he lay in wait for the deer in
the open and cultivated spaces. It was the custom of the natives to
put some gift or friendly token in the corner of the field for this
god-like beast. Probably his very life was sacred as are those of many
animals in India.
The Tiger Temple is built on a pyramid base with a stairway up the
side approaching a wide doorway which is divided by pillars into
three parts. Much of the sustaining pyramid has crumbled away, or
been removed, leaving the building perched on a sheer wall of roughly
cemented rubble as viewed from one side. The façade is thirty-five
feet long and twenty-two feet high and at each side of the entrance is
a great serpent’s head. Each of these monoliths weighs several tons
and is carved with amazing skill; every feature and scale is flawless
and they are painted or enameled, the colors being still visible if
not vivid. The head of each is green, while eyes and open mouth are
red. The scales end with the head, and the remainder of the body,
elaborately feathered, rises in a graceful cylindrical column, with
the tail now broken but originally projecting upward along the face
of the building and terminating in well-defined rattles. A portion
of the front roof has fallen, due to the breaking of wooden lintels
supporting the mass of stone of which it was composed, but fortunately
the serpents’ heads and the door columns are unharmed.
All of the interior walls are solidly painted with battle scenes,
scenes of domestic life, and pictures of sacrificial pageants. Many
of the colors are as brilliant as the day they were laid on these
smooth walls, although the wonderful paintings have been much marred
by vandals. The many figures, each in a different posture, each
group differently clothed or armed, and all cleverly drawn, in good
proportion, and elaborately colored, are capable of holding the most
casual observer by the hour and are a never-ending delight to the
enthusiast.
The Tiger Temple is in every way the prize exhibit among the
various edifices of the Sacred City, not for its size but for the
craftsmanship and charm of its every detail. And yet I must make one
small reservation, for just back and at the base of the Tiger Temple
is a small, almost ruined building, nameless, lacking a roof and a
front, yet containing on its three still standing walls and what little
remains of a ceiling more than eighty sculptured figures. There are
warriors in armor of metal, hide, and wood; priests in ceremonial
vestments; kings and chieftains. The various figures are distinct
and different from one another and the features are individual,
doubtless recognizable if we but knew the great men in whose likeness
they were carved. Each figure is identified by its own personal and
distinguishing sign, or mark, usually placed overhead. Vivid paint or
enamel was painstakingly applied to the sculpture and in many places it
is still pronounced.
Some of the work is crude, other parts exquisitely refined, indicating
that it is not all the work of one man. I am told by those well versed
in stone-carving and the making of bas-reliefs that even with modern
stone-cutting tools it would take one man at least twenty years
to accomplish this work. For lack of a better name I always call
this wonderful roofless place the Temple of Bas-Reliefs. When first
observed, the sculptured walls look merely like a variegated patchwork.
In order to see it at its best one should arrive at about ten o’clock
in the morning, at which time the shadows cast by the background bring
out all the raised parts in strong contrast and the whole procession
of priests and warriors marches clearly before one’s eyes. The south
wall, however, can be seen at its best only for a short time soon after
sunrise and it is well worth the discomfort of early rising. Very
probably there was an arrangement of smooth-faced, light-reflecting
pillars in this building which caused all the walls to stand out in
bold relief.
In the middle of the floor and facing the entrance squats a stone
jaguar. Perhaps upon his broad, flat back may have been placed holy
offerings to the gods.
The fallen front of this temple was once supported by two finely carved
and painted square columns, still majestically erect, and remindful of
those other ancient temples of Greece and Egypt.
And now we come to what is perhaps the most curious thing in the whole
metropolis. The Tiger Temple, the Temple of Bas-Reliefs, and two other
buildings surrounded a great inclosure having a flat paved floor
four hundred and twenty feet long, bounded on the sides by smooth,
perpendicular walls more than twenty feet high and thirty feet thick.
A hundred feet from the northern extremity of this extraordinary court
and facing it is a building consisting of a single chamber. Its front
wall is lacking, but arising from the rubbish are two ornamented round
columns which were evidently the supports for the wall. The whole
interior of the building, from floor to peak, is covered with worn and
faded bas-reliefs. In the center of the rear wall is the perfect figure
of a man, bearded and with decidedly Hebraic features.
At the opposite end of the court and a hundred feet back from it is a
building extending nearly the entire width of the court. The roof of
this structure has fallen, but the remains of sculptured square columns
are visible.
And on the two side walls of the court, on the precise middle line,
were mounted two great carved stone rings, like millstones, twenty feet
above the floor. Each ring is beautifully carved with the entwined
bodies of serpents. The rings are four feet in diameter and a foot
thick, and the hole in each is one foot seven inches in diameter. One
of these rings is still mounted in the masonry of the wall, while its
counterpart once on the adjacent wall has fallen, but, happily, is
unbroken.
A very similar court and similar rings have been found at Uxmal,
another ancient Maya city of Yucatan.
Obviously this court was intended for some public game and it has
therefore been given the name of the Tennis-court or Gymnasium. In
an account of the diversions of Montezuma, given by Herrera, who
accompanied Cortes, is the following illuminating description:
The Emperor took much delight in seeing the game of ball which
the Spaniards have since prohibited due to the mischief which
often happens at the game. By the Aztecs this game was called
_tlachtli_—being like our tennis. The ball was made from the
gum of a tree that grows in hot countries, which, after having
holes made in it, distills great white drops that soon harden
and being worked and molded together, this material turns as
black as pitch.[5] The balls made thereof, although quite
hard and heavy to the hand, did bound and fly as well as our
footballs and there was no need to blow them, nor did they use
staves. They struck the ball with any part of the body as it
happened or as they could most conveniently. Sometimes he lost
who touched it with any other part but his hips, which was
looked upon among them as very dexterous and for the purpose
that the ball might rebound better they fastened a piece of
stiff leather on to their hips. They might strike the ball
every time it rebounded, which it would do several times one
after another, in so much that it looked as if it had been
alive. They played in parties, so many on each side, for a load
of mantles or what the gamesters could afford. They also played
for gold and feather work and sometimes they played themselves
away. The place where they played was a ground room, long,
narrow and high and higher at the sides than at the ends. They
kept the walls plastered and smooth, also the floor. On the
side walls they fixed certain stones like those used in a mill,
with a hole quite through the middle. The hole was just as big
as the ball and he who could strike it through thereby won the
game, and in token of its being an extraordinary success which
rarely happened, he had the right to the cloaks of all the
lookers-on.
It was very pleasant to see that as soon as ever the ball was
in the hole, those standing by took to their heels, running
away with all their might to save their cloaks, laughing and
rejoicing, while others scoured after them to secure their
cloaks for the winner, who was obliged to offer some sacrifice
to the idol of the Court and to the stone whose hole the ball
had passed.
Every Court had a temple day where at midnight they performed
certain ceremonies and enchantments on the two walls and on the
middle of the floor, singing certain songs or ballads, after
which a priest of the Great Temple went with some of their
religious men to bless it. He uttered some words, threw the
ball about the court four times (towards the four points of
the compass) and then it was consecrated and might be played
in, but not before.
The owner of the Court, who was also a lord, never played
without making some offering and performing some ceremony to
the Idol of the Game, which shows how superstitious they were
even in their diversions.
This account which has come down to us will save much head-scratching
on the part of future archæologists as to the purpose of the unique
court and its carved millstones.
The Gymnasium or Tennis-court and the buildings surrounding it were not
pure Mayan, but were unquestionably introduced under the Nahuatl or
Aztec régime.
Nearly all of the remaining buildings are in too bad a condition to
yield much of further interest until careful digging and replacing
of fallen parts can restore them to some semblance of their original
form. One such fallen temple on a great pyramid is now marked only
by four nine-foot pillars whose square sides are chiseled with
queer bearded figures, some of whom carry what I can only call a
“rabbit-stick”—evidently some sort of ceremonial staff or wand. These
pillars were unquestionably the front of an immense temple whose wooden
lintels have given way, letting fall the whole edifice. In front of
this ruin were several stone tables, and apparently they stretched at
one time, end to end, clear across the base of the pyramid. The tables
were of various heights and consisted of stone slabs six inches thick
and about three feet wide. They were supported by grotesque dwarfish
Atlantean figures with upraised hands, the palms held flat and on a
level with their heads. While grotesque, these figures have much
dignity and sureness of line. Originally they were brightly painted.
The tables have been so disarranged that it is impossible to tell what
was their original position or even to guess at their purpose. The
temple faced west, as indicated by the broken stairway leading up to
it. In the midst of the debris lies a fractured serpent column nearly
five feet in length, with a stone tongue projecting two feet from its
fanged lips. The column rising from the serpent’s head is two feet in
diameter and its capital was the creature’s tail. The broken outlines
of a rear chamber reached through a vestibule just behind the serpent
column measure thirty-six by fifteen feet. The doorway of the chamber
has square-cut, sculptured jambs.
A few hundred feet to the north is the ruined Temple of the Cones.
Strewn all about are large cone-shaped stones like big projectiles, but
cut and carved. It is thought that they formed some sort of ornamental
frieze. Some are handsomely sculptured. There are also in this vicinity
figures of the Chac Mool type—an animal body, usually a jaguar, with
the head of a man.
Some distance to the right of El Castillo are the ruins of what must
have been a very important temple. They occupy a great irregular mound
some six hundred feet long and are bordered by several pyramids and
other ruins of varied character. The largest of the pyramids is fifty
feet high and stands in the northwest corner of the group of ruins.
All that remains of it are columns, but there are almost a forest of
them, some round, some square. We have called this ruin the Temple of
Columns. It seems as though here must have been an elaborate plaza of
temples, colonnades, and sunken courts. Even now archæologists from
the Carnegie Foundation of Washington, D.C., are at work in reclaiming
this portion of the Sacred City from the jungle, clearing the debris
and working out the jig-saw puzzle of replacing each fallen stone in
its rightful position.
Everywhere for miles one comes upon huddled debris-covered mounds and
carved stones. In the very heart of the jungle is the overgrown ruin
of a tremendous pyramid and temple, while here and there unexpected
columns rise amid the trees. More than thirty such ruins have been
counted, choked by rank jungle growth—palaces, no doubt, of high
priests and mighty chieftains. And I think sadly as I view them that
the study of archæology is long and time is fleeting.
CHAPTER VI
AN IDLE DAY IN THE JUNGLE
Several thousands of years before that sturdy Scotch engineer John
MacAdam gave to the world the broken-rock road surface known as
“macadam,” which has done so much to make communication easier, roads
were built in Yucatan that embodied all of his sound principles of
road-making. And MacAdam lived and died without ever having heard
of them. In fact, he had been sleeping beneath the green sod of his
native kirk for at least a decade before Europe or North America knew
that these old roads of Yucatan existed. The thoroughness and good
engineering of their construction rival the famous roads of the Roman
Empire or of present-day highways.
In ancient times Chi-chen Itza and all the great and lesser cities of
the Yucatan peninsula were linked by a network of smooth, hard-surfaced
highways. The Mayas of to-day call these old roads _zac-be-ob_, or
white ways. The name is of ancient origin, used, perhaps, by the
very builders themselves and no doubt these roads were like ribbons
stretching mile after mile through field and forest and deserving
quite as much the appellation of “White Way” as any of our blazing
night-lighted thoroughfares.
But alas! they are no longer white, no longer even distinguishable as
roads for any great distance, but are buried beneath matted roots and
brown earth. And this land which once had the best roads on earth
became a place where until recently good roads were unknown, where
every cow-path was called _camino real_ or royal road but was decidedly
unregal.
Don Eduardo has painstakingly studied the old highways and for the rest
of this chapter I will merely repeat what he has so often told me:
“The old roads, each and every one, went down to bed-rock, and upon that
solid foundation was built up a ballast of broken limestone, with the
larger stones at the bottom. As the surface of the road was reached,
smaller stones were used and the crevices were filled in. And the whole
face of the road was given a smooth, hard coating of a mortar cement of
lime and finely sifted white earth, known then and to-day as _zac-cab_.
The hard-pan of Yucatan is limestone ledge rock and as a rule it is not
very far beneath the surface soil. Often in the building of roads the
first layer or ballast consisted of large boulders, not merely tumbled
in haphazard, but carefully placed and with the interstices filled in
with smaller stones, painstakingly fitted and hammered into place. Thus
a firm anchorage was provided that has held through the centuries.
The second and third courses, each of smaller boulders and stones,
were quite as carefully placed. The final course was constructed of
stones the size of a bushel basket and smaller, wedged together with
rock fragments. Within a foot or so of the desired road-level, rock
fragments from the size of an egg to that of a small walnut were
leveled in, a grouting made, and the whole pounded until a hard, level
surface was obtained. Mortar or cement was then applied in a thin
coating and when this had hardened sufficiently gangs of stout-muscled
laborers armed with smooth, fine-grained polishing-stones rubbed the
plastic surface until it became compacted into a polished flatness
almost as smooth-coated as tile and nearly as hard.
“The majority of the stones used were not quarried but were isolated
boulders rounded by erosion and stained with iron from the ‘red earth’
in which they are usually found. Seldom was any rock used which could
easily be cut and used for the construction of buildings or temples.
“These old highways—what a tremendous labor they must have been! What
miles and miles of carrying the stones to build them! And nothing but
man-power to move the huge boulders. Centuries, perhaps, were spent in
the building, and millions of sweating men.
“Their traffic problems did not concern vehicles, not even horses
nor other beasts of burden. The roads were built for travelers afoot
and the burden-carriers were men, traveling in single file as human
carriers do the world over. And yet there must have been much traffic,
for some of these roads are twenty-five feet in width, so that four
files of men with their loads could easily pass, two lines going one
way and two in the opposite direction.
“The largest and longest of these ancient roadways connects Chi-chen
Itza with the once important cities of Uxmal and Tiho. It is
twenty-five feet wide. The long road from Chi-chen Itza to ancient
Zac-ci (now Valladolid) and the unnamed but important towns between
Zac-ci and Lake Co-ba, is bifurcated again and again into more and more
narrow highways, resembling creeks flowing together to form eventually
a mighty river.
“What a picture these forgotten roads must have been in the golden
age of the Mayas!—pulsing with life, crowded with water-carriers,
venders, idlers, pious pilgrims, nobles with their retinues, farmers
bringing their produce to the city, itinerant craftsmen, rich men,
beggarmen, thieves; a cheerful jostling of motley and purple; a riot of
color and of all the things men buy and sell.
“Came a squad of soldiers, crystal-tipped lances glinting in the
sunlight; or a solemn procession of priests and devotees with sacred
whistles shrilling or the boom of the _tunkul_, while the laughing
crowd parted and made silent obeisance to the holy ones.
“Along the sides of the road every now and then are low raised
platforms, or elevations, which have lost all semblance of their
pristine contours, so that one can only guess at their purpose. It
has been suggested that they were originally hollowed out and were
_holtunes_, hollow stones, or water-reservoirs, where the traveler
might quench his thirst. My own examination of them convinces me
that they were, for the major part at least, nothing more than
resting-places where the carrier might deposit his load, letting
slip the band from about his forehead which held the burden on his
shoulders. And well he might rest, this ancestor of the present sturdy
Maya, for he bore just as incredibly heavy burdens for as incredibly
long distances.
“There is a striking similarity in the practical engineering of the
Maya roadways and the construction of the stone terraces upon which the
temples were built. One day, bent upon the study of such construction
and to verify certain conclusions I had reached, I had recourse to
a deep excavation made in the base mound or pyramid of an important
fallen structure which is located some distance north of the Great
Pyramid of El Castillo. This excavation, so some of the natives told
me, had been made by a ‘stranger’ (white man), short of body but
thick-set and very powerful. He was, they said, ‘a very positive man,
with a long gray beard, and this was so long ago that few are now alive
who remember.’ No one who has ever seen and known the late Doctor Le
Plongeon, intrepid investigator and discoverer of the famous monumental
‘Chac Mool’ figure, could fail to recognize the faithfulness of this
native description. And from all his years of labor Doctor Le Plongeon
evolved a Mayan theology which is either inspired or the result of
a mentality unhinged by too great labor. Certainly it seems to be
imagination run wild, with little of fact to bear it out. It is no less
than tragic, for never did archæologist drive himself to more herculean
effort than did Le Plongeon.
“To resume my story, this excavation was like a deep chasm, bisecting
the crowning platform and going clear down to bed-rock, and thus it
fitted perfectly my purpose. Nearly forty years had passed since Le
Plongeon made the excavation, and Nature had done her best with wind
and rain and vegetation to heal the wound. Loosened material from
the sides of the cut had fallen in, providing an excellent bed for
climbing vines, saplings, and big-leafed plants. The roots of big
trees, no longer supported by the stones, had given way and the trees
had fallen, bridging with their trunks the crevice. Vines, saplings,
and flowering plants grew up and twined about and embraced the bridging
tree trunks, so that one would scarcely know without close scrutiny
that an excavation had been made. The two tree trunks which lay side by
side, bridging the space overhead, were both of hardwood. One was a
_yax-nic_, light-colored and with bark of silver gray, while the other
was a _chac-ti_, dark red and with loose-held bark, in decay separating
from the trunk in long, curling ribbons.
“Near me were many big spiders, flat, crab-like and motionless, yet
with bright pin-point eyes that seemed fiercely awake, waiting and
watching for whatever prey might come to their nipper-like jaws.
Their long legs and still longer caliper-pointed antennæ lay sprawled
flat against the tree trunks so close that on casual inspection the
creatures might pass for bits of tree fungus. Small lizard-like
reptiles, with beautiful diamond-like eyes and heads as ugly as sin,
sprinted up and down the tree trunks and under and over the branches,
skilfully avoiding the spiders and other dangers. Both spiders and tiny
lizards on the _yax-nic_ trunk were gray in color, blending perfectly
with the bark surface, while those on the _chac-ti_ trunk were dull
red to match the bark—an example of natural camouflage or protective
coloring as striking as any I have ever seen.
“Out came the powerful pocket magnifying-glass which I always carry.
While looking at a gorgeous little insect decked in gold and green, I
became aware of a commotion in the _yax-nic_ tree and turned the lens
in that direction. What I saw was a fearsome-looking head and a body
that was no less than an walking horror. The head seemed to be all jaws
and glittering eyes—deep, powerful grinding mandibles that worked like
steel-cutting shears; eyes lidless, unblinking, bulging, and coldly
cruel. And the whole body and pointed legs were incased in gray armor
of metallic luster. It was with a sigh of relief that I laid down the
lens and realized that I had been gazing only at a spider and not some
antediluvian monster. Except for the comforting fact of relativity of
size between man and these creatures, I doubt if there ever existed
three more terrifying animals than the crab-like spider, _chin-tun_,
the tiny crested lizard, _hu_, and the giant-armored ant, _choch_,
whose sting is worse than that of the scorpion, often producing fever
and sometimes death.
“Directly overhead, between the fallen trees, I could see growing at
the top of the mound the thorny _katzin_, one long branch of which
swayed over the brink of the man-made chasm. And almost at the very tip
of this branch hung the pensile nest of an oriole, with the brilliant
feathered male singing his lungs out beside it. The gold-and-black
plumage against the green leaves and the glossy jet-black Spanish moss
of which the nest was made produced a picture that Gauguin would surely
have longed to put on canvas. Suddenly his song ended in a high-pitched
scream, as a brown hawk swooped from the sky and clutched not the bird
but the nest. With one scaly talon the pirate gripped the neck of the
nest, while with the other he tore at its woven bottom. He worked like
a flash, but my revolver flashed yet more quickly and effectively. The
mother bird and the eggs, I think, were saved, but the nest was sadly
in need of the work of an expert in oriole nest-repairing and I imagine
it was some time before the master of the house recovered sufficiently
from his fright to resume his liquid melody. At least I heard no more
from him that day, although every other bird in the neighborhood
immediately dropped what he was doing and came over to view the damage
and condole with or congratulate the victims of the assault, so that it
was a full ten minutes before the jungle resumed its habitual quiet
and the averted tragedy was sufficiently forgotten for the near-by
_dzaypkin_, or tree cicada, to resume his not unmusical note that
sounds like a muted automobile siren.
“I had outlined my work for the morrow, selected the place where the
shovel should follow out the prodigious work of Le Plongeon, gone these
many years. I had even snapped the rubber band back on my note-book
and was turning my thoughts luncheonward when almost between my feet
I heard a frightened squeak and saw a small brown rabbit dart from
the opening under the stone ledge on which I was sitting and scurry
into the adjoining underbrush at a speed incredible even for a much
frightened bunny.
“This looked promising and I concluded to sit a while longer and wait
developments. Only a few seconds elapsed before there emerged from the
same hole the blunt ophidian head of an enormous boa-constrictor. The
unpleasant creature came out uncertainly and the ugly head wavered
about nearly on a level with my knees and much too close for comfort.
Boas, I think, have not a very keen power of scent. This one, at least,
seemed to take up the trail of the rabbit with some difficulty. Yet I
can believe, too, that that particular rabbit got over the ground so
quickly that he left no scent whatever. Or it is possible that the near
presence of an unseen human being bewildered the scent faculties of the
huge snake.
“You may be sure that I had kept very, very still, trying to believe
what has so often been told me—that few jungle creatures recognize man
by his form alone as long as he remains silent and motionless. At any
rate, the big reptile finally started in the general direction taken by
the rabbit, which no doubt was several hundred miles away by that time
if he had maintained his initial rate of travel. Apparently the same
idea came to the boa, for he soon reappeared and, still heedless of my
presence, passed almost between my legs and reëntered what appeared
to be his permanent home, on the ground floor of the pyramid, in the
interstices between the big stones which formed its base.
“After making sure that he had entirely gone in and, figuratively
speaking, closed the door after him, I took his measurements from
observations on certain stone projections he had passed. He was not
less than sixteen and a half feet long. Deciding that I had had quite
enough adventure for one morning, I bade the spot adieu and went home
to lunch.”
CHAPTER VII
THE SACRED WELL
Yucatan has a peculiar geological structure. The soil is usually very
thin, and beneath it is porous limestone rock. Owing to the thinness of
the soil, vegetation, prolific as it is, does not grow high and the few
large trees grow only where the bed-rock has in some way been broken,
thus providing depth of soil for the roots.
The limestone foundation is of minute sea-shells, for it was all once
sea-bottom; and this porous rock is very subject to erosion, so that
the whole peninsula is honeycombed with subterranean streams and
channels and caves, while every here and there are natural wells,
or cenotes. Some, like the two greater wells at Chi-chen Itza, are
very wide and deep; others are tiny. Nowhere is the elevation above
sea-level great, and many of these natural wells extend down to
sea-level and are fed by seepage from the sea. Others, of course, are
partly fed by surface drainage and nearly all provide an inexhaustible
supply of water. Indeed, I believe that it would be practically
impossible to provide any pumping equipment which would drain the huge
Sacred Well.
In the case of nearly all these wells, except those very close to the
sea-coast, the water does not contain salt or minerals evident to the
taste, as the limestone rock is a perfect filter. The water, however,
as might be expected in this tropical setting, is fairly alive with
animalcula. One soon becomes accustomed to such fleshy nourishment in
his beverage and ceases to find it unpleasant.
In the dry season the cenotes provide virtually the only water-supply,
because there are almost no lakes or surface streams. Owing to the
porosity of the rock, moisture sinks into the earth very rapidly and in
only a little while after a heavy rain the ground is again quite dry.
To-day, as in ancient times, life is dependent upon the natural wells
and it is easy to see why the city of Chi-chen Itza was located as it
is. On every hacienda, the manor is built adjacent to a cenote. So,
too, are the villages. While cenotes are not rare, still they are not
common enough to provide a convenient water-supply for the majority of
the populace.
In Mérida the wealthy inhabitants have cenotes upon their grounds,
providing delightful places to bathe. And around them many pretty
grottos or underground chambers have been hollowed out from the rock
by artificial means, where it is always cool and where the families
resort in the heat of the day. Cenotes are often found in the jungle
and sometimes are ideal places for hunting. Where the well has sloping
walls or a reasonably good path down to the water, it is sure to be
patronized by wild animals of all kinds. Many cenotes contain fish,
especially catfish.
One device employed in olden times and still used to augment the
water-supply is a shallow reservoir, or cistern, called a chultun
(stone calabash), which fills with water in the rainy season and tides
over, to a certain extent, the arid months. But it is usually a dry
hole before the dry season is far advanced. These rain-cisterns are
of all sizes and shapes. There are a few ruined cities, like Uxmal,
which had no cenotes or other natural water-supply and which must have
depended solely upon the impounded water of many chultuns.
The inexhaustible natural wells were early utilized by the Spanish
plantation-owners, who in the irrigation of their fields employed the
noria, that ancient, rather clumsy big wheel with water-buckets or
dippers fastened to its periphery. It is in operation to-day in Yucatan
just as it is in Spain and the Levant.
At Chi-chen Itza are three main cenotes and some lesser ones. The
Sacred Well was called “Chen Ku” (_Chen_ means “well”) and was never
called _dzonot_, or cenote, which gives the impression that the great
well may have been made by human effort or at least was thus enlarged.
Perhaps, however, this idea that human agency was employed in its
construction may have arisen mostly from the fact of its circular form
and perpendicular sides, which may quite logically have been the work
of Nature alone, or Nature aided by man. De Sander speaks of this well
as having been formed in part by man, and I think his theory is not
improbable. But surely the great well is, for the most part, a work of
Nature.
Tol-oc, the next largest well in the Sacred City, was the main source
of potable water. In ancient times a stone stairway led down into its
waters. To-day the upper steps are gone, but one can see a clearly
defined line of chiseled steps some three feet or more beneath the
surface and adjacent to these is distinguishable another line of steps.
Don Eduardo thinks the stairway originally consisted of a broad flight
leading from the top of the well down to the water-level and that at
its base was a narrow stone platform. It is impossible to determine
now how wide the stairway was, or whether or not his surmise is correct
that there was a platform at the bottom.
His conclusions were made several years ago, when the water in the well
was unusually low. The fact that the rise and fall of the water-level
in this cenote bears little if any relation to local rain-fall leads
to the belief that its principal source is far distant and comes down
through some permeable rock strata, until by reason of a rock fault
it gushes up into the well of Tol-oc. Overhanging the wall are large
trees, orchid-covered, whose delicate perfume floats down to meet the
water. There are orchids here that would quickly make a fortune for a
New York florist.
At first sight the water seems dust-covered and turgid, but the dust
on the surface is only pollen from the orchids and the big lilies that
cluster against the cliff-like walls. It is therefore good, clean, and
deeply poetic dust, and beneath the surface the water is crystal clear
and cold as any bubbling New England spring. To bathe in Tol-oc is an
unalloyed joy.
The large cenote of X-Katum also is on the outskirts of the city and
is famous among the natives to-day for the purity and softness of its
water. It has no recorded history nor traditions, but the worn grooves
in the solid stone of its brink, where ropes have raised and lowered
countless jars for countless centuries, is testimony more eloquent than
words.
The many other cenotes in and around the city all contain very pure
water and are apparently inexhaustible. Around them are the remains
in stone and mortar of what were surely important structures. Near
the cenote of Yula, which is almost six miles from the center of the
ancient city, Don Eduardo was fortunate enough to uncover a large stone
tablet, one side of which is entirely filled with clear, minutely
carved hieroglyphs.
The Via Sacra—the causeway, once so straight and smooth, leading to
the Sacred Well—is now in bad condition, its outline dulled by time.
Great trees border it and their branches arch overhead, while their
roots have raised and broken the smooth avenue until it no longer
resembles a road. Smaller trees are rooted in the roadway itself.
The Sacred Well is a great pit, with sheer stone sides which are
slightly irregular. Its form is elliptical, almost circular. At the
side nearest the Great Pyramid is a small ruined sanctuary where the
last rites were performed before a maiden was thrown into the well to
become the bride of the Rain God. The ground for some distance about
this sanctuary was paved with stones. The Sacred Well, at whose bottom
dwelt Yum Chac, the Rain God, is more than one hundred and sixty feet
wide and as one gazes down its vertical sides, the drop to the water
seems tremendous; indeed it is fully seventy feet.
The sheer wall of the well is laminated, split horizontally into two
thousand bands or strata of limestone, of various widths. Some of these
bands appear hardly thicker than a sheet of paper, others as wide as
a house is high, and every lamination is separated from its neighbor
by a sandwich filling of thin lime-powder. The striated appearance is
very striking, because the laminations are dead black except where
vines, trees, and orchids or other parasitic plants or fungi cling
to and lend color to the surface. The layers of lime-dust between the
strata of rock are either pure white or cream-colored. The powder
has a hard-packed coherency, but the elements—sun, wind, and rain
together—loosen enough of it so that the plants and the surface of the
water are always covered with a thin film of dust. All about the edge
of the well is a fringe of trees, and a surprising amount of vegetation
has found a root-hold between the rock laminations of the perpendicular
walls.
[Illustration: THIS PLAN INDICATES THE GENERAL SHAPE AND SIZE OF THE
SACRED WELL AND THE LOCATION OF THE SHRINE OF THE LAST RITES]
The placid water of the pool is jade-green, due partly to the great
depth, and partly, I believe, to traces of certain salts or solubles
in the water, although I cannot speak with certainty on this point, as
I have never subjected it to chemical analysis. I have tried many, many
times to get a really good photograph of the Sacred Well and have come
to the conclusion that only the motion camera, or an airplane view can
ever succeed in reproducing the sight. The “still” photograph, taken
from the brink, shows either an expanse of wall and little water or
much water and little wall. For this reason the illustration opposite
page 116 fails to show the whole well and does not begin to do justice
to this most interesting, historic spot.
As Don Eduardo and I sat on the crumbling walls of the shrine, at the
very brink of the Sacred Well, he told me of his famous undertaking,
now so successfully carried out—the removal of the ancient treasures
from the very bottom of the Sacred Well.
“For many years,” he said, “the thought of exploring the bottom of the
Sacred Well had filled my mind. I thought about it by day and dreamed
about it by night. It became a mania which would not let me rest and
earned for me the reputation of being a little queer in the head. A
thousand times I had gone over in my mind the practical ways and means
that might be employed. Draining, dredging, or diving—it must be
one of these three. I early became convinced that probably the well
could not be drained, and certainly not with the slender finances at
my command. I concluded at last that it could be dredged, and with
comparatively simple equipment consisting of a stiff-legged derrick
with a hand windlass, a long boom which might be swung out over the
well, and a steel orange-peel buck-scoop, or bucket.
“Simple as the undertaking sounds, it was beset at every turn with
difficulties. The equipment, especially contrived and designed, was
easily ordered in the United States and put aboard ship. Getting it
ashore at Progreso, where it had to be unloaded five miles out and
lightered to shore, was the first hard job. Loading it on flat-cars
and finally unloading it at Dzitas, sixteen miles from my city, was
no less difficult. With only native assistance, without trucks or
anything adequate on wheels, and over the poorest excuse for a road,
the equipment was moved piecemeal, until, after months of the hardest
work I have ever done, it was all piled beside the Sacred Well.
“Assembling the machinery was a task of shorter duration but no less
strenuous. I would at that time have given gladly some years of my
life for the services, for a few hours, of one or two brawny, profane,
and competent Yankee ‘riggers.’ Time and again, before the cumbersome
outfit was completely in place, I expected it to topple into the well
or fall upon me and my Indians.
“At last all was ready. My Indians, about thirty in number, each had
his appointed task. The most trusted were to man the windlass and the
turning of the boom from whose projecting end hung the cable-suspended
dredging-scoop. The boom was swung out until it extended far over the
well. I gave the signal and the steel bucket descended, disappeared
under the green water, and at last came to rest on the bottom. Slowly
the boom was swung back toward the brink of the pit and stopped. Eager
hands manned the windlass to raise the bucket. Seemingly endless feet
of wet cable were wound about the drum before the filled bucket
broke the surface of the water. Up and up it rose, until it was on a
level with our heads; then it was swung in by the boom and lowered to
the spot which I had selected, where every precious scoopful should
be minutely and painstakingly examined on the sorting-tables I had
erected. No treasure must slip through our hands; nothing must be
damaged by careless handling. Anything perishable must be immediately
treated with the preservatives which were ready and waiting. My
hands trembled, in spite of my effort to control them, as I emptied
the contents of the scoop upon the sorting-tables, for soon I must
be either ‘that clever chap who recovered the treasures from the
Sacred Well in Yucatan’ or else the prize idiot of the whole Western
Hemisphere.
“I went over the muck, spreading it out, examining every bit of it, and
found nothing; not a trace of anything interesting. It might just as
well have come from any cesspool.
“Again the winch revolved, its ratchets clinking against the brake. The
big scoop, with its hungry steel lips wide open, plunged into the still
water. The Sacred Well seemed sullen in the reflection of a black cloud
overhead, as though determined to the very last to withhold its secrets.
“And so it was, day after day. The winch rolled and unrolled its cable
of steel and its manila ropes. The triple-pointed steel jaws dived into
the soft, yielding muck many feet below the surface of the well, and
came dripping up to deposit their burden. And day after day I found
nothing but ill-smelling rotted leaves and a few stones, prevented from
sinking into the mud by rotting tree branches which had fallen into
the well and which, when not too decayed to stand the bite of the steel
jaws, were brought up by the dredge. Sometimes whole trees were brought
up and their weight made our steel cable sing like the string of a bass
viol as the sodden mass was swung underneath the surface to free as
much of it as possible and so reduce the weight before raising it clear
of the water and dropping it again in another part of the pool where it
sank with a splash and swirl of water.
“At times the dredge, working between two entangled trees, was caught
as in a trap and we experienced very real difficulties and dangers in
freeing it. When the whole mass could be raised to the surface, agile
natives with axes and machetes always managed to get down to it and,
clinging precariously to cable and bucket, free it from its rotting
incubus. For hours at a time we labored with such delaying obstacles,
but always in the end the winch again rolled out its cable and then
coiled it up with nothing but a mouthful of the mucky bed of the pool.
“Several times we brought up the skeletons of deer or of wild hogs and
once the tangled skeletons of a jaguar and a cow, mute evidence of a
long-past forest tragedy—the cow feeding quietly, probably at night;
the spring of the hungry forest cat and the agonized, purposeless
flight of the bleeding quarry with the clawing jungle beast clinging
to it; the last frantic leap into the well where both were doubtless
stunned or killed by the seventy-foot drop to the surface of the water.
“Then, for a long while, finds even as interesting as these ceased.
Absolutely nothing was brought up but mud and leaves, leaves and
mud, with an occasional stone thrown in for good measure. My high
hopes dwindled to nothing and became less than nothing. The work was
interminable, nauseating. Doggedly I kept at it, however, determined
not to stop until the absolute rock bottom of the well was reached. I
tried not to let my Indians see that I was discouraged, but they did
see it nevertheless and I think wondered every day how much longer the
crazy stranger would persist in his foolishness and pay them high wages
for bringing up mud, useless even as fertilizer, from the bottom of an
abandoned well.
“But Fate was even then preparing a pleasant surprise, for one day when
things seemed darkest—a gloomy, rainy day when everything was soggy
and sodden with moisture—the dredge brought up what first appeared
to be two ostrich eggs, cream-colored and oval against the black mud
in which they rested. These proved to be balls of copal incense and
they revived at once my waning hopes. We had several times previously
brought up fragments of earthenware which seemed to be of ancient
origin and probably were, but I could not permit myself any illusions
about them. Similar ancient potsherds are not uncommon on the surface
of the ancient city. A boy ... some boy ... this year ... ten years
ago ... a hundred years or ten centuries ago ... might have taken up
a potsherd and skittered it into the well. Boy nature has not changed
through the centuries and certainly no boy with a nice, flat chip of a
water-jug at hand could have resisted the urge to see it skip far down
and across the water of this big pool. And so the potsherds we brought
up might well be ancient without having been long buried in the well.
“But the balls of copal, or aromatic resin, left no doubt. Surely they
were thrown into the Sacred Well as an offering to the Rain God in
those long-past centuries when Chi-chen Itza was a great and holy city,
the Mecca of the Mayas! With the evidence that this day brought forth
came the conviction that the long siege was at an end and that it was
merely a question of time before other and more important treasures
would be brought to light. They proved to my satisfaction that the
well did really have a religious significance in the olden days and
therefore the legends concerning it were doubtless true in the main.
“From that time on, nearly every shovelful contained some trove—balls
of copal incense or baskets that had been filled with plastic copal.
The basket-work had nearly all rotted away, but the deep impress of
its weaving still remained on the masses of hardened copal. There were
tripod vessels often filled with copal and rubber incense; wooden
fragments of various forms and of unknown use but indicating the skill
of some ancient craftsman. And among these wooden things were several
pieces of wood made in the form of an old-fashioned English bill-hook
or of a pruning-knife. My natives looked at them as they came up from
the sacred pool and called them machetes of wood, but my heart sang
with joy as I viewed them. No sword of damask steel, no Toledo blade
could compare in historical value to these simple wooden implements,
for they were, in the most primitive form, those strange weapons of the
ancient Mayas and kindred races which the eye of the twentieth century
had never previously beheld except in pictured form. These wooden
weapons were dart-throwers— the _hul-che_ of the Mayas; the _atlatl_
of the Nahuatls. They are pictured many times upon the walls of the old
temples. Warriors are shown in every attitude of throwing the dart from
the _hul-che_.
“The _hul-che_, or throwing-stick, of the Mayas is in its most
primitive form more elemental than the bow and arrow, more elemental
even than the _yun-tun_, or sling, for throwing stones. The first
ones we brought up from the well were so near the birth-type that the
hook was actually formed by the natural twist of the wood where the
branch had been cut from the parent stem. In ages past, some jungle
man, lacking a club and needing a weapon, pulled up a sapling that
had attached at its root a secondary branch. As he gave the sapling a
downward whirl, the secondary branch flew off at a tangent and straight
as an arrow. Thus, probably, came the idea of the _hul-che_.
“It is a singular and interesting fact that the _hul-che_, so
universally used by the Mayas and their contiguous neighbors, is almost
exactly duplicated by the bone or ivory throwing-stick of the Eskimos,
while there are absolutely no traces of its use by the Aztecs or other
northern Mexican peoples. In those dim ages when the human race was
young—those ages as vague to us in outline and substance as the clouds
that float across the sky—the _hul-che_ and not the bow was the common
weapon of battle and the chase. Then we must suppose some great gelid
cataclysm blotted out all humans throughout a whole region, leaving an
ethnic break between the two extremes. Gradually the break was filled
in by intrusive fragmentary races having no knowledge of the arts and
weapons that had been before, leaving only the extremes, the arctic
and the tropic, with their descent of man and his arts unbroken.
“Later on I was to have the keen pleasure of finding several votive and
ceremonial examples of the _hul-che_ representing the highest artistic
development. Possibly they are the very ones which served as models for
the carvings showing such weapons in the hands of stately priests and
other figures portrayed upon the walls and square stone columns of my
Sacred City.
“While the Mayas seem never to have used the bow and arrow, their
neighbors to the north did. Possibly the Mayas actually preferred the
more primitive and possibly more powerful weapon in whose use they
were very expert, holding it in the hand with the hooked portion down
and resting the feathered end of the dart upon it. The shaft of the
dart lay between the fingers grasping the _hul-che_, with the pointed
arrow-head even with the wrist. A powerful overhand motion of the arm
or a side swing and release of the dart sent it hurtling through the
air, and legend says that the dart thus thrown by a strong man might be
driven clear through the body of a deer.
“When these weapons of wood were brought up from the Sacred Well they
seemed to be in as good condition as on the day, centuries before,
when they were cast into the water; but almost immediately upon being
exposed to the air they began to decompose and it was only by treating
them immediately with preservatives that I was able to save them.
“With the copal balls and baskets and the wooden objects, we also
brought up great quantities of rubber incense and rubber objects. The
early legendary people who are supposed to have settled Yucatan were
called Hulmecas, which means literally ‘rubber people,’ and the name
was derived from the extensive use of rubber in their religious and
public rites; just as the Sapotecas, or ‘sapote people,’ are so called
to this day because of their extensive use of the sapote tree and
its fruits and derivatives. So says the gifted historian Torquemade,
following much the same line of reasoning as other writers, who say
that the name of the tribe called Olmecas was derived from their
general term or name for their chief or overlord.
“Whatever the answers to these mooted questions of etymology may be,
it has become evident, from the finds brought up from the Sacred Well,
that the Mayas were users of rubber in various ingenious ways. Many
of the masses of copal which I raised from the well bore, imbedded
at or near the surface, nodules or small cylinders of rubber, and in
some cases wooden splinters still protruded from the rubber insets.
Obviously both the splinters and the rubber portions were intended as
lighters for the copal, and this evidence substantiates Torquemade’s
statement: ‘They light the fires in their vessels containing the copal
used in their sacrificial ceremonies with rubber.’
“Upon several of the balls or masses of copal, as found either in their
original baskets or vases or without their containers, small figures of
rubber, built around the wooden splinters, were placed in a standing
position. At times the legs of these little rubber grotesques were half
buried in the copal. Evidently they were merely more elaborate forms of
lighters or fuses.
“One day when the dredge came up with its customary load of decayed
leaves and silt and one of my natives had, as usual, pushed his arms,
clear to the elbows, into the oozy mass, he leaped back with a cry of
terror. We all clustered about him to see what was amiss. Silently he
pointed to the head of a small dark-colored serpent with a white-ringed
neck, which stood up menacingly from amidst the muck. It was precisely
of the shape, size, and appearance of a small and extremely poisonous
viper which is native to Yucatan. Some seconds elapsed before we became
convinced that it was, after all, made of rubber. Although made by
hands dead, possibly, ere Christ was born, it turned sinuously in our
fingers as we drew it from the mud. It has retained the elasticity of
vulcanized rubber, a substance reinvented by Goodyear in modern times.
After its centuries of immersion it would surely have shriveled and
crumpled to bits if it had been long exposed to the air. I took no
chances, but at once put it in a rubber-preserving fluid.
“A number of dolls were found, made of wood and adorned with plastic
copal and rubber. They are perfectly formed and artistically colored
and decorated. Several have movable arms and legs, with joints made of
rubber.
“There was evidence that human nature has not changed—that there
were cheats and dishonest sharpers then as now. Some of the copal
balls, instead of being clear, heavy, and pure throughout, as were
the majority, had a perfect exterior appearance but within were a
conglomeration of leaves, sticks, and rubbish—evidently the skimming
or residue from the melting-pot. Doubtless some ancient and not too
honest profiteer grew wealthy through their fabrication.
[Illustration: El Castillo, the Temple of Kukul Can, on its great
pyramid, is the center of the Sacred City and the largest edifice.]
[Illustration: Looking down into the Sacred Well. Because of the size
of the well and the fringe of trees about it, the whole scene cannot be
readily photographed.]
“Weight for weight, I imagine we accumulated ten times as many
potsherds as all other specimen material combined. At times a large
portion of the silt in the dredge seemed to consist of terra-cotta
grains—an indication of the enormous number of earthenware vessels
which must have been hurled into the well. Probably for centuries
the custom was observed of casting into the pool these containers
filled with burning incense or copal. Very likely some, heated by
the flaming incense, disintegrated almost at once when they struck
the cold water, while others lasted for a time and finally crumbled
into dust. But to furnish all this red-gray mud and burnt earth-silt
an almost incalculable number of vases and jars and basins must have
been required. Luckily, by no means all of them were destroyed or even
broken beyond repair. Scores were saved entirely whole and among them
are many strange and interesting ones.
“The range in pattern and workmanship of potsherds is wide. The larger
vessels or fragments of them—cinerary urns and incense-holders—were
generally of a coarse, granular biscuit mass, well turned but unevenly
burned. They are capable, however, of withstanding a considerable
degree of heat. Between this class and a hard slate-gray ware almost as
thin and fine as porcelain, are many grades and numerous interesting
forms, such as well-made models of human heads, manikins, animals,
reptiles,—especially crocodiles,—grotesque Atlantean figures, and
tripodal temple vessels used in the sacrificial ceremonies, to hold
votive offerings or viands.
“Not always did we have such good fortune in our dredging. At times
the soft upper layers of mud caved into the pits we had excavated and
we spent many days and weeks in hauling up this mud before we again
reached the treasure-level.
“And then, one day, the dredge brought up a perfect skull, bleached
and polished to whiteness. Examination showed it to be that of a young
girl. Later came other skulls and human bones, scores of them. Most of
the skeletons were those of youthful maids, but every now and then one
was raised which had the breadth of shoulders, the thick skull, and the
heavy frame of a powerful man—no doubt some mighty warrior sacrificed
in the flower of his vigor, sent to grace the court of the Rain God.
“I remember as if it were but yesterday finding in the mud raised by
the dredge a pair of dainty little sandals, evidently feminine, once
worn by some graceful, high-born maid. These more than the bleached
skulls and bones, more than any other of the finds, brought home to
me the pathos and tragedy of those ancient, well-intentioned, and
cruelly useless sacrifices. Frequently bits of cotton fabric were
brought up, perfectly preserved but carbonized. My own theory was, and
still is, that the copal incense, falling upon the robe of the victim,
together with the substance with which the body was painted ere it was
sacrificed, exuded an oil which penetrated the fabric and gradually
carbonized it, thus preserving it. These specimens of cloth, many of
which are lovely in design and texture, are, I believe, the only relics
of ancient Maya fabrics in the world to-day.
“Detached skeletons were raised until we had upward of ninety, and
at sight of the whitened bones my heart was wrung with pity for the
young creatures whose lives had been snuffed out just when living was
sweetest. Our finds proved conclusively that the statements made to
Landa in 1565 by the natives were true—that both maids and warriors
had been frequently sacrificed to the god of the well.
“The female skeletons were those of girls ranging in age from fourteen
to twenty. The first one we raised and completely assembled had a
small, thin-walled skull, with the sutures almost separate. The
skull was delicate, shapely, with small, regular, perfect teeth. The
sympathetic imagination without effort clothed the naked bones with
flesh and substance, so that one saw instantly the graceful, lovely,
high-bred maiden and the last solemn act that had stilled the poor
girlish body, clad in all its finery and left to sink into the ooze at
the bottom of this terrible pit.
“By comparing the female skulls with those of modern Mayas, obtained
from the cemeteries of several villages, I came to the conclusion that
there was no appreciable variation or difference. These century-old
skulls might pass as typical crania of pure-blooded young Maya women of
to-day.
“The male skulls are a contrast to the female ones. Some are relatively
large, thick-walled, with protuberant surfaces, receding foreheads, and
prognathic jaws. Evidently their possessors were ferocious, primitive,
almost gorilla-like—not of the same race which bred the girl-brides of
the Rain God. Again this tallies with the tradition that the warriors
sacrificed were captives—fighting-men of high renown, who, after being
made drunk with _bal-che_ (the sacred mead of the Mayas), were hurled
into the well as fit offerings to the deity.
“Some years before the time of which I am speaking I had the good
fortune to discover in a sealed stone-walled grave the now famous Sabua
skull. I had to work on it for three days, with atomizer and glue
water, because the skull, which was perfect in shape, was no more than
lime-dust which would crumble at the least touch. By this treatment I
saved it and it is to-day a priceless museum piece kept under glass. In
view of this experience it seemed strange, almost uncanny, to see these
perfect skulls and bones come from the well, so wonderfully preserved
that they required no other treatment than cleansing and rubbing with
a weak solution of formalin to render them ready for packing and
shipment. In the Sacred Well, big and gruesome as it is, are no large
reptiles, no saurians, no fish which would or could tear apart a human
body or gnaw or crush the bones. I know this to be true, in spite of
the local traditions which speak of huge serpents and strange animals
to be seen about the well and to be unpleasantly encountered should one
be so foolish as to roam about in its vicinity at midnight. I have been
that foolish many times and have never met anything of the sort. On the
contrary, in the glorious moonlight of Yucatan the big pool has for me
an even greater lure than it has in the sunlight.
“As the excavations in the well became deeper and deeper we passed
from mud to powdered limestone, which became more and more compact
until we reached a marl-like bed into which the steel-lipped bucket bit
with difficulty, finally making almost no impression at all. It became
obvious that, although we had by no means dredged the whole well,
we had literally reached the end of our rope as far as dredging was
concerned. I was convinced that further work of the sort would bring us
many more finds, but I was quite as certain that they would not differ
greatly in character or variety from those already accumulated.
“I could not quarrel with our good fortune thus far. I felt well
repaid, even if we should discover nothing else, for all my effort and
expense. My highly speculative venture had amply justified itself.
I had proved conclusively the history of the Sacred Well. But our
dredging operations, together with soundings made from time to time,
indicated clearly that the bottom of the well was very uneven—a series
of hummocks; almost a miniature mountain range. And in the pockets
between those hummocks, where our dredge could not reach, might there
not be other treasures?—objects heavier and smaller in size than
anything we had yet found; things which, because of their weight, would
sink through the mud to the very bottom of the well.
“Never could I leave the spot until, by some means or other, this last
and final ghost was laid.”
CHAPTER VIII
SIXTY FEET UNDER WATER
We had reached the stage where it was very slow work for the dredge to
get even a mouthful of the stiff, almost shale-like bottom of the well,
but, while we brought up fewer treasures than previously, I was not
ready to discard the derrick and dredge as long as the bucket brought
up any finds whatever.
“To facilitate the work at this stage, a plan which I had long
considered was put into effect. We built a big flat-bottomed scow,
crude but serviceable, and capable of holding ten scoopfuls of muck
from the dredge. The scow was constructed, right on the brink of the
well, of logs and such other materials as we had at hand. Then we
lowered it, by means of the derrick, until it floated easily seventy
feet below, on the still surface of the water.
“I fancy if the grim old Rain God, Noh-och Yum Chac, the Indra of
the Mayas, was enraged when the dredge first began to rob him of his
long-held treasures, the presence of this clumsy craft, as it tipped
and yawed on its slow seventy-foot descent to the water, must surely
have excited him to frenzy. Yet inexorably we continued our quest,
undaunted by the thought of the god’s wrath and determined to strip him
of every secret. We moored the craft, by a long rope, to a projecting
stone knob on the sheer wall of the well, so that it was directly over
the area where the dredge had been working. Our system was to lower
the bucket, raise it, and pour its dripping contents upon the scow, and
this we continued to do until we had heaped upon the boat ten buckets
of bottom mud. Loaded to its capacity, the scow was drawn to a narrow
sandy shelf or beach which had formed at one side of the well. Then we
transferred and examined the load, handling ten buckets from the dredge
in about the same length of time it had taken us previously to dispose
of one. And thus, for a while, the dredge was made to work profitably
even under the increasing scarcity of ‘pay dirt.’
“During this phase of our labor we accumulated a great quantity of
potsherds, copal, and rubber nodules. Each time the filled scow came
to the little beach, the big toads retreated into their rocky cavities
amidst the roots and the myriad eyes that usually shone in these
twilight depths became invisible. Only the iguanas and the lizards in
the branches of the cork-trees that shadowed the tiny beach remained
sleepily undisturbed, while the little painted tortoises on the
half-submerged logs or branches floating near by became so accustomed
to the sight of the scow that they stayed brazenly in their places and
eyed the proceedings without fear.
“As the work went on, the tailing or discard from our dredge began
to spread out and extend our little beach until it became a solid
peninsula jutting out into the well and making our labors easier by
providing much-needed footing and elbow-room.
“Long hours I spent gazing over the side of the scow, waiting for
the dredge to come up with its load, and while I waited I glimpsed
fascinating highlights of a hitherto unknown world—a world with its
tragedies, grotesqueries, and surprises; a world in which humans
took no part; one unseen until then by human eyes. Drifting past on
the turgid waters were curious jelly-like formless creatures and tiny
water-insects, some moving slowly as with effort, others like an arrow
in shape and speed. Here was a plethora of twisting, darting, gyrating
forms of life, all intent on the one object of preserving life—that
bitter jest of Nature who instils in us each, great or small, the
belief that our own particular and individual existence is of amazing
import when she herself values it so lightly.
“Floating on the water were many small red worms no larger round than
a pin and perhaps a quarter of an inch long. As one floated lazily by,
a small red ant, blown or fallen from the land above, struck the water
and instantly was attacked by the worm. The struggle was titanic but
brief and the worm, which was more slender than its victim, simply
swallowed the ant—body, struggling legs, and all. As the swallowing
continued the body of the worm became almost transparent and I could
easily follow the journey of his dinner inside, until diner and dinner
drifted out of sight.
“Close by the cliff-like wall of the pool was a school of tiny
jet-black catfish—pouts, we used to call them in New England when
I was a lad. They were but a few days beyond the egg state and were
carefully herded by a portly, motherly old catfish. Her inclination
evidently was toward dignified, unhurried movement, well tempered with
complete repose, but the erratic and swift excursions of her hundred
or more infants kept her on the qui vive to head off their ceaseless
turnings and dashes, for they seemed possessed to venture into the
outer and unknown world, even as other infants since time began. To add
to her trials, the whole school was more or less surrounded by tadpoles
just as black and even more lively than the baby fishes. They seemed
not to have nor to require any motherly care and, like impudent street
gamins, they delighted in teasing and leading astray the more tenderly
nurtured youngsters. Slyly they tried to swallow the little fishes,
tail first, in their sucker-like mouths, and were dissuaded only by the
wrathful dash of Mother Catfish.
“It was during this time, which I call the intermediate stage of the
work, that many of our specimens of lighter weight were obtained. Among
them are pieces of gourds, copal fragments, parts of wooden objects,
and bones, all wonderfully preserved in this colossal silo—for the
Sacred Well is in many respects like a silo. Some of the potsherds and
wooden objects, and even a few of the gourds, had been covered with a
thick white paint, almost as hard as enamel, and upon the surface of
this the artists of old had worked and drawn figures and hieroglyphs
similar to those found in the Codices. Some of the finest pieces of
ancient fabrics were recovered at this time. The gradual caving in of
the mud about the cavity we had scooped out permitted these fabrics to
slip gently into the hole and to be brought up unharmed by the steel
lips of our dredge. They are all carefully preserved and are the only
authentic specimens of their kind known to archæological science. I
deem them among the most important of my treasures from the well.
“There came up ropes and cords, both of bark and fiber, and curiously
knotted masses of copal; images carved from light wood and covered with
rubber and copal; and always bones and more bones, of maidens and
warriors.
“At last the dredge bit only on rock and boulders, against which the
steel jaws made no headway. Again and again the bucket came up empty
and with its jaws twisted and bent.
“If the first stage—the beginning of the work, when the steel bucket
first plunged into the still water of the pit—was exciting, I found
myself now laboring under a still greater emotion, for the time had
come which I had long foreseen, when the dredge unaided by human hands
could accomplish nothing more. There must be hands at the bottom of the
well—not the dead hands of pitiful maidens, but live hands of sturdy
men to explore every inch of the uneven rocky bottom. From dredging
with windlass and bucket, we must pass to a season of deep-sea diving
with all the paraphernalia of diving-suits and hose and air-pumps.
“What could be more interesting, more romantic than to go down under
sixty feet of water to the very bottom of this grim pit?—to tread
the corridors of the most sacred and abysmal abode of the Rain God?
I might possibly remain at the bottom, myself, a modern sacrifice to
the ancient deity, but I was willing to take that chance; for nothing
could now keep from the world the treasures already recovered from the
well and if I perished in the attempt at further discoveries, my effort
would be, as a whole, not in vain. It was almost like trying to push
aside the veil that separates living man from the nether world. Who
might say but that the ancient people spoke the truth when they said
that the entrance to the habitation of the Rain God was guarded by
huge serpents and that none might pass but those expressly summoned
by the god, to carry out his mandates? Or might there not live in that
deep ooze slimy-bodied monsters of the antediluvian era, to which the
passing of the centuries was but as the passing of hours? This was
no time for speculation. I did not crave to serve as a brontosaurian
breakfast, yet I must know the bottom of this well.
“Long hours and many days must be spent down on the bed-rock, under
high water-pressure, in total darkness and in a temperature but little
above freezing. My hands must explore the cracks and crevices and
corners and pits where the dredge could not enter, and each find must
be carried to the bucket and placed carefully within it, to be raised
later.
“I went over every detail of the plan with great care, for not only
my own life but the lives of others depended upon its practicability.
A hitch, an unforeseen obstacle, a piece of bungling, and one or
more of us would never return alive to the sunlight. I was prepared
for this part of the business, having become an experienced deep-sea
diver back in the United States. But diving under bright skies in open
water spaces bathed to some depth by clear sunlight reflected from the
sandy sea-bottom is not at all the same as descending into turgid,
green, almost opaque water confined by high-cliffed walls overgrown
with mighty trees and festooned with huge vines twisting and turning
like giant serpents. I knew it to be very different from and far
more dangerous than clearing off the barnacles and seaweed from the
clean-lined bodies of United States cruisers and lighthouse tenders.
“Early one bright morning my crew who worked the windlass and managed
the bucket stood grouped about the derrick. The winch which had so
long rattled and clanged as the steel jaws of the dredge opened and
plunged down to their task, was silent and motionless; but its silence,
like that of the men grouped about, seemed to be a sort of watchful
waiting rather than the lazy inertia that comes with a holiday hiatus.
The cogged wheels were hooked introspectively, as it were, but the
jaws of the bucket hung loosely open like those of a school-boy, agape
with interest and wonder. On the refuse-built level space between the
derrick and the examination platforms were strewn strange-looking suits
of armor, canvas-lined and metal-covered, piles of rope and rubber
hose, canvas-covered rope ladders, a small but powerful air-pump, and
divers other things. Yes, even the divers themselves, for he who was
to be my aide in this undertaking had come under contract from the
sponge-banks of Florida with his striker, or pump attendant, and all
the necessary equipment. Both men were Greeks, young, lithe, handsome
as Apollo himself. All that day we spent assembling, testing, and
getting everything ready for actual diving operations early the next
morning. As fast as the apparatus was put in order we placed it on the
scow, which had been scoured and cleaned and was now transformed into
an ideal diver’s craft. Before nightfall the air-pump was securely
fixed on the scow, the air-tubes and life-lines were in place, and the
rope ladder dangled over the side and disappeared into the green water.
From its bottom rung I should, on the morrow, step off into the unknown.
“The morning of the next day was heavy with clouds that soon broke in
a deluge—a three-day norther that kept us all under cover except for
a diurnal excursion when the Greeks and I and my native striker went
to the edge of the well and from there carefully scanned the scow to
make sure our equipment was weathering the storm. Luckily, the entire
apparatus, pump and all, was almost amphibious by nature and habit, and
so far as the eye could see the wetting was doing no damage.
“Dawn of the fourth day was clear and bright and the leaves and grass,
even the sky, seemed to have been washed clean by the long rain. After
a hasty breakfast we hurried to the well and descended via the air
route, in the dredge bucket, to the rain-soaked, water-covered deck
of the scow. We bailed out the water and sponged off the deck, on
which we then laid out with minute care the two rubber-lined canvas
diving-suits, making sure that there were no holes through which
the compressed air could issue in lines of silver bubbles into the
surrounding water. Our wrists were carefully soaped and we stepped
into the clumsy uniforms, forcing our hands through the tight-fitting
rubber wristlets. The neck-bands were adjusted and the copper helmets,
cloth-lined and with glassed goggle eyes, were put over our heads and
securely fastened. Then came a necklace of lead plates and finally
heavy metal-soled boots.
“A trial puff of air from the pump, a touch of the valves in the
helmets, and we were ready to call on Noh-och Yum Chac at the bottom of
the Sacred Well. With a final hand-clasp all around and with my Indians
looking very awed and solemn, I waddled to the edge of the craft and
clambered down the rope ladder about as gracefully as a turtle falling
off a log.
“I must confess that as I loosed my hold of the last rung and went
swirling down into the watery darkness my heart beat far faster than
could be reasonably accounted for by the increasing water-pressure;
and my mind, like that of a drowning person, reviewed at lightning
speed all the errors of commission and omission of my whole life. But
almost automatically I took the precautions of every experienced diver,
making sure that the air-line and life-line were free and clear of
obstacles. Almost at once the weak, greenish light faded into utter
blackness. Once or twice during the descent my lines brushed against
some sunken tree roots or branches and I was instantly alert, for in
such encounters there is always an element of real danger. These woody
projections were, however, quite rotten and with no more strength than
soaked punk, and fortunately always broke off at the mere touch of the
stout rope.
“Meanwhile, as I went down and down, at a distance of every ten feet or
so I felt acute pains in my ears, as though sharp objects were being
thrust into them. By adjusting the valves in the helmet and opening
wide my mouth, I succeeded in equalizing the air-pressure on the ears,
causing a sound like the exhaust of a motorcycle on the ear-drums but
relieving the pain. Once I was at the bottom, the helmet valves alone
required attention; for only by opening them frequently is fresh air
forced down from the pump and the vitiated air expelled.
“I had reached the bottom but a moment before I sensed that the Greek
diver had also descended and was close beside me. He had waited only
long enough, before joining me, to make sure my native pump attendant
was handling my air-supply properly. The darkness was complete, a
perfect blindfold, but I reached out and touched the Greek so that we
might be sure of our relative locations and not get our lines entangled.
“Standing upon the uneven, rocky bottom of the well, I was thrilled
with the knowledge that I stood where no living man had stood since
time began. I think I felt much the same high elation that must have
filled Peary and Shackleton at the end of their respective dashes to
the polar caps.
“I had foreseen the need of light and had provided myself with the
very latest and best submarine electric light obtainable. What any
illuminant could do, this light would do. But what light can force its
beams through a lake of chocolate-colored porridge? Our lights were of
not the slightest use in this grim old water-pit and we had to depend
entirely upon the sense of touch. And this sense served us well, for
under constant use our finger-tips grew highly sensitive. The palpi in
the skin whorls and curves became so responsive that we were frequently
able to distinguish the form and texture of the objects we touched and
even got so far as to guess at colors, although we made many wrong
hazards.
“Another modern invention which we carried at the bottom of the
well was the submarine telephone. It operated satisfactorily, but
we found little use for it, as it was less bothersome merely to
give the required number of tugs on the signal rope when we wanted
to communicate with those above. The Greek and I found also that by
touching the metal fronts of our helmets we could converse easily with
each other. The voice tones were muffled, but with a little practice we
had no trouble in understanding each other. I even recollect hearing
the chattering of the strong white teeth of my Hellenic companion. The
water was very cold and every time we came to the surface after our
daily two hours of immersion our lips were blue and our bodies covered
with goose-flesh and trembling with chill. Coffee, very hot and very
strong, was our first requisite.
“The water-pressure at a depth of sixty feet is considerable, and
both the air-tubes and life-lines were buoyed in several places by
tightly corked quart bottles. When drawn up after the day’s work, the
lower ones were always half full of water, in spite of the fact that
the empty bottles had been corked as tightly as possible before being
lowered into the water. This will give some idea of the tremendous
pressure.
“This pressure, offset by a corresponding pressure of air in the
diving-suit, affects in a peculiar manner the movements of the diver.
In spite of my necklace of leaden plates and my two-inch lead soles,
I seemed to weigh nothing at all. A slight stamp of my foot upon the
bottom would take me soaring upward perhaps ten feet in the water,
and I would then come slowly down to rest two yards from my original
position. It took good judgment to land in any precise spot, because
it was so very easy to overshoot the mark. It seemed as though one
real leap would carry me clear to the surface of the well and perhaps
entirely up the cliff-like sides.
“On one occasion I became so interested in the finds on the bottom
of the well that I quite forgot to let out the accumulated air by
means of the helmet valves. I had been working diligently, feeling
along the silt-filled cracks of the rocky bottom; then, satisfied
with my examination, I gave a stamp of my foot and started upward.
But my diving-suit was so filled with compressed air that I turned in
the water topsyturvy and finally hit the bottom of the scow feet up,
with a resounding thump of my metal soles which almost caused a panic
among the natives on the deck of the craft. Meanwhile I swung around
turtle-wise from under the boat, found the rope ladder, and started to
climb over the side. My henchmen, pallid with fear, were pumping for
dear life, while I, at the side of the boat but below their line of
vision, opened wide the helmet valves to prevent them from blowing me
up like a toy balloon. When I appeared over the side they all crowded
around me and Juan Mis, my faithful old servant, took my helmet-encased
head in both his hands and peered eagerly through the thick glass
insets. ‘God be praised, he is laughing!’ shouted Juan, and they all
chuckled with happy relief, while I sat on the gunwale and was divested
of my cumbersome habiliments.
“Our first task was to discover the nature of the stone objects that
had so often cramped the jaws of our dredge and strained its chains,
costing us hours of hard work in repairs. The fact that the dredge
had never secured a sufficient purchase on any of these stones to
bring them to the surface led me to surmise that the majority were
smooth-faced and probably hieroglyphed. Mere rocks or boulders rarely
were so smooth that the steel bucket could not grip them and bring them
up after a trial or two.
“By feeling over the bottom of the well with my hands, I located the
stones one after another and found my surmise correct. We managed to
fasten chains about them and by means of the derrick raised them from
their watery bed. One by one the heavy, wondrously carved stones were
hauled up through sixty feet of water and up another seventy feet until
they rested upon the brink of the well. One great stone was a perfectly
sculptured statue of a seated god or priest which reminded me of ‘The
Thinker,’ by Rodin.
“The next day we again descended into the well, this time not in search
of large objects such as carved stones, but rather in quest of small
things lying in the silt between the humps and in the crevices at the
bottom.
“I remember distinctly my sensations as my fingers touched upon curious
small objects like coins, small nuts, and rings. I could hardly
contain my curiosity as I tucked them into my pouch, and my eagerness
to get up to light and air to examine them was almost irresistible.
When I had collected perhaps twenty or thirty I gave the signal and
started upward. Before my diving-dress had been more than half removed
I plunged my chilled fingers into the dripping pouch and drew out
beautiful embossed rings, small bells of copper, and several bells
of pure gold. There were bells and ornaments and medallions of gold
repoussé and gold filagree, of exquisite design and craftmanship. There
were lovely carved jade beads and other objects of jade. Just as truly
as any mining prospector, I had struck gold, but gold tremendously
more valuable than his raw nuggets; for, whatever might be the mere
intrinsic value of my golden finds, each bit was in reality beyond
price.
“This was but the beginning. We now had at our command two means of
bringing up the treasure. The big carved stones having been removed
from the well, the dredge could again be used, or we could don the
diving-suits. In many instances the Greek and I directed from the
bottom the work of the dredge. The golden objects brought up, if simply
thrown into the goldsmith’s melting-pot, would net several hundreds
of thousands of dollars in bullion—dividend enough, if one were
sufficiently sordid of mind, to justify all my investment of time,
effort, and money in the undertaking.
“One particularly wet and dreary day the dredge had worked all morning
long, in a monotonous round in which nothing of value was brought
up. Toward lunch-time I had about decided to send the men to their
quarters for the rest of the day, to let them recover from their
half-drowned state. Just then the men at the receiving-platform gave
a shout that brought me running. For several blissful minutes we were
busy picking lovely little copper bells from the black ooze. The rain
was forgotten. Bearers were sent to bring our lunch, and eagerly we
sent the steel bucket down again. And again it came up with a pudding
of mud plentifully plummed with copper bells. All afternoon we plied
the dredge, and nearly every load contained more copper bells, of all
sizes and shapes, none larger than our old-fashioned sleigh-bells and
many much smaller. In fact, they so resembled sleigh-bells that I could
not rid my mind of the idea that they were modern bells used for barter
and exchange, like the hawks’ bells of Spain. At the end of the day
we had piled up over two hundred of these curious specimens of Maya
workmanship, and even the most cursory examination showed them to be of
genuine ancient origin.
“We carried the bells to the plantation house, where all the servants
looked with awe and wonder at _los cascabeles de los antiguos_,
the bells of the ancient people. From that time on hardly a day
passed that we did not add a handful of copper bells to our growing
collection. The bells are mainly capsule-shaped or spherical. Some
still have a carbon core within, showing clearly the method by which
they were molded. Very rarely did the bells contain clappers or
rattles, and this fact supports the tradition that the ancient people
believed that all things had life and souls. By removal of the clappers
the bells were ‘killed,’ made mute forever, and their souls, thus
released, entered the realm of Ah Puch, the God of Death. Incidentally,
the portraits of Ah Puch show him with anklets of bells.
“Certain of the larger copper bells have rope-like designs embossed
on them, while others are fashioned like animals and birds and the
grinning heads of Cheshire cats. Some represent the heads of foxes or
of the anteater, showing unmistakably the long, tapering snout.
“Intermingled with the bells were copper circlets like finger rings,
and curious flat copper ferrules, from a fourth to three quarters of an
inch thick and about an inch long.
“One day we brought up a handful of small masks, about an inch long
and half an inch wide, made of thin, well-worked copper. By a strange
coincidence they came to us on the very day of a modern native carnival
when every one wears a mask. My Indians commented upon the fact and
seriously debated whether Yum Chac had not sent them up to us in
remembrance of the day. And it is a fact that no other masks of the
kind were found previously, nor have any been found since.
“Specimens of well-modeled hard copper chisels were recovered at
various times. Some are small, others of the customary size and shape
of modern chisels, but with the heads burred, showing much use. All of
the copper chisels, rings, and masks have the reddish color of pure
copper, but many of the bells, particularly the smaller ones of round
sleigh-bell shape, are of a color indicating copper alloyed with silver
or tin. Some of the other bells contain a considerable percentage of
gold, which may be either a natural admixture from the ore itself or an
alloy added by the ancient artisans.
“One of the most prized treasures was brought up one day while visitors
were present—Mr. and Mrs. James of Mérida and Dr. Marston Tozzer, now
professor of American archæology at Harvard University, who knows the
Mayas intimately and has lived among them and shared their huts and
hammocks. We were all standing at the edge of the Great Well when the
dredge bucket heaved itself from the roiling swells of green water. As
it came up toward the level of our eyes we saw dangling precariously
from one of its fangs a gray, nondescript article which some one in the
party facetiously remarked must be a cast-off overshoe of the Rain God.
We all laughed at the witticism and then stopped short as the bucket
swung around, bringing the object into plainer view, and we discovered
it be a large copper disk covered with figures in repoussé and
representing the Sun God. My heart was in my mouth for fear it would
drop off and sink back into the well before my eager hands could reach
it, but grasp it I did after what seemed an age of waiting. It is so
beautifully and intricately worked, so fine in artistry that I deem it
one of the most priceless of all these antiques. What it loses by not
being pure gold is more than compensated for by its mass of exquisite
ornamentation.
“From copper to gold, so John Hays Hammond once told me, is but a short
step and one likely to be bridged at any unexpected moment, and this I
found to be the case in the Sacred Well.
“One fine day I discovered, among the several copper bells brought up
by the dredge, one small round bell of pure gold, shining as bright and
clear as if newly molded. After that every day was literally a golden
day with finds of yellow gold—golden bells of all shapes and sizes,
some as small as a pea, others large and heavy. And these gold bells
were all more or less flattened, as though they had been struck with a
hammer or even mauled with a sledge. Some were so flattened that the
shape of the clapper within was outlined on the outer side of the bell.
The clappers were, like the bells themselves, made of pure gold, but
most of the smaller bells, like our previous finds of copper ones, had
been ‘killed’ by having the clapper removed.
“Many disks of gold were brought up, which are covered with finely
worked figures in repoussé, while around the outer edges are characters
and symbols and sometimes hieroglyphs. Some of these disks were
originally flat and others have curving surfaces like breastplates. A
few are plain or nearly so, but the majority are completely covered
with incised work. One disk, a mask, is two thirds the actual size
of a human face and represents a face with the eyes closed. Upon the
closed eyelid is engraved a symbol of unknown meaning. Another disk of
solid gold is eleven inches in diameter and weighs nearly a pound. It
contains no carving or design and I judge it to have been some sort of
temple basin or standard.
“Among the golden objects are two very handsome tiaras representing
entwined feathered serpents, worked partly in repoussé and partly in
filagree. There are also a number of emblematic figures, dancing frogs
and monkeys, and several queer objects like brooches. They are from one
to three inches high and very thick. There are objects like sandals
and objects similar to candlesticks. Some of the latter are of copper,
gold-plated. I found, too, a considerable amount of gold-leaf nearly as
fine and pure as that of to-day.
“Also among the golden treasures are several specimens that look like
the heads of canes. These I believe to have been the tops of the
official wands or emblems of authority—the _caluac_ pictured many
times upon the walls of the temples.
“I found virtually no silver and no metals other than those mentioned,
except iron pyrites. This substance, backed with hard-baked clay or
stone, was used for mirrors, and I found large fragments of several
such mirrors with the mirror surface of iron pyrites still bright and
shiny. One metal object about three inches in diameter is white like
silver, absolutely uncorroded, and seemingly as hard and refractory as
tin alloy or hard steel. I do not know yet what the metal is, but shall
know as soon as it can be examined by metallurgists. Can it be that
rare, indestructible metal, platinum?
“And with all the precious objects I have taken by force from the Rain
God I am very sure that I have wrested from him not a tenth of his
jealously held treasure. There are many, many more golden ornaments
hid away in the recesses of the uneven floor of the pit, and many, many
things even more priceless than gold to the antiquarian.
“All this I leave to the engineer of a future day—and I say engineer
advisedly, for it is going to be an engineering task to strip the
old well of all it holds. It will first have to be dredged over its
whole area, not with the crude hand-operated device which I have used,
but with more powerful and modern, mechanically operated equipment.
Then a huge, specially designed diving-bell will be required, so that
men may work under it quite protected from the water and with ample
illumination.
“Among the treasures we found are three sacrificial knives. One is
perfect, while the flint blades of the other two are broken close
to the hilt. I am inclined to think that the two broken ones were
purposely broken or ‘killed’ before being thrown into the well and that
the perfect one was not cast into the pit but fell in by accident.
These knives have intricately worked and fluted handles of gold. The
one which is unbroken is especially lovely—a bit of perfect artistry
worthy of a Cellini.
“One golden bowl is nine inches in diameter, and we obtained several
smaller ones about three inches in diameter. These, I think, were
temple dishes used by the high priests. The several gold disks of the
Sun God vary from seven to eleven inches in diameter. And we recovered
forty flat gold washers about an inch and a fourth in diameter, each
with a hole in the center. Regarding the use to which they were put
I have no clue and can only surmise that they were fastened to the
garments of priests or of sacrificial victims.
“The several brooches, as indicated by the designs upon them, were used
for personal adornment. The finger rings are peculiar in that they
have an enlarged face like a signet-ring, but the enlarged portion is
designed to fit at the side of the finger, rather than on top, and this
enlarged part always contains a pictured face.
“There are many golden figures of animals and insects, the most
interesting being frogs with exaggerated flat feet, such as are found
in the graves of Puerto Rico. Among the great quantity of other
articles, too numerous to describe here, are twelve plain disks of gold
which I imagine are blanks, originally intended by the goldsmith for
some craftsman to ornament with designs, but for some reason or other
thrown into the Sacred Well in their uncompleted state.
“Many of the larger golden objects, apparently, were not ‘killed’
before being offered to the Rain God, but nearly all the smaller
articles of gold were crushed. Most of these have since been
painstakingly straightened into their original shapes.
“Of the pottery vessels, very few were recovered unbroken. Some, as I
have said, were containers for copal and rubber incense. Others, I am
led to believe, contained the ancient libation of _bal-che_ or sacred
mead which was thrown into the pool together with the captive warrior
victims. This fermented drink made of rainwater, wild honey, and the
bark of the _yax_ tree, according to tradition, was for men only. Women
were never permitted to taste it nor to be present at the ceremonies
where it was used as a libation to the gods. The narrow-necked vessel
in which it was contained was called a _pool_ and had a flat clay
stopper fastened to the neck with cords of bark. We brought up several
of the necks of such containers with the stoppers still held in the
orifices by the bark binding.
“Several of the open vessels with tripod legs are glazed with red
inside and out; others have a blue lining, and many were red on the
outer surface but left the natural clay color upon the inside. The legs
were either rounded and hollow, containing rattle pellets, or thin and
solid. They are often fashioned as the heads of alligators or as human
grotesques. Many large flat vessels and shallow circular dishes, some
nine inches in diameter, were found, of the same design and finish as
those I have unearthed in ancient graves in Labna and other old Maya
cities.
“The ancient devotees seem to have been especially partial to a certain
cylindrical vessel about six inches in diameter and nine inches high.
These were often of thin structure and covered with designs and
hieroglyphs or bearing the outlined figures of some deity surrounded
with the conventional symbols of his attributes.
“A large circular earthenware pan, seven inches in diameter and with
a long, thick handle which frequently ended in a carved head, was in
common use as an incense-burner. It was rarely made of well-kilned
ware and was evidently intended only for brief service. We found many
broken utensils of this sort, but only one perfect specimen, which
is exceptional in that it is of better-kilned material and of most
artistic workmanship. Its pleasing outline is ornamented with openwork
spaces intended to give needed draft to the burning copal in its
basin. Nearly all the incense-burners of this type have hollow legs
containing burned clay pellets evidently designed to produce a rattling
sound at religious dances and rituals.
“The mortuary urns are large vessels ornamented with the likeness of a
human figure surrounded with a conventional design. The figure usually
bears upon its back a vase-like receptacle doubtless designed to
receive and preserve the ashes of the dead. I do not know whether these
urns were empty when thrown into the well or actually contained human
ashes. I hope this point may be settled by laboratory examination.
“The finding of copal and the intimate association of the copal masses
with the potsherds and unbroken earthenware vessels, leaves no doubt
as to the use and purpose of both. The employment of copal resin as
a medicament and as a sacred offering seems to have occurred almost
simultaneously with the appearance of man upon the peninsula of
Yucatan. In the primitive rock sculptures in the famous cave of Loltum
is shown the burning of copal as a religious rite, while the earthen
vessels found in the cave contain the blackened residue of burnt
copal—a residue that, despite its antiquity and long inhumation, gives
forth, when burned, the characteristic odor of copal resin, a fragrance
not to be mistaken for any other. The copal tree, anciently known as
_psom_, still grows sparsely in nearly every part of Yucatan and in
ancient times it was carefully cultivated, while the gathering of the
resin partook of the nature of a religious ceremony. One of the early
Spanish chroniclers says:
_Psom_ is the name of a tree from which the natives take out a
certain kind of resin-like incense which they burn before their
idols and in their houses. We Spaniards took advantage of this
resin to cure many diseases and we called it copal, which is a
Mexican word.
“The first piece of copal we found was nearly round and about the size
of a baseball. The resin when fresh is light in weight and almost
transparent, but time and the pressure of water at the bottom of the
well have given our copal specimens the general lack-luster appearance
of the bog-butter found in the lacustrine deposits of Switzerland.
Several hundreds of these copal masses were brought up in round or oval
form and many with the marks on them of wicker containers or baskets.
One of the largest of these copal specimens, weighing several pounds,
was thus incased, some portions of the basket fabric still clinging to
the copal. Evidently the copal was still plastic when placed in the
baskets. A number of the copal nodules had been wrapped in leaves, the
veined imprint of which upon the copal surface is so clear that I doubt
not that any good botanist would be able to identify the tree or vine
from which they were plucked.
“Quantities of bark were brought up which have upon the inner surface
pellets of copal arranged in the conventional symbol or prayer for
rain. Several of the copal masses are molded in the semblance of human
figures or faces, many of them fantastic or grotesque. Many are in the
form of frogs and some of these frogs hold a small ball of rubber in
their mouths.
“Gourds of all kinds we brought up—small tree gourds which broke even
under the most careful handling and which were preserved with the
utmost difficulty; _leks_ or big gourds, some measuring a foot across
and with a two-gallon capacity; gourds cracked and mended with bark
lacing, just as they are still mended and used by the Mayas of to-day;
gourds coated with the same whitish enamel used on terra-cotta vessels
and painted or hieroglyphed. The gourds were undoubtedly used not only
as containers for liquids but for other things such as corn and beans,
as they are used by the modern Mayas. None of these gourds was found
with a top or stopper in it, but we brought up separately many of the
top sections which had been removed to permit the hollowing out of the
gourd. Some still had an inch or two of stem left on them purposely
to provide a handle and were undoubtedly used as covers or stoppers.
Possibly some of these gourds with their contents of food or drink were
originally sealed before being cast into the well.
“Among the wooden objects, the _hul-che_, which I have previously
described, is the most interesting, and our finds in the well represent
the whole history of the development of this weapon, from its most
primitive bill-hook appearance to its most finished and ornamented
ceremonial form.
“The highest stage in the development of the _hul-che_ is represented
by two specimens from the well. One represents an entwined serpent, its
fangs at the hook; in its now hollow eye-sockets probably were once
glittering eyeballs of jade. The shaft of the second specimen is formed
of human figures and is fronted with a fine mosaic or mask of burnished
gold. The whole weapon is as elaborately and minutely carved and
inlaid as the finest example of Japanese wood-carving. And we found
the stone-headed darts which were used with the _hul-che_. They are
pictured clearly on the walls of the temples, but an actual dart or any
part of one had never been found before we raised our specimens from
the well. Any one may now view them in the Peabody Museum at Harvard
University—some without the stone heads but showing the cleft in the
wooden shaft into which the head was fitted. There are also several of
the sharp stone dart-heads, made of common chert and flint. A few are
beautifully formed and fashioned of translucent chalcedony, jasper, and
even jade. These specimens represent the highest known development of
ancient stone point-work of the American continents and probably of the
whole world.
“Portions of lance-poles were found, and stone lance-points. Some of
these, like the beautiful dart-points, still carry traces of the hard
black bitumen—possibly hardened copal—that once fastened the stone
point to its wooden shaft.
“Wooden objects shaped like the incisors of a jaguar and bearing
fragments of handsome mosaics encrusted on them are probably parts of
what were once jaguar head-masks. Other similar objects are plated with
gold—portions of golden jaguar-masks. Parts of large trough-shaped
wooden objects are doubtless the remnants of shields. The wood is
Yucatan cedar, light and easily worked, yet resistant to the destroying
effect of weather and insects. All of the wooden objects required quick
and skilful application of preservatives, for, while they had about
the consistency of wet punk when they came from the water, even a few
moments’ exposure to the air would have been sufficient to crumble them
into dust. Happily, I was fully prepared for this contingency, and not
a single important wooden find was lost or injured for lack of proper
treatment.
“Next to the _hul-che_, the most important of the wooden treasures is
the _caluac_, the wand, scepter, or symbolic badge of high priesthood
or nobility. Many times upon the temple walls are pictured dignitaries
holding this device, as a king might hold a scepter or a bishop his
crook. The general form is that of a forked rabbit-stick. It may be
significant that the figure portrayed carrying the _caluac_ is never
depicted as carrying also the _hul-che_, and perhaps the _caluac_ may
be a ceremonial weapon, symbolic substitute for the _hul-che_. Whatever
its purpose, we have several specimens. Some are nearly perfect and
there are several sizes. The most common of these finds is about half
an inch thick by three inches wide and twenty-four inches long.
“In addition to the wooden dolls and figures I have previously
mentioned, I obtained a curious ritual rattle inlaid with mosaics, and
several spatulas somewhat like Japanese praying-sticks. The spatulas
are thin and about three inches wide by seven in length. Both faces
show traces of the same hard white enamel found on several of the
gourds and potsherds. The faint characters on these spatulate wooden
objects are so precisely like those in the Dresden Codex that one might
readily believe them the work of the same artist.
“That phallic rites were practised in some, if not all, sections of the
peninsula is indicated by a phallus, well carved from hardwood, which
we brought up from the well. It was recovered from the deeper layers
of the well-bottom, and this fact precludes any chance that it is a
later intrusive artifact. Some distance to the south of El Castillo
lies a straggling line of large stone phalli, evidently taken from
some portion of the ruined city by early Spanish settlers and then
abandoned by the roadside. The House of the Phalli in old Chi-chen Itza
further emphasizes the fact that the cult here existed and there are
unmistakable evidences in the ancient ruins of Uxmal.
“The several wooden labrets, or lip- or cheek-plugs, are of some dark,
hard wood, possibly _circicote_ or ebony. The frontal surface is a
sunken panel on which is usually carved in relief the figure of a
plumed warrior. The carving in many cases is as fine as that on the
best cameos and is brought out by red pigment. Slight traces of green
are indicated, also, following the same general scheme as the large
carvings on the temple walls, where green and yellow pigments are used
to indicate respectively jade and golden objects or ornaments. That
these colors have withstood centuries of immersion is truly remarkable;
I doubt much if any of our modern colorings would have the same lasting
qualities.
“Now I come to the last and perhaps most important of our
finds—various objects of jade. We brought up from the very lowest part
of the well seven jade plaques or tablets, broken but later fitted
together with almost no parts missing. They measure, approximately,
three by four inches, and are well carved with cameo-like designs of
Maya deities. Of similar design and length, but only two inches wide,
are nine additional plaques.
“Of jade personal ornaments we recovered a hundred and sixty large,
handsome carved beads and pendants of varying sizes. These are nearly
all perfect. There are seventy carved jade ear, nose, and labret
ornaments, from two inches in diameter down to half an inch. They are
all well cut and polished. Among the loveliest specimens are fourteen
jade globes or balls, an inch and a half in diameter. These are
beautifully polished and several of them are finely carved with human
figures and other designs.
“The most prized of all the jade objects is a figurine four inches wide
and of like height. It represents a seated figure of the Palenquin
type, with an elaborate head-dress, and is probably the finest figurine
of the Maya era which has ever been found. It is of flawless jade,
perfectly carved and polished, and absolutely unharmed by its centuries
at the bottom of the well. It alone is worth, a thousand times over,
the hard years of my life spent in solving the mysteries of the great
green water-pit whence it came.
“I have purposely left the mention of the jade finds to the very last,
for they are the culmination of our discoveries, treasures which,
instead of enlightening our ignorance, only add another unanswerable
riddle, another intriguing enigma.
“These plaques and ornaments, green, gray, or black; this wonderful
figurine—all are of genuine jade, and jade is simply not indigenous
in America. Despite all seeking and all investigation, not one single
outcropping vein of jade has been found on the American continents, not
even an elementary nodule or crystal. Nephrite, or near-jade, and soft
serpentine are common to both North and South America, but the jade
of the ancient Maya cities is real jade, as easily distinguishable
from nephrite as a real diamond from ordinary glass. Furthermore, I
have never found, nor have I seen, any similar objects taken from the
ancient Maya cities which are of nephrite, though the present-day
Indians, particularly in northern Mexico, file out objects of soft
serpentine and sell them to the gullible tourist as _chalchuitl_.
The Nahuatl word _chalchuitl_ originally meant nephrite or American
jade—near-jade—but even before the coming of the Spaniards the word
had become prostituted to mean almost any greenish stone.
“To the ancient Mayas jade was very precious—immeasurably more
valuable than gold (sun metal), of which they had great store—even
as in China to-day one may pay thousands of dollars for a string of
perfect jade beads. The following authentic tale concerning Cortes
and Montezuma illustrates the point. The story was recorded by one of
Montezuma’s followers and has the ring of truth:
“Although Montezuma was, toward the last, virtually the prisoner of
Cortes, he was for a long time treated not as a prisoner but as an
honored guest. Cortes and Montezuma were accustomed to play each day a
native game which in many ways resembles chess, and both became much
interested. It was their further custom at the close of each day’s game
to present each other with some gift.
“At the close of one day’s game the Aztec monarch presented Cortes with
several large disks of gold and silver handsomely worked. Cortes was
greatly pleased and so expressed himself. Montezuma smiled and said:
‘The gift of to-morrow shall be such that to-day’s gift will seem in
value and preciousness, when compared with it, as no more than a single
stone tile of the roadway.’
“As may be supposed, the mighty Cortes spent a sleepless night in
anticipation of the priceless gift he was to receive. At length the
morrow came and the game was played to a long-drawn finish. The gift
of Cortes to Montezuma does not matter, but the royal treasurer of
Montezuma brought in on a golden salver the royal gift, four small
carved jade beads. The bitter disappointment of Cortes was so great
that he could scarcely conceal it, but Montezuma had acted in good
faith, for jade had throughout the Aztec ages possessed an intrinsic
value far above that of gold and silver.
“So far as I can learn, the ancient Mayas considered silver of slight
value, and they esteemed gold or sun metal more for its adaptability
and malleability and its supposedly sacred origin than for its monetary
value. It was an object of barter simply because of its utility in
adornment and as a temple metal. Possibly copper may have had nearly as
great a value in the eyes of these ancient people.
“Of all the jade objects we recovered, not more than a fifth are
unbroken, and the broken jade ornaments were broken not by chance or
accident but deliberately and by a practised hand. The fractures are
not the result of a casual crushing blow, but of the splitting or
cleaving impact from a sharp-edged instrument guided by a deft hand, so
that the jade was broken but not pulverized or marred. Like so many of
the relics from the well, they had been killed, just as the bottoms of
terra-cotta vessels were punctured and weapons were broken so that the
departing soul of him who died might be accompanied by the souls of the
material objects he had most loved or used during his earthly life. And
when the departed souls completed the long journey and at last stood
before the almighty Hunal Ku, the supreme god in the heavens, each
would wear the souls of his earthly jewels and have at hand the souls
of his earthly implements.
“Although virtually all of the ancient rites and beliefs are unknown to
the modern Mayas, this one belief has persisted in an esoteric fashion.
Many years ago I attended the funeral of a young Maya woman whose
husband had been devoted to her. Her burial attire was of the richest
the family could possibly afford, the _huipile_ and _pic_ wonderfully
embroidered of _xoc-bui-chui_ (embroidery of the counted threads). Her
slippers of pink silk also were elaborately embroidered. Long slits had
been cut in both _pic_ and _huipile_ where they would not be noticed,
and the soles of the slippers each had three longitudinal slits cut
in them. When I asked the old grandfather why this had been done, he
professed ignorance and would only reply that it was the custom among
his people. But when I told the old _H’men_ of Ebtun what I had seen,
and of my conviction regarding it, he admitted that I was right and
that the ancient belief and custom have been handed down through the
generations, although the subject is never discussed with the Catholic
clergy.
“Always since that time and the finding of the jade in the great well
I have thought of these lovely stones as ‘soul jewels,’ although,
according to the Maya belief, their souls are departed.
“Unfortunately, some of the finds from the well were stolen. How many I
do not know—not a great many, I think. But these things are priceless
and it is cause for grief that even the least of them should fail to
reach a safe place of exhibition. One of my natives abstracted some
gold from the finds and had it melted up and made into a chain before
we detected him. Later I found, also, that one of my straw bosses had
been bribed by another archæologist to secrete and hand over for a
price whatever of the finds he could. While I shall never know just
what the sum of these losses was, it could not have been great, because
no finds were brought up except in my presence, and every find that
came under my eye was catalogued and accounted for.”
CHAPTER IX
TWO LEGENDS
On one of Don Eduardo’s trips into the country of the Sublevados he
chanced across an old Indian, the troubadour of his tribe. This man
had a wonderful store of ancient traditions and legends and was an
excellent spinner of tales. As nothing pleased him more than to sit
by the hour and tell his stories to Don Eduardo—a most interested
audience—they spent many pleasant days together. The following legend,
especially, remains fresh in Don Eduardo’s memory and seems to me
worthy of being recorded ere it dies for lack of appreciative ears.
IX-LOL-NICTE
My grandfather told me this, as his grandfather related it
to him, and so on back through many grandfathers; and before
that—who knows? There was in the north of this great land a
city, and this city existed a thousand years before the coming
of the white man. The dwellers in the land were called the
children of Kukul Can. Afterward the Itzas, who were a mighty
people, discovered this city and dwelt about the edge of its
Sacred Well for many _katuns_.[6] But before the time of the
Itzas, the first dwellers had come to this land in big canoes,
from the land of the mountains of fire. They were led by a
great and wise man who aided them to build the city. The name
of this man is written in stone in the ruins of the city.
In the city was a high-born maiden, a princess named for a
flower, for on the very night she was born, when the goddess
Ixchel caressed her beautiful mother and placed in her loving
arms a tiny girl child, the _zac nicte_ tree growing on the
terraced platform of the big house on the hill burst into
bloom for the first time and the tiny princess was named for
its flowers, Ix-Lol-Nicte—She the Flower of Sweet Perfume.
Each year thereafter the _zac nicte_ tree, the Mayflower tree
of the Mayas, flourished and brought forth its fragrant snowy
blossoms. Each year the princess grew in comeliness until she
became the most graceful, lovely maid that eyes ever rested
upon. Sixteen Mays had the _zac nicte_ tree been crowned with
blossoms and sixteen Mays had passed since the girl-child was
born to the beautiful mother in the great house on the hill.
As the summer passed, the trunk and branches of the _zac nicte_
turned to ashy gray, but its leaves remained green and its
blossoms lingered in masses of white fragrance. So beautiful
had the maid become that it seemed the greatest honor in all
the land must be hers. She must become the bride of Noh-och
Yum Chac, the Rain God, whose palace is at the bottom of the
Sacred Well. Surely the god would be pleased with her, for
never had he had a bride half so fair. The time was at hand
for the wedding of the water-god and a mortal maid. The god,
who controlled the vase of waters, the dew, and the rain, and
at whose will the corn grew luxuriously or withered and died,
must be mollified. Each year, if it became evident the Rain God
was angry with his people, the most beautiful maiden in the
land was chosen to be thrown into the well, to sink quickly to
his watery home and become his favorite handmaiden and win his
forgiveness for her people.
Ix-Lol-Nicte grew in loveliness, and yet no man had seen her,
nor had she looked upon the face of any man, save only those of
the trusted household retainers. The home of the princess, with
its carved stone walls, thick and massive, loomed majestically
above the palm-thatched homes of the common people. In the
spacious garden was a riot of tropic flowers, exotic shrubs,
and twisting vines, giving forth wave upon wave of sweet
perfume. Among the trees of grateful shade was the _yax-nic_,
whose bark is used to make the drink of the gods and whose
clusters of lilac blooms formed a perfect background for the
vivid flame of the _copte_ tree.
Care-free, with no thought of the future to darken her
innocent pleasures, the princess drifted happily about the
garden, with only the companionship of the wild creatures
that peopled the inclosure. And they sensed with unerring
intuition the gentleness of her presence and bared not against
her claw, fang, nor sting. In the sunny garden the little wild
honey-bees, shining black like bits of jet, clung to her glossy
tresses, loath to leave her fragrant presence. The big, lazy
black-and-yellow butterflies lit fearlessly upon her shoulders,
fanning her lovingly with their slowly opening and closing
wings. The _bec-etch-ok_, the bird of a hundred songs, seemed
to save for her his choicest selections as she wandered along
the garden paths.
Her first knowledge of sadness came with the death of her
pet fawn which had fed upon a poisonous vine that grew in
the garden undetected by the servants and gardeners. All day
she sat in the shade of a big sapote tree, thinking of her
little dead pet. Suddenly she heard a sound in the forest
depths beyond the garden and she looked up to see a youth
chasing a wild fawn which bounded over the undergrowth and
into the garden, coming close to her as though beseeching her
protection, and she stood up and kept the youth from further
pursuit. Not knowing her to be a princess, he was very angry
with her for spoiling the chase and called down upon her the
curses of Cacunam, god of the hunters.
But the princess was not at all alarmed, because, not knowing
the ways of men, she did not realize that the wrath of a man is
a very dreadful thing to a woman.
“Beautiful boy,” she said, “why do you chase the baby deer?
Go find Ek Balam, the black jaguar, or Noh-och Ceh, the giant
grandfather deer who lives in the deep forest! No brave man
would hunt such a defenseless little creature as a fawn.”
The lad, who was of her own age, hung his head and was ashamed.
Abashed by her imperious manner, he felt that one far superior
addressed him, yet his pride was stung. Flinging back his head,
he gazed at her with flashing eyes and said:
“I come of a line of great warriors and I will show you I can
fight even the wild _tzimin_ or the _chacmool_ [tiger].” So
saying, he rushed off through the forest and was gone.
A jungle pheasant gave its staccato whistle in the forest
depths and all was still. For the first time in her life the
princess felt loneliness creep over her, for she had not wished
the youth to rush away.
“Thus do the gods of our people upset the plans of man,” said the
story-teller, as he paused to roll and light a corn-husk cigarette.
Looking up with a quizzical smile, he said, “Is it not so with the
gods of the white people?” I assured him heartily and from personal
experience that the plans of mice and men, white or otherwise, do have
a peculiar faculty for going awry.
With his fag burning freely, he continued the legend:
The memory of this meeting kept coming before the eyes of the
youth and a strange restlessness possessed him, so that even
the excitement of the chase no longer gave him pleasure. He
himself knew not what had bewitched him and he fancied that
he suffered from some fever. But ever the beautiful form and
flowerlike face of the maid floated before his eyes. Asleep or
awake, it was the same; he could not banish the lovely vision.
He did not know her to be a princess, but he knew the big house
on the hill and that nobility dwelt there.
At length he went to his uncle, the great _ah-kin-mai_, the
high priest, and said:
“Tell me: am I not also of noble birth, like those who live on
the hill in the big house?”
His uncle regarded him curiously, for he was a wise as well
as a very learned man and well he knew that when a youth asks
about those of a house, he is not interested in any of the
inmates but the maid who dwells there.
“Be still, my son,” said he. “Forget that you have asked this
question. The people on the hill are of the royal house, while
you are but the son of a chief. Does the bird in the high
tree-top know who is on the ground below? So it is with men.”
The youth turned silently away and from then on held his own
counsel, for he knew that the high priest, his uncle, held
no thought of love or romance in his breast. But the next
day he warily scaled the hill beyond the city walls, vowing
in his heart that he would at least gaze once more upon the
maid who had woven about him so potent a spell. As he reached
the hilltop there was nothing to see but the tall, rough tree
trunks and the heavy branches. The tree under whose shade the
lovely maid had sat but yesterday was there, but its branches
sheltered only a gay-plumaged motmot perched on the lowest
branch, jeering at him with its raucous voice. A weight lay
heavy on his heart.
“Hateful bird! Pitiless sun! Unfriendly forest!” thought he.
Was it possible the gods might be angry because he dared to
invade the privacy of the big house on the hill? He turned
sadly to depart, but determined to come again even though the
gods be wroth. He had taken but a few steps when a sweet voice
directly behind him asked mockingly:
“Do you hunt the baby deer to-day? Or, perchance, the bluebird,
that sings so sweetly in the tree-tops?” The boy turned at the
first word and his courage returned, for the evil bird had
flown, the sun was never more glorious, and the forest suddenly
seemed friendly.
“I hunt a rare flower that grows high up in the dwellings of
men,” he replied, “and there is joy in my heart now, for at
last I have found it.”
The maid did not answer, for she was unused to the ways of men
and of flatteries, but she sat down under the tree where she
had sat before and said:
“Tell me, handsome youth, are the people who dwell in the city
below as good to look upon as you?”
The youth did not know what to say or answer, for he realized
at once how far above him the maiden must be to dare ask such
a question, and how closely guarded she must be to know so
little of the dwellers of the city. But this only increased his
determination to come again and again, until the heart of the
girl should respond to the beating of his own.
In a short time a path was worn up the hillside and through
the forest, and often the birds looked down upon the lovers as
they spoke of the plans of the girl’s family that she become
the bride of the Rain God. The princess had been taught that to
be called to serve in the subterranean palace of the god was
the greatest honor and happiness that could come to any maiden,
whether high-born or of lowly birth. Until now, until the
coming of this youth, she had accepted eagerly the possibility
of becoming the bride of the Rain God. But of late her heart
had grown strangely chilled whenever she thought of this honor
that might be hers.
Meanwhile, the youth, who came from a family noted for its
energy and decision, bided his time and kept his own counsel.
His plan was formed. The princess must not be sacrificed to the
grim keeper of the Sacred Well, whether god or devil. He would
steal her away and bear her off to some distant province before
ever she could be chosen for the Rain God. He dared not tell
the princess of his plan, for he knew her awe and fear of the
gods. But to himself he said:
“Surely if I take her away before the day of the choosing, that
will not be opposing the will of the gods, for they will not
yet have spoken their decree.”
Now Ix-Ek [Brunette], daughter of the great war chief Ek-Chac
[Dark Red One], was as beautiful to the eye and in outward
semblance as gentle as Ix-Lol-Nicte. It had been rumored that
the high honor of serving the Rain God in his deep home might
be hers. Those who knew her best, who knew the workings of her
artful mind and cruel heart, shook their heads and said in
secret:
“Surely the gods who can read the minds and what is in the
hearts of men, even as _H’men_ the high priest, does with the
ills of the body by means of his magic crystal—surely they
will never choose Ix-Ek!”
But Ix-Ek knew nothing and cared less about the secret
whisperings. The desire to be the chosen of the gods became
stronger and stronger in her heart as she perceived that
Ix-Lol-Nicte was a rival for that coveted honor. And the hour
for the final choice drew nearer and nearer.
It was by the merest chance that the handsome youth passed
within the sight of Ix-Ek. At once it came to her like a bolt
from the blue that she did not in the least want to serve the
Rain God in his damp abode, and that the only happiness in
the world for her was to bask in the tempestuous adoration of
this unknown youth. Artfully she found a way to know him and
to make it seem that he had sought her of his own volition.
To him, unused to the wiles that an artful woman ever has at
her command, she seemed so tender and compassionate that he,
knowing nothing of her passion,—for who can see the moon when
the sun is shining?—impulsively confided to her his love for
Ix-Lol-Nicte. And Ix-Ek, concealing the jealousy that seethed
in her heart, that she might better work out her terrible
design, sweetly promised to aid him in securing his heart’s
desire.
As silently as the poisonous yellow spider of the jungle spins
and spins its web, so did Ix-Ek spin her web of deceit and
falsehood to bring the choice of the gods upon Ix-Lol-Nicte
and thus separate her by death from the youth upon whom Ix-Ek
had set her own evil heart. The jealous rage of an unscrupulous
woman knows no bounds, obeys no laws, sacred or otherwise, and
stops at nothing. So Ix-Ek schemed in secret and acted upon her
plan.
Just as the plans of the youth were perfected, even to the
litter that was to bear Ix-Lol-Nicte away with him, and stout
bearers, men of his own service, the high priest announced that
the day of the choosing had arrived and that all who were to
participate in the ceremony were to be in instant readiness.
The young man knew that as one of the _hul-che_ bearers and
especially appointed guard to the king he must be present at
the ceremony. Failure on his part to be on hand, by an ancient,
unchangeable law meant degradation for his entire family beyond
all pardon and for himself enslavement.
On the great square before the Pyramid of Sacrifice stood the
platform of Noh-och Can, the Great Serpent, where would be
enacted the ceremony of choosing the betrothed of the Rain
God. At the very center of the platform was a massive seat,
or throne of carved stone, used in this ceremony since the
earliest days of the Sacred City. Over the seat was a gorgeous
gold-embroidered canopy with a circular opening in the top, so
that the rays of the sun might shine directly upon the person
seated there.
This was in the month of the New Sun. The early summer rains
had passed, though every now and then a fleecy cloud swam
through the azure and obscured the direct brightness of Ich-Kin
[the Eye of Day], Earth was at its best, covered everywhere
with a tender verdure accustomed to plentiful moisture and now
suffering the first pangs of thirst which might wither and
parch it should the Rain God not relent.
At a given point in the solemn rites, the high priest would
call one beautiful maid after another to occupy the sacred seat
and the one upon whom the unclouded sun shone longest was the
choice of the gods for betrothal to the Rain God. Thus Ich-Kin,
the greatest of the gods, would choose the virgin bride for
his brother, the Rain God.
A vast crowd from the city and from far regions had gathered to
witness the majestic ceremony. An oppressive stillness was over
all, and in the silence was the solemn feeling of the nearness,
the very presence of the gods as they awaited the choosing of
their lovely mortal handmaiden.
Shattering the stillness came the shrill, weird notes of the
flute and the keening of the sacred whistle, mingled with the
rolling boom of the drum as the multitude joined in the slow
chant of the ritual music, rolling out in a mighty sea of sound.
At length the high priest raised his hand and the music ceased.
Taking a vase of fragrant smoldering incense, he approached
with measured pace to each of the four corners of the platform,
symbolizing the four corners of the earth, and as he came to
each corner he wafted the smoke of the incense toward each of
the symboled _Bacabes_ who support the four corners of the
earth upon their faithful shoulders and asked, by invocation,
their blessing upon this ancient ceremony.
Four times he did this and then announced that the gods were
favorable. The priestly blower of the sacred trumpet blew two
long blasts from his great conch-shell, and as the echo died
away, Ix-Lol-Nicte descended from her curtained palanquin and,
trembling from head to foot, walked toward the throne. She
was attired in a long pure-white robe, adorned only at the
throat and hem with the exquisite embroidery of the counted
threads, worked by the temple nuns. Clusters of _chan-cala_,
black and shining as jet beads,—the color worn in honor of the
West God,—lay against her fluttering breast. Before her went
attendants, scattering large white and yellow blossoms, flowers
of the gods of North and South.
Slowly, with graceful dignity, unfaltering yet fearful, she
approached the great stone chair. In her heart she prayed
desperately that the choice of the gods might not fall upon
her, for how could her adoration turn even to an immortal god
when before her eyes was the beloved image of the mortal youth
of the hillside?
Upon her the throng gazed with wondering eyes. Beauty had been
expected, but not this vision of virginal loveliness—a maid
upon whom even the gods must gaze with rapturous and humble
admiration! As she seated herself upon the throne it seemed
to the onlookers as if the gods had already endowed her with
sacred attributes, and an involuntary sigh came from each bosom
in the dense throng.
Again the high priest raised his hand, and now the drum alone
beat in pulsing cadence to the movement of the _caluac_ or
scepter which he held. Seated before the maiden was the
_Uinic-xoco_, or counter, who recorded the beats of the drum.
At length the _caluac_ in the hands of the high priest came
to rest, the drum ceased to beat, and Ix-Lol-Nicte with her
attendants left the platform.
Then came Ix-Ek, and she too was beautiful; as vivid as the
scarlet berries that shone upon her breast. A murmur of
admiration came from the onlookers and Ix-Ek turned and gazed
at them disdainfully, for to her these people were as the dust
underfoot. She bore herself with haughty pride, and if she felt
any fear her bearing did not show it. A short time before, she
had craved the honor of becoming the bride of the Rain God, but
now she was passionately enamoured of a mortal youth and she
was pulsating with the love that filled her heart. Whatever the
honor, she no longer wished that sleep in which the eye of life
is forever closed.
Once more the high priest raised his hand, the drum-beats
ceased, and the people silently returned to their homes. The
solemn ceremony of the choosing was over, but the choice of the
gods, by ancient custom, might not be made known until ten days
had passed.
With heavy heart the young man returned to his father’s house,
for he had seen not even the tiniest cloud pass over the face
of the sun while his adored Ix-Lol-Nicte sat in the great stone
chair. It seemed inevitable that she would be the choice of
the gods and the thought was as a knife in his breast. As he
lay upon his couch, stricken with anguish, there came to him a
messenger from Ix-Ek, saying:
“Come to me. I will help you and yet not anger the gods, for I
know that Ix-Lol-Nicte was chosen.”
Swiftly he went to the house of Ix-Ek and shook the string of
hollow shells before the curtained entrance. At the first sound
Ix-Ek stood beside him, brilliantly beautiful in her rich garb,
her cheeks flushed and eyes bright with excitement. Even the
love-blinded and despairing lover of Ix-Lol-Nicte gazed at her,
spellbound for a moment with admiration, before his poignant
grief once more engulfed him and he listened in hopeless
silence while she spoke.
“You must tell Ix-Lol-Nicte that if she is really chosen she
must hold her body straight and like an arrow, so that it will
enter the water as the jade-tipped dart from the _hul-che_,”
she said. “I know the under priests who are to hold her at
the brink of the well and fling her in. I will tell them that
the gods have whispered to the high priest that the Rain God
desires no new bride this year and that they are to fling her
carefully so that her body shall not turn in the air but shall
cleave the water like an arrow. Thus she shall come again to
the surface, unharmed. Be you ready to rescue her and it will
seem merely as though the Rain God had refused the sacrifice.
Fear not. I know the priests and they will do as I say. Is not
my father their chief, with power of life and death over them?
Have no fear; they will obey me without question.”
Hope returned to the heart of the youth and he called down the
blessing of heaven upon Ix-Ek, his ears dulled to the serpent
hiss of her voice, his sight unheeding the crafty, cruel
glitter of her eyes. And that night he haunted the forest close
by the royal abode of Ix-Lol-Nicte, while the Ox-ppel-Ek, the
stars of the Three Marys, like white sentinels, gazed down
upon him in pity as he gave the familiar signal, the cry of
the night-bird. Soon the white-robed, weeping Ix-Lol-Nicte was
locked in his arms. And when she could speak she whispered
between her sobs:
“Let this be our last farewell. It is the will of the gods
and I must go quickly, for since the choosing I am watched
continually.”
Kneeling at her feet, the youth told her of the plan of Ix-Ek
and she was convinced by his eager young eloquence. Her stifled
sobs ceased and the flame of hope warmed her and calmed her
fears, for her faith in her lover was as great as her love for
him.
Alone once more and without the reassuring nearness and vital
strength of the boy, her fears returned and she distrusted
Ix-Ek, because the intuition of a woman often reaches where
the reasoning of a man fails to penetrate, and in her heart
the maid knew that Ix-Ek sought only to destroy her. But she
resolved to say nothing to her lover to dim his hope, and to
trust only that the gods, knowing all that was in her breast
and that she could never serve the Rain God with a whole heart,
would in their all-seeing beneficence refuse her pitiful
sacrifice.
When ten days had passed, the high priest announced that
Ix-Lol-Nicte was in truth the choice of the gods, and soon came
the fateful day. Ix-Ek, aided by the nether gods and guided
by Hun-Ahau, the arch-fiend himself, carried out her evil
plan. She had seen and instructed the two brawny _nacons_ who
were to cast Ix-Lol-Nicte into the Sacred Well, but instead
of directing them as she had promised the youthful lover of
Ix-Lol-Nicte, she told them that the high priest had had a
vision and unless Ix-Lol-Nicte were accepted by the Rain God,
priests and all would die before sunset; and she urged them
to fling the maid with all their strength so that she should
turn again and again in the air and strike the water with fatal
impact.
The sturdy, slow-witted under priests, befuddled by the words
of Ix-Ek, did not, as was the custom, fling the slight form of
the victim far out toward the center of the well, but let fall
the tender body of Ix-Lol-Nicte so that it struck the terrible
rocky side of the pit. A mutilated, bloody corpse at last sank
beneath the green waters.
Her lover, standing at the brink of the well beside the covered
bower of the king and poised to dive into the water to aid
Ix-Lol-Nicte the moment her lovely head should reappear above
the surface, saw her body strike the rocks. Turning like a
flash, he rushed to Ix-Ek and threw her far out into the well
as one would throw a small stone. Then he leaped upon the two
dazed under priests and dragged them over the brink so that all
three fell like plummets into the watery pit.
Horror overwhelmed the high priest and all others who stood
there. They knew that a portentous thing had happened and that
the wrath of the gods would swiftly be upon them. Enormous
clouds, as black as the berries upon the dead breast of
Ix-Lol-Nicte, came rushing from the four corners of the horizon
and surged high up in the heavens, meeting as one. A single
bolt of lurid lightning split the firmament and entered the
Sacred Well, and the thunder made the rock walls shudder and
the whole earth to tremble. The Rain God, angered that his
people had turned the sacred sacrifice into a day of evil,
caused the heavens to pour down upon them such a deluge that
hundreds were swept into the well and battered to death on its
jagged, rocky sides or drowned in its depths.
Others fled, to escape the wrath of the gods, but few reached
the shelter of their homes.
When the terrible storm was at last over, only a few houses
were left and a decimated population. The big _zac nicte_ tree,
which had blossomed for the first time when Ix-Lol-Nicte was
born, now lay upon the ground, its gray trunk split and torn
and its lovely fragrant blossoms bruised and crushed. But if
one had looked closely he might have seen that the heart of
the tree had been eaten out by a big, dark worm with stripes
of brilliant red, red and vivid as the carmine berries on the
breast of Ix-Ek.
The old man—soothsayer, story-teller, wizard of Zactun—also told the
legend of Xkan-xoc, the forest bird, choosing his words carefully,
with long waits between puffs of his husk-wrapped cigarette; and
the measured cadence of his voice, together with the white magic of
midnight moonlight, made his stories live and clothed his legendary
characters with flesh and blood for the enchanted eyes of the listener.
XKAN-XOC, THE FOREST BIRD
There was a time when the wrath of the Rain God was over the
land. He had sent the dry wind to work his will and all the
country of the Mayas lay parching and dying. The leaves of
vines and shrubs and trees first twisted and contorted in
their agony of thirst and then crumbled away. The black earth
turned to dust, blown about by the winds, and the red earth was
baked as hard as the tiles in the roadway. The old men, wise
with the knowledge of years and many famines, and whose ears
knew the inner meaning of small sounds which most people think
insignificant, said that the deep earth cried out and groaned
in its hot anguish.
The _ah-kin_, priest of the Rain God, who lived at the verge of
the Sacred Well, told his people that the mighty God of Rain
was displeased because more copal incense had not been burned
at his shrine, and that he must be appeased at once or no corn,
no beans, no peppers would grow in the whole land.
A new maid must be sent to him, one so beautiful that he would
wish to keep her as his bride and his gratitude would be shown
by gentle and frequent rains that would revive the dying maize.
The mortal messenger must be the loveliest virgin in all the
country, without a flaw, absolutely without the slightest
blemish on any part of her body. Her voice must be as sweet as
that of _Xkoke_, the wood-thrush, so that the sound of it as
she spoke to the god in behalf of her people might be as music
to his ears.
The great and wise men met in council,—the king, the lords,
the priests, the mighty warriors,—and picked men, hundreds of
them, were sent to comb the country-side and the cities and the
depths of the forest to find a fitting bride for the god. There
was not a maid in Yucatan or even in lands far to the south
upon whose face one or another of these ambassadors would not
look. And only a few maidens, those of surpassing beauty, would
be sent to the sacred city for the ceremony of the choosing.
From the humble house of her father in the depths of the Tiger
Forest came Xkan-xoc, carried swiftly on a flower-decked
litter, borne by strong young men, the sons of nobles. Garlands
of flowers and sweet-scented herbs shaded her from the heat
of the sun. Her thirst was quenched with the milk of new corn
and wild honey. Her food was especially prepared by the vestal
virgins of the temple.
And upon the day of the choosing her _pic_ and _huipile_ were
made of shining, soft tree-cotton, lustrous as the wings of
a sea-bird, that clung to her slender gracefulness. Glinting
green stones hung pendent from her ears, while about the lovely
slender column of her neck were entwined many small fretted
chains of gleaming sun metal. Her eyes were big and dark like
those of a fawn; her voice as soft and sweet as the dawn breeze
swaying the fronds of the _cocoyal_ palm or ruffling the petals
of the hibiscus flower. Tiny sandals of softest doeskin covered
her feet as she was led to the temple to be prepared for the
sacrifice.
The high priest donned his vestments, the lesser priests
brought rich votive offerings and baskets of incense, both
copal and rubber. The king and his guard of noble _hul-che_
bearers took their stations and all the people of the city
gathered at the edge of the Well.
The first dulcet tones of the sacred flute were heard from the
temple of Kukul Can at the far end of the Sacred Way and the
shrilling of the sacred whistles joined with the flutes and the
reverberating boom of the _tunkul_, the sacred drum. A sudden
silence, a strange ominous stillness—then was heard from
the depths of the temple the wailing of all the white-robed
virgins. And swiftly the news traveled. Xkan-xoc cannot be sent
as the messenger to the Rain God, for, in preparing her for the
ceremony, the vestal virgins have discovered a tiny mole or
birthmark upon her breast, which had been overlooked previously.
The ceremony stopped and the people dispersed with heavy
hearts, for Xkan-xoc might not be sent to the Rain God, and
beside her all other beautiful maidens seemed unlovely. Another
maid must be selected for the sacrifice and how might the Rain
God be moved by a bride, however lovely, after seeing the
divinely fair Xkan-xoc?
CHAPTER X
THE CONQUEST
In “The Fair God” General Lew Wallace has given a somewhat fanciful but
in the main faithful description of the conquest of Montezuma and the
Aztecs by Cortes and his Spanish knights and men-at-arms.
The conquest of the Mayas is a similar story of blood and plunder in
which the Mayas, although far outnumbering the Spaniards, were no
match for the superior knowledge and weapons of the white men. And, as
always, where the flag of Spain went the church followed close behind
and consolidated and held the conquered as arms alone never could have
done.
Bishop Landa says that Gerónimo de Aguilar with some companions was
the first to try his luck in Yucatan. He and his men took part in the
destruction of the city of Darien in 1511. He accompanied another
leader, Valdivia, in a caravel from Santo Domingo. They ran aground at
a place called Viboras, on the coast of Jamaica, and the ship was lost
with all but twenty men. Aguilar and Valdivia with the few survivors
set out in a small boat without sails and without food and were
thirteen days at sea, before, by chance, they reached Yucatan. In that
time half of the little band died of starvation.
Upon reaching land they fell into the hands of a bad Maya chief; he
immediately sacrificed Valdivia and four others to the native gods, and
the people feasted upon their bodies. Aguilar, his chief lieutenant,
Guerrero, and four or five others were left to fatten for a subsequent
sacrifice, but they escaped and reached another tribe which was at war
with the bad chief. Here they were kept as slaves, and though they were
mercifully treated, nearly all of them died of disease except Aguilar
and Guerrero. The former was a good Christian, according to Bishop
Landa’s account, and kept his prayer-book, and in 1517 he returned
to Spain with Hernan Cortes. Guerrero, however, appears to have been
less pious; he allied himself with a native chief and together they
conquered many native tribes. Guerrero taught the natives how to fight
and how to build fortifications. He conducted himself like an Indian,
painting his body, letting his hair grow long, and wearing ear-rings,
and married the daughter of a chief. It is thought he became an
idolator.
In 1517 Francisco Hernandez de Córdoba set sail from Santiago de Cuba
with three ships, for the purpose, some say, of obtaining new slaves
for the mines. Others say he went to discover new land. He arrived at
length at the island of Mujeres (women), which name he gave it because
of the native goddesses of the island—Aixchel, Ixche-beliax, Ixhunie,
and Ixhunieta. The Spaniards were surprised to find the women fully
clothed and to see buildings of stone and articles of gold. The latter
they took with them. Sailing into the bay of Campeche, they landed upon
the coast of Yucatan on the Sunday of Lazarus and called the place of
their arrival Lazarus. They were well received by the natives, who were
struck with awe and wonderingly touched the beards and persons of the
strangers.
Near the sea the Spaniards beheld a square stone monument with steps
leading up to it on all four sides. On the summit was a stone idol,
with the figures of two wild animals gnawing at his flanks, and a huge
stone serpent in the act of swallowing a leopard. All were smeared
with blood from frequent sacrifices. A little way inland was the city
of Champoton, which the chief would not permit the Spaniards to enter,
bringing forth his warriors against them. This saddened Francisco
Hernandez, but he put his forces in order and caused the artillery of
his ships to be fired.
The natives, however, did not cease their attack, although the noise
and smoke and fire of cannon must have been terrifying to them who had
never seen nor heard such things before. The bloodshed was terrible,
for the natives died in hundreds, but still they pressed on, driving
the Spaniards back to their ships. Of the Spaniards, twenty were
killed, fifty wounded, and two taken alive who were later sacrificed.
Hernandez himself received thirty-three wounds.
Returning to Cuba, he told Diego Velasquez, the governor, of the
richness of the land and of the abundance of gold, and Velasquez
despatched his nephew, Juan de Grijalva, with four ships and two
hundred men, on May 1, 1518, to undertake the conquest of Yucatan. One
of the ships was commanded by Francisco de Montejo. They cruised along
the whole coast and finally attempted to besiege the city of Champoton
again, but with no better fortune than their predecessors. One Spaniard
was killed and fifty wounded, among them Grijalva.
When the Spaniards returned to Cuba Hernan Cortes became greatly
excited upon hearing the news of so much land and such riches and
determined to conquer the country in the name of God and his king. He
outfitted eleven ships, the largest being of one hundred tons. Among
their captains was Francisco de Montejo. There were five hundred men in
the expedition, horses, war-gear, and goods for trading or ransom.
On the voyage one ship was thought to be lost, and with the ten
remaining vessels an attack was made on the city of Cotoch, which was
captured and plundered. Later the ship that was thought to be lost
rejoined the rest. Cruising down the coast from northern Yucatan, the
fleet came to the inhabited island of Cuzmil.
The natives, seeing so many ships and so many soldiers, abandoned the
place and fled inland. After despoiling the city, the Spaniards made a
foray into the hinterland and came upon the wife of the chief and her
children. They conversed with her by the aid of a native interpreter
and treated her kindly. Many gifts were bestowed upon her and her
children and she was induced to send word to the chief and bring him
before them. When he came, he too was well treated and presented with
gifts.
The chief ordered all the dwellers to return to their homes and all
of the loot that the Spaniards had taken was restored to its owners
and confidence and friendship were established. The natives became
converted to Christianity and the image of the Virgin was set up to
replace the old stone idols. From the Indians Cortes learned that some
white men were near by, in the power of a barbarous native chief. The
friendly Indians were afraid to venture into the domain of the chief,
but Cortes finally induced them to deliver the following letter by
stealth to the white men:
NOBLE SIRS:
I left Cuba with eleven armed ships and five hundred Spaniards
and arrived here at Cuzmil, from where I write you this letter.
Those of this island have assured me that there are on this
land five or six cruel men and in all very similar to us. I do
not know how to give or say other descriptions, but by these
I guess and am sure you are Spaniards. I and these nobles who
came with me to discover and populate these lands, request
you that within six days after receiving this you come to us
without other delay or excuse. If you come we shall all know
one another and we shall reward the good work that from you
this fleet receives. I send a brig in which to come and two
ships for security.
This letter was carried by the natives, concealed in their hair, and
it reached Aguilar, of whom I have previously spoken. He was not able,
however, to make connection with the ships Cortes had sent and after
six days the brig and its convoy ships returned to Cuzmil and Cortes
immediately set sail with his whole fleet. Soon after embarking, one
of the ships was damaged and the whole fleet returned to Cuzmil while
repairs were made. The following day Aguilar arrived, having crossed
the sea between Cuzmil and the mainland in a canoe. He cried for joy at
finding his countrymen and knelt down and thanked God. He was taken,
naked as he came, to Cortes, who clothed him and received him kindly.
He told of his privations and of Guerrero, but it was not possible to
reach the latter, who was then eighty leagues inland.
With Aguilar, who was an excellent interpreter, Cortes again preached
the worship of the Cross and made a great impression upon the
inhabitants of Cuzmil. The fleet upon its return voyage touched at
Campeche and at Tabasco, where the inhabitants gave to Cortes an Indian
woman who was afterward called Marina. She came from Jalisco, was the
daughter of noble parents, and had been stolen when small and sold as a
slave in Tabasco and later in other cities. Thus she knew the language
and much of the condition of the country.
After his arrival in Cuba, Cortes and the governor determined to send
Montejo to the Spanish court, to carry to the king his fifth of the
treasure resulting from the expedition and to secure a grant for the
conquest and settlement of Yucatan. When Montejo reached Spain, Bishop
Juan Rodriguez de Fonseca was prime minister, with full power over
New Spain. The reports rendered to the minister by Diego Velasquez,
governor of Cuba, were by no means in praise of Cortes, and as a result
Montejo, his emissary, found himself in a most unfavorable position.
It was only after seven years of what must have been heartbreaking
delay that he persuaded the president of the council and Pope Adrian
to approve the mission. The king had been long absent in Flanders, but
now an audience with his Majesty was granted and Montejo succeeded
in clearing Cortes and in getting the king’s grant for the conquest
of Yucatan, and with it the title for himself of governor of the new
province.
As soon as possible he outfitted three ships and sailed with five
hundred men. His destination was the island of Cuzmil, which was safely
reached and where he was well received by the Christianized natives.
After a brief time he went to the mainland, where his first act was
to plant the flag of Spain with the words, “In the name of God, I take
possession of this land for God and the King of Castile.” He then
sailed down the coast to the city of Conil. The natives were greatly
alarmed and sent word throughout the country of the advent of the
Spanish. All of the chiefs for some distance about were persuaded to
visit Montejo, who received them with honor and respect. But one chief
of great strength was accompanied by a negro servant, who carried,
concealed, a cutlass, and at a favorable moment the chief seized the
weapon and tried to assassinate Montejo, who defended himself while his
men disarmed the native.
This event was disquieting; Montejo realized that in spite of his
conference with the natives, they were unfriendly and that it would be
unwise to risk his little army against their combined strength. And
so he weighed anchor and proceeded farther down the coast, seeking
the largest sea-coast city, which proved to be Tecoh. Here, either by
friendly overtures or by threats, he gained permission to establish
a city which he intended to make the capital of his new dominion.
Traveling about the country, he came upon Chi-chen Itza, which seemed
to him an ideal location, probably because of its stone buildings and
its plentiful water-supply. He at once set about the task of making
it habitable. Houses of wood with thatched roofs were put up and with
the assistance of friendly natives he began the task of subduing
surrounding tribes, placing some one or another of his men in charge of
the villages as they were conquered, until he had two or three thousand
natives in his power.
By this time the natives awoke to the fact that they were fast becoming
slaves to the Spaniards, and rebellion set in everywhere. For a time
Montejo with his men was able, by cruel and bloody treatment, to keep
the people in subjection; but at last they forced him to draw in all
his forces to Chi-chen Itza, where they besieged him. Each day the
armed and mailed Spaniards took heavy toll of their besiegers; and each
day the Indians were reinforced, while the Spaniards counted every
victory a defeat which lost them even a few in killed or wounded. And
the food-supply was nearly exhausted.
Finally Montejo perceived that he and his men must escape and return to
the island of Cuzmil or they would all be slain. Through the day they
wearied the native besiegers with skirmish and sortie and that night
they tied a famished dog to a rope attached to a bell and just out of
reach placed some food. All night the dog tried in vain to reach the
food and all night the natives heard the sound of the bell and thought
the Spaniards were preparing a night attack. But the wily Montejo and
his followers had escaped from the rear of the ancient “Nunnery” and it
was several hours before the besiegers discovered what had happened.
Not knowing which road the fleeing enemy had taken, the Indians set
out at once by all the roads to the sea-coast. Some of them actually
caught up with the retreating forces, but were too few in number to
attack successfully. The Spaniards reached safely the town of Zilan and
the Christianized tribe of the Cheles (Bluebirds) and from there they
easily made their way to Ticoh, where they were secure for some months.
Montejo saw that conquest to the southward was blocked, and, with the
aid of the friendly Cheles and taking the chief of the town of Zilan
and two young nobles, the sons of a still greater chief, he traveled
with his force up the coast, the young natives of his escort obtaining
safe conduct for him through the various tribes. Thus he reached
Mexico, which was held by the iron hand of Cortes.
Montejo was next sent to Honduras as viceroy, but the project of
subduing Yucatan seems always to have been his dream. Some years later
he went to the city of Chiapa and from there despatched his son, at the
head of an expedition, to Yucatan, in a further effort to conquer it.
The younger Montejo had in the meantime traveled through Mexico and
even into lower California and had been made viceroy of Tabasco.
In the years since the attempt of the elder Montejo to subdue the
Mayas, Yucatan had suffered greatly, first from internecine strife
and then from a famine, so that the younger Montejo found almost no
organized resistance. The city of Champoton, where the Spaniards had
twice suffered defeat under Hernandez de Córdoba and under Grijalva,
and where the first Montejo had not dared to risk a conflict, now
offered no battle at all. From there the younger Montejo went to
Campeche and established friendly relations, so that with the aid of
Champoton and Campeche, gained by promises of rich rewards, he reached
the city of Tiho, meeting with almost no resistance.
Here he established his capital, renaming the city Mérida, and so
it has remained to the present time as the seat of government of
Yucatan. The army of a few hundred men was quartered in Mérida and the
subjugation of the country was carried on from there. Captains were
sent to different towns as local governors. The young Montejo sent
his cousin of the same name to Valladolid, to govern that important
city and subdue the surrounding territory. When things had pretty
well settled down, the elder Montejo came from Chiapa, first taking
up residence in Campeche, which he renamed San Francisco in honor of
himself. A little later he moved on to Mérida and became governor in
fact, as well as in name, of the land of Yucatan.
The rule of the Spaniards was exceedingly brutal for some years, but
it is believed that most of their cruelties were committed without
the knowledge of Montejo and certainly not at his command. There
is the well-worn excuse that the conquerors were few in number and
the conquered numerous, and that diabolical treatment was sometimes
necessary, to hold the masses in check. Rebels were burned alive and
hanged in great numbers. The important people in the town of Yobain
were gathered together in a large house and locked in stocks, then the
house was set on fire, so that all perished horribly.
Diego de Landa himself saw a tree upon which were hanging many Indian
women from whose feet their little children had been hanged. In another
city two Indian women, one a maid, the other newly married, were hanged
for no other reason than that they were beautiful and the Spanish
captain feared that his men might seek their favor and thereby stir up
trouble with the natives.
Perhaps the greatest cruelty of all was the deportation of the natives
of the thickly populated provinces of Cochua and Chectemal. Hands and
arms and legs were lopped off. Women had their breasts severed and,
with gourds tied to their feet, were thrown into the lagoons. Children
were stabbed because they could not walk as fast as their captors, and
men, women, and children were slain without excuse.
Because of this treatment the native population decreased very rapidly
and the towns and cities were abandoned. A serious outbreak occurred in
Valladolid, where the natives slew seventeen Spaniards and four hundred
natives who were servants of the Spanish. Hands and feet of the slain
were sent through the country as a signal for a general uprising, but
none took place.
Evidently the priesthood complained to the king regarding the
atrocities that were being committed and of the making of servants
or virtually slaves of many of the natives. An edict from the king
deprived all governors of native servants. Montejo was impeached and
sent to Mexico for a hearing, and from there to the royal council at
Madrid. And there he died, as Landa says, “full of days and work.”
The younger Montejo left the imposing gubernatorial mansion which his
father had built in Mérida and resided for some time in the city merely
as a private citizen, much respected by all. After a time he went to
Guatemala and then returned to Spain, where he eventually died after a
prolonged illness.
As has been said, the church followed close upon the heels of the
conquerors and there seems to have been little love lost between the
priests and the soldiery, both jealous of power and wealth. With the
forces of the elder Montejo was only one cleric, Francisco Hernandez,
chaplain of the expedition, who later attributed the failure of the
venture to the lack of priests. Before the real conquest by Montejo
the younger, it became necessary for Antonio de Mendoza, who was
viceroy of all New Spain, to carry out the orders he had long before
received from Queen Juana to the effect that priests should be sent to
Yucatan—one of the conditions upon which the province had been granted
to Montejo.
Mendoza had no choice but to send priests from other Spanish
possessions under his command, as there were none in Yucatan. For this
duty Fray Jacobo de Testera, who held a high clerical office in Mexico,
volunteered. In 1531 he and three other priests arrived at Champoton
and, having asked leave of the Indians to enter the country, made an
auspicious beginning. But they soon lost the good-will of the natives
because they insisted on burning the idols, and, on finding they were
making no progress, became disgruntled and returned to Mexico. In 1536
another band of friars essayed the task of Christianizing Yucatan, but
after proselyting for two years they returned to more settled Spanish
dominions.
The conquest actually effected, after the founding of Valladolid in
1541 and Mérida in 1542, a church was built in the latter city and in
1544 Bishop Bartolomé de las Casas and his Dominican friars came to
Yucatan and gradually spread the creed of the Cross throughout the
land. But while we speak of the conquest as becoming an accomplished
fact with the founding of the two principal cities of Valladolid and
Mérida, it was not until more than eighty years later that the whole
country was pacified, and during this time the Itzas in the southern
part of the country remained unconquered and un-Christianized. These
eighty years constitute a long period of guerilla warfare and sporadic
attempts on the part of the Spaniards to conquer the stubborn Itzas
and efforts of the priests to convert them, and, throughout, showed a
lack of concord between the military and the church. At one time two
native Christians set up claims as pope and bishop respectively and
gained a considerable following.
As has been mentioned earlier in this work, some of the Maya
tribes never were conquered; they do not, to this day, pay taxes
to or otherwise concern themselves with the Government of Mexico.
Catholicism, generously mixed with the old paganism, has, however,
permeated their villages.
Whatever we may think now of the means and methods followed by the
old padres in bringing the heathen to the Christian faith, we can
but admire and reverence their motives, for no earthly reward could
possibly compensate for the incredible hardships despite which these
zealots persevered. Only a stanch, all-abiding faith, supreme over
mundane things, could have carried on.
CHAPTER XI
THE FINDING OF THE DATE-STONE
“Always in my earlier days in my City of the Sacred Well,” says Don
Eduardo, “the question was in my mind as to the age of the city. Every
carved stone I found, I scanned eagerly for some clue and I should say,
perhaps, right here, that while we can often gain only an inkling of
the meaning of the Maya hieroglyphs and in some cases no understanding
at all, the date-glyphs are plain sailing. We can read them, I think,
as readily as we would read dates written in English. With but a little
training any one may do this.
“But though I looked on engraved stones by the hundreds, there were
no dates. Again and again I questioned the natives: ‘When do you think
these buildings were erected and who built them?’ Invariably came the
patient answer, ‘_Quien sabe?_’—‘Who knows?’
“Among these Indians was an old fellow whose face hauntingly reminds
me of an ancient picture of a Hebrew patriarch that I have seen in
some forgotten place. One day we were clearing the brush from a gentle
terrace to make ready for the planting of corn. I called the attention
of my overseer to several mounds upon a large near-by terrace, telling
him that we must surely dig into them as soon as we could find time,
to see if they contained any relics. Suddenly my grizzled patriarch
straightened up and gazed at the mounds and then came over to me,
saying as he pointed to the tallest of the mounds, ‘That one has in it
a stone book written by my fathers.’ Here at last was something, of
no value, possibly, but better far than the eternal ‘_Quien sabe?_’
Eagerly I asked him how he came by this idea and he said that in the
days of his great, great grandfather this temple mound was known as
Mul-huun-tunich, the Hill of the Stone Book. He said that he had been
told this by his father and his grandsire had told his father and a
high priest had so told his grandfather. I could get no more out of
him, but he stuck doggedly to this brief tale.
“I had passed the mound several times and now I gazed at it with fresh
interest. It was covered with a tangled growth of vines and thicket
and well-grown trees, reminding me of what some philosopher has so
truly said—that the most perfect works of men are soon covered by
forests which grow an inch a day. If this mound had ever been a stately
edifice, all semblance had long since passed. The bat or serpent might
find a cavity in its ruined space, but if any carving of god or hero
were to be found, it was well hidden from my prying eyes.
“At once I began the task of clearing away the young growth and the
stumps of what had been sizable trees and beneath these were other
decaying tree stumps. In this ruined area, which is perhaps three
thousand feet to the south of the Great Pyramid of El Castillo, is a
terrace, rising about twenty feet above the general level. On this
terrace, which once had smooth, sloping sides, are ruined buildings
with a bit here and there still standing, surrounded with shapeless
heaps of fallen stone. The hill of the stone book, as it was called by
my old Indian, was on the northeastern edge of this terrace, pyramidal
in form and sharply defined.
“My better judgment told me I was wasting time in heeding the vaporings
of the old Indian while more important tasks waited, but my interest
and curiosity were touched and I urged my men to strenuous effort,
resisting with difficulty the temptation to dig at once into the
center of the mound. We cleared the undergrowth in patches and burned
it, so that the valuable timber would not be injured by the heat, nor
the stones in the mound calcined. While most of the men were thus
engaged I selected a few picked workers and we began the excavation
of the pyramidal mound. We found not only trees growing above buried
stumps, but charred stumps even below these. My old Indian examined
carefully the cuts upon these deep-buried stumps and logs and said that
these marks had not been made by ax, hatchet, machete, or any modern
implement that he had ever seen. In all probability this earliest
felling was done before the coming of the white man with his cutting
edges of metal.
“I wondered who could have cut down the big trees around the pyramid.
How could trees have been permitted to grow here or have been burned
so close to buildings inhabited or in use? Evidently the burning and
cutting, ancient as it might have been, had yet been done many, many
years after the structure was abandoned.
“At last we had a space cleared all around the base of the mound and we
sorted over the loose stones, looking for inscriptions, but came across
nothing of unusual interest. We found the mound to be four-sided and
truncated, with broad steps leading up all four sides and with the
principal stairway facing the west. The pyramid was in ruins and the
upper outline obliterated. Close to the base of the main stairway we
uncovered a semi-recumbent stone figure, part man and part animal, of
the so-called Chac Mool type. It was still firmly cemented in place
and, like the stairway, faced the west. Just in front of this stone
figure we unearthed a small elaborately carved stone urn of pineapple
pattern, and a similar urn was dug up just to the rear of the Chac Mool
figure. The Chac Mool and the incense urns were much marred and pitted
by erosion, and the finding of charcoal in fragments and granules all
about indicated that a deliberate effort had been made to destroy these
priceless things.
“Gradually we cleared the earth and fallen stones and mortar from the
main staircase. Many nests of lovely mauve-colored wood-doves were
destroyed as we felled the trees. We saved as many as we could, but for
several hours the mournful cries of the bereaved feathered creatures
sounded from the neighboring forest like the wails of the departed
spirits of those who had lived and died beside this old, old temple.
“On the southern slope a huge _chaib_, a species of boa-constrictor,
beautifully marked with splashes of green and brown, was awakened from
its slumbers deep in some rocky cavity of the pyramid and came surging
down the mound with watchful head held high and graceful body bending
the bushes in its path as it disappeared into the thicket below.
“The bees of Yucatan are kindly and have no sting, but the wasps
more than make up for the impotence of the bees. The most venomous
wasps, the _x-hi-chac_, build flat nests that cling as closely and
unobtrusively to the tree trunks as porous plasters. One of the trees
we felled contained such a nest. Lightning is slow compared with
the speed of these insects, and I, personally, would just about as
willingly be struck by lightning as to encounter the sting of the
_x-hi-chac_. I think lightning would be less painful. Several of the
men were badly stung and while I gave them first aid by applying
ammonia to their hurts, and provided drinks of a refreshing nature, the
victims spent a sleepless, feverish night. They were weak and in low
spirits in the morning, but we resumed our task nevertheless.
“Clearing the way a step at a time, we finally reached a level,
well-built platform at a height of thirty feet. At the rear of the
platform was the jagged outlined wall of what had been a small temple
and directly before it were two large Atlantean figures of unusual
type. I had seen many squat stone figures in and about the city but
never before such large ones or figures carved with such fierce
grandeur of expression. They were intricately carved and highly
conventionalized. Each was garbed in an embossed head-dress, breast
pendants, loincloth, and sandals. Every detail was clearly worked, even
to the carved strands of rope holding the sandals—sandals bearing
a striking resemblance to those worn by the prehistoric or archaic
Gauchos of the Canary Islands, which again suggests the plausibility of
Plato’s Lost Atlantis.
“And as we cleared the debris away it became evident that these massive
figures, so stiff and majestic, had originally sustained the front
or façade of the temple. My curiosity and excitement had now reached
a point where every slight delay was nerve-racking and the two grim
guardians seemed to me like silent keepers of age-old secrets, ready
to come to life and destroy the prying humans who dared invade their
sacred domain.
“Little by little we removed the earth and rubbish. Slowly we
progressed between the colossal figures, excavating with great
difficulty the compacted mortar and stone which had fallen and become
almost as a single stone. About three feet back of the statues was a
huge stone covered with inscriptions. Was it the stone book? I cast
aside all philosophic calmness and dropped to my knees, clawing away
with my bare hands at the debris which obscured the inscriptions, until
my nails were broken and my fingers bleeding.
“Here indeed was the Huun-tunich, the Stone Book, the Rosetta Stone of
my ancient, lovely, and forgotten City of the Sacred Well! I am not
ashamed of the fever of excitement which possessed me and communicated
itself to my wondering Indians, who had not the slightest idea why the
mad white man should become so wrought up over the finding of merely
another stone with queer writings on it. But, then, what matter! White
men are always a little insane, anyway, and one never knows what folly
they will attempt next.
“With sharpened twigs I cleaned out all the incised lines, until the
inscription on the exposed face stood forth clearly. Not till then did
I attempt to read it. And there, among the glyphs I could not at once
decipher, my eye caught a date-sign fairly jumping out to meet me.
Cycle Ten, Katun Two, Tun Nine, Uinal One—in other words, 600 A.
D.!
“It had been my secret hope that somewhere, somehow, I should be able
to find an authentic date in Chi-chen Itza, some inscription which had
eluded the eyes of other searchers. The Chronicles mention various
dates in connection with the ancient city, but this added proof was
needed to carry us over the threshold from probability into the realm
of incontrovertible fact, just as the finds in the Sacred Well proved
for us the veracity of the legends.
“This date-stone does not by any means indicate that the city was
founded in 600 A. D., but that this particular temple,
whatever its purpose may have been, was built or dedicated at that
time. Imagine some terrible catastrophe befalling the United States,
wiping out all our people and leaving our cities to fall in ruins and
become covered with forests with the passing of hundreds of years. Then
imagine an archæologist, even one as mad as myself, digging into these
ruins and coming upon that block of granite which now stands over the
entrance to the New York Corn Exchange and tells us in unmistakable
terms when the building was erected. His find would be of tremendous
historical value—a definite date standing out clearly from the misty
past. But still he would not know nor have any clear idea of the date
of the founding of New Amsterdam and no clue to the interesting history
of those sturdy Dutch patroons who first built a village at the mouth
of the Hudson.
“And so it is with my Sacred City. There is not in all the world a
metropolis living or dead more mysterious, more dowered with romance.
Its age, its origin, even the racial identity of its builders, are
each and all sunk in mystery so profound that I doubt if we shall ever
fathom them.
“I was so elated over my discovery that I at once promised double pay
to each man for the month and declared that we would have a fiesta
that all would remember for miles around and describe in later years
to their sons. I tried to tell them how important was our find, but
the double pay and the fiesta were much more eloquent to them than any
words I could utter. I singled out the old Indian whose great, great
grandfather had passed down the tale of the stone book. His face was
as impassive as the faces of the stone gods about us, as befitted his
dignity, but I could see it cost him a tremendous effort not to shout
with glee and dance about like a small boy, and he gloried in the fact
that he had not led me astray. Drawing his bent frame erect, he said,
‘Did I not say so and did my great grandfather ever lie?’
“Careful measurements showed that the stone had been the lintel of the
doorway. Each end had rested upon and was securely cemented to the
heads and supporting upraised arms of the huge Atlantean figures, thus
forming an integral portion of the main temple entrance. This is not an
unusual Mayan arrangement and, as previously mentioned, there is in the
Akzab Tzib, or House of the Writing in the Dark, a similar lintel but
without a date.
“A very long time must have elapsed since the abandonment of this
temple. A seed of the _chac-te_ tree was carried by the winds or the
birds and dropped in the entrance, a little to one side of the center.
This tree is of extremely hard wood and it grows slowly. It grew to a
sapling and at last into a big tree whose roots by their upward thrust
toppled over the central portion of the façade. The lintel fell to the
ground, but its fall was softened by the pile of powdered mortar and
stone which had already sifted down, and fortunately the priceless
relic was unbroken. Time passed; the big tree died and decayed. All
this we know by the casts of the gnarled roots left in the grouting
beneath the temple platform. Once again fertile Nature planted a seed
under the tablet, carried to its earthy bed down under the fallen
stones by some rodent or fruit-eating bat. And this was the seed of the
_yax-nic_—a tree as hard as iron and as long-lived as its predecessor.
It too grew to great size and its roots tilted the stone tablet to one
side and, finally dying, left its epitaph written in root-casts or
molds. Again ever-vigilant Mother Nature planted a seed, this time of
a tree of soft, quick-growing wood, and the roots encircled the tablet
as in a mighty hand; and thus we found it when we cut down the tree.
Fortunately, the previous trees, which exude an acidic sap, had done
the tablet no harm and the last tree had by its clasp rather protected
the tablet than harmed it. And how easily Nature might have contrived,
with her cycles of life, for the destruction of this treasure!
“The day passed and darkness came, but I could not leave the spot. I
dismissed my Indians and took the photographic cloth from my camera and
covered the tablet and then piled over it some pliant boughs of trees.
But, like the youth who lingers over his adieus to his sweetheart, I
uncovered the stone again and sat beside it until the moon was bright
overhead. My vagrant fancy carried me back over the centuries and I
saw smooth highways crossing and recrossing, and along these highways
populous cities with the towering outlines of massive temples and the
carved edifices of kings and nobles. I could hear the soft, silvery
laughter of women bearing water-jugs, as they met in groups along the
tree-shaded avenues, and there were merchants and bearers of burdens
traveling to and fro from the market-places, and resplendent warriors
and haughty peers and solemn priests. And there was the scent of
incense smoke and a high, clear voice was chanting the invocation to
Kukul Can....
“I was aroused by the voice of one of my Indians, a quaint fellow who
always addressed me as Ah Kin (High Priest)—why I do not know. ‘Ah
Kin,’ said he, ‘Master, the voices of the birds are stilled; your
food is cold and untasted; I beseech you to come and eat.’ I arose
and went with him, but I could not eat; and all night, as I tossed
in my hammock, I saw the tablet and its every inscription as clearly
as though it were actually before my eyes, and early in the morning
I was back at its resting-place. That day we carefully raised it and
replaced it firmly upon the heads and upraised arms of the impassive
stone guardians—serene, majestic figures that have witnessed a mighty
civilization and its passing into the dust of oblivion. Once again
their arms hold the graven tablet as of old, but their mute lips which
might tell so much are silent and in their changeless gaze is the
haunting, immutable introspection of the Sphinx.”
CHAPTER XII
THE CONSTRUCTION OF MAYA BUILDINGS
Whoever views the pyramids along the Nile is inevitably intrigued as to
how they were built—how the massive stones were transported and placed
in their elevated positions. And likewise at Chi-chen Itza one is bound
to speculate as to how the heavy stone-work was transported from its
quarries, how it was so intricately carved, and by what predetermined
plans it was erected into buildings which have stood for centuries,
defying tropical nature.
I have found the Sacred City an absorbing topic upon which to ponder,
fitting together the known facts and drawing upon imagination to piece
in the gaps, until the mental picture of the building of its ancient
temples is an unbroken fabric. My own visualization of the process
of building a Maya temple is no doubt faulty in many respects, and I
have no wish to precipitate an archæological controversy by claiming
it to be hole-proof; I offer it merely for the sake of the reader who
has not the opportunity to create his own vision of the subject from a
first-hand view of these ancient edifices.
Imagine an army of workers—a hundred, yes, a thousand times as many as
would be employed in the erection of a great modern building,—short,
squat, powerful, sun-browned men, sweating at their task of quarrying
and moving huge stone blocks.
In the quarries the blocks for the monolithic serpent heads, the column
sections, and all the larger pieces used in the building are being
channeled from the solid ledge rock, or from isolated boulders, by
the _pa-tunich_, or quarry master, and his many assistants. The ring
of blows struck with stone or wooden mallets upon chisels tipped with
flint or calcite attests their industry. Some workers do not use the
mallet and chisel, but score the soft limestone ledge with flint-bladed
hatchets, while others ply long wooden poles as wedges and levers. On
the quarry floor the master stone-cutters are squaring and smoothing
the rough blocks and laying against them, from time to time, their
wooden gauges, satisfied only when the stones are smooth and square and
of the right dimensions. Under the finished stones are inserted wooden
rollers and about them are knotted cables made of fiber or of tough
vines, and long lines of men grasp the cables and bend their backs to
the task of hauling the big blocks from the quarry to the building site.
Lines of men like toiling ants carry on their shoulders baskets of
earth and stones. Slowly the terrace or substructure is built up to the
first level, its sides faced with smooth stones, and each side bisected
with a broad stairway. And up to this level is built an inclined
roadway for the workers and their burdens. And slowly, up and up, grows
terrace after terrace, each smaller than the preceding one, and the
pyramid takes shape, leaving a flat stone platform at the top upon
which the temple will be erected. Here the _pol-tunich_, the master
stone-mason, and his artisans are busy in the finishing of the stones
and in their intricate carving. Flint-edged hammers are used to work
the grosser outlines, but the finer details are worked out with more
delicate implements—gouging-tools of flint and calcite and keen-edged
chisels of polished nephrite. Such a chisel Don Eduardo dug up near the
base of one of the temples.
The finished stones, one by one, are dragged up the long inclined
roadway, to the floor-level of the temple, and put into their places
under the direction of the master builder. Stone upon stone, the walls
take shape and the column sections are set in place. Then come the
workers in mortar. Every crevice is filled and the column sections
firmed into place with small stone wedges and thick lime mortar. With
a cement-like plaster of sifted lime and white earth mixed with water
and the juices of the _chi-chibe_ plant, the workmen fill each crack in
the walls and columns and burnish it to stony hardness and exceeding
smoothness.
Next come the sculptors—men of renown, artists famed for their skill,
who spend months and years with knives of obsidian, nephrite and
flint chisels, and tiny cutting-tools of copper and calcite. At last
the stone-and-mortar surfaces are covered with deep-carved masks and
portraits and battle scenes and hieroglyphs and friezes, until scarcely
a square inch of plain surface remains. With pencils of red _chac-ti_
wood and with soft-plumed brushes dipped in brilliant pigments the
carvings are further adorned—various shades of brown, the blue-green
of the sacred quetzal bird, the emerald of the forest, the azure of
the cloudless sky, the ultramarine of the deep sea, the gold of the
noonday sun, the velvet blackness of a cloudy night, twilight purples
in the long shadows of trees reflected in the pool of the Sacred Well,
the gray of aged stone that has battled for countless years with
the elements; vermilion of the turkey-head blossom, the rusty hue of
red-earth dust. From triple-vaulted roof to temple floor the colors are
applied with consummate artistry.
Speaking of the tools used by the sculptors, the finds of Don
Eduardo throw a new light upon this previously puzzling subject.
Many cutting-edges and rejects of flint and calcite have been found.
Some archæologists have stated that chisels of metal were not used,
and probably these were but little employed, yet from the Sacred
Well were raised several small hard copper chisels. There can be no
doubt, to judge from the shape and the marks upon them, that they are
chisels. One of Don Eduardo’s most precious finds is a nephrite chisel
discovered at the base of the Great Pyramid. Concerning it he says:
“While working one day around the base of the Great Pyramid of
El Castillo, taking measurements and digging below the surface
accumulations to get at the base line of the structure, I came upon
a curiously shaped fragment of worked stone—heavy, close-grained,
and dark green in color. Closer inspection showed it to be the edged
portion of a cutting-tool.
“The unbroken tool must have been of the typical celt type, about six
inches long and three inches wide at the cutting-edge, tapering to a
rounded head. The part found was rather less than a half of the whole,
but nevertheless the more interesting and important part because it
contained the polished cutting-edge. It was an unusual find, indeed.
Stone points and cutting-edges of local material, like flint and
calcite, are not uncommonly encountered in favored places after heavy
rains that wash away the earth covering and expose them to view, but
tools fashioned from costly, imported material like nephrite were
rarely used and were not carelessly cast aside when broken, for even
the fragments had their value and could be worked over into smaller
implements or into ornaments.
“The location in which this broken nephrite chisel was found, no less
than the chisel itself, has an antiquarian bearing. Here was not only
an authentic museum piece, but testimony as to its use, for clearly the
chisel was used in making the sculptures of El Castillo and was lost
there in the course of the work.
“Nephrite, or kidney-stone, was used in prehistoric, ancient, mediæval,
and later times as a remedy for kidney diseases. It was taken, of
course, in pulverized form. In prehistoric times nephrite was as
needful to the skilled artisan as tempered tool steel is to the modern
craftsman. Nephrite was found in lands far distant from the Mayas; and
pieces of unworked nephrite were bartered and sold, as was nephrite
dust. This dust packed on a rawhide surface became an effective
abrasive for shaping and polishing the nephrite tool. Nephrite carried
by ancient ways of commerce, by barter and trade and conquest and
plunder, reached the Mayas to a limited extent. I have no doubt its
value to these ancients was greater than that of gold.”
Century after century has passed and the work of these amazing
craftsmen still stands, even to the hair lines of the lintel carvings
and the faint traces of pigment still clinging to the smooth walls. The
epitaph is imperishable, even though the names of the artists, like
their very bones, have vanished.
Those who directed the work of temple-building not only built well,
but had an eye to efficiency, also. No stone was wasted; rejects,
fragments too small for carving or fashioning into building blocks—all
were utilized as filling or ballast for the terraces. The stone chips
from the mason’s hammer and chisel were used as grouting. Even the
stone-dust was collected and sifted and mixed, in the ratio of three to
one, with powdered lime, plant juice, and water, to make mortar. When
the temple was completed to the point where the sculptors and painters
took up their task, the inclined roadway was removed.
Then when the massive temple, smooth-walled and roof-crowned, stood
complete on its serrated pyramid of receding terraces; when the broad
stairways were finished and the undulating stone serpents and the
paneled terrace faces all were perfectly aligned and the whole majestic
structure appeared as frosted silver against the velvet blue of the
sky—then only did the master builder consider his work complete.
With the exception of the Snail-shell or Watch-tower, all of the Maya
buildings are rectangular. None are lofty, all are massive. Yet in
all respects they are excellent in their architecture, of appropriate
dimensions, symmetrical, and well constructed. Stones are fitted with
infinite pains. Many have even been drilled. It has been shown that
sharpened bird bones twirled about on the stone were employed as
drills. Stones having drilled holes of six inches or more in depth are
not uncommon. Mortar, plaster stucco, and cement were as good as or
better than similar materials of the present time and were expertly
applied. The use of pigments as understood by these ancient artisans
is a lost art and it is doubtful if we have any colors as durable and
unfading.
Monolithic columns of great size, chiefly of serpent-head motif, are
found everywhere. Built-up columns, both square and round, were used.
Inlays, mosaics, and stone screens, bas-reliefs, full reliefs, murals,
panels, cornices, balustrades, sills, lintels,—virtually the whole
gamut of architectural design and embellishment known to the best of
ancient or modern architecture,—were known and used by these builders
isolated by two oceans from any foreign influence.
Lintels were made of stone and of sapote, that iron-hard wood of
Yucatan which defies the wear and tear of time like the teak of the
Orient.
In one respect Mayan architecture might be considered inexpert, from
the standpoint of our present knowledge of building construction,
and that is their method of roofing their structures and of building
arches. Like the old Greeks, they did not know how to build an arch
employing a keystone. Only by gradually receding courses of stone
did they achieve an arch having a capstone instead of a keystone.
The result, in the building of a roof, was a steep-pitched affair,
comparatively low at the eaves and high at the peak. The vertical
rise from eaves to peak was usually as great as the distance from
floor to eaves. Being of stone, this roof was of great weight. Where a
considerable expanse of roof was needed, the triple-vaulted arch was
used. The Maya arch is not ungraceful, even though it is massive.
In the Nunnery, or La Casa de las Monjas, we see successive stages of
building where a part of an edifice is filled in with rock to provide
a foundation for a superstructure erected later. This, too, is a very
common practice of the old builders and gives the impression that no
very well-thought-out plans were employed. I think, however, that
none of these buildings was built without a predetermined plan, which
was probably drawn out upon some substance in great detail, so that
priests and king as well as the builders knew the size and shape and
mode of decoration before the building was started. Moreover, people so
skilful at drawing and with so considerable a mathematical knowledge
might surely have been able to produce in some simple form the plans of
these structures. The stones are too well fitted, the dimensions of the
buildings too well proportioned, the orientation too accurate to have
been the result of chance. Everything bespeaks foreordination, careful
planning carried through to completion.
In several of the other ancient cities are found curiously carved
stelæ, monolithic slabs of stone resembling the totem-poles of Alaska.
These are elaborately sculptured with human figures and glyphs. Many
are carved with amazing skill. In his book John L. Stephens describes
a number of these stelæ and his descriptions are accompanied by
the faithful drawings of Catherwood, made directly from first-hand
observation and often with great difficulty. Frequently a small altar
is found before these monuments. There is considerable reason to
believe, from legend and the ancient Chronicles, that they were the
date-records erected every twenty years, and if we could but read the
hieroglyphs we might learn the important happenings in each score of
years.
From a close study of the architecture of the buildings and their
decorations it is clear that there were several stages of culture.
Mayan architecture and art followed the rise and fall of the nation,
becoming more and more refined up to the golden age represented in the
temples of old Chi-chen Itza, gradually deteriorating in the newer
temples, improving again under the influence of the Nahuatl conquerors,
and sinking into utter desuetude several hundred years before the
coming of the Spaniards.
The story of the Mayas furnishes one more epic in the history of the
human race; one more cycle of rise and fall; one more meteor flash
of brilliancy followed by the darkness of oblivion. There have been
in every part of the world similar instances of this groping toward
knowledge and culture and their slow achievement, to be followed by
decline and savagery, as though the life of a nation were a thing of
nature which, like a tree or an animal, flourishes a brief while, then
withers and dies.
Is the twentieth century an exception to the age-old rule? Have our
ability to commit our knowledge to the printed page and our great
advance in the science of transportation set at naught the old rule? Or
will our civilization also crumble with the passing of the years?
CHAPTER XIII
STORY-TELLERS OF YUCATAN
In wet weather the archæologist may take either a well-earned rest or
he may busy himself with cataloguing and packing the trophies of his
trusty pick and shovel.
“One day when the rain and the Evil Wind conspired to keep us indoors,”
says Don Eduardo, “I found it much more interesting to listen to the
yarns of the Indians than to work at routine tasks. All I can say in
self-defense is that in Yucatan the subtle contagion of ‘mañana’ does
get into one’s blood.
“My Indians are all very superstitious. They believe whole-heartedly in
witches and elves, and if one digs deep enough he finds a good deal of
veneration for several deities not mentioned in the Bible. One of these
is Balam, the jaguar, known in ancient times as the lord and protector
of the fields.
“These simple folk believe in ghosts which walk amid the ruins of the
Sacred City, and they believe in all manner of fortune-telling and
divination. They are particularly partial to crystal-gazing, using a
crystal called _zaz-tun_.
“Among my Indians was Bat Buul, a little old fellow with twinkling
eyes black as the seeds of the _jabin_ fruit, and ears that actually
wagged when he became excited in telling a story. His big thick-lipped,
sensual mouth was ever ready to laugh heartily at a joke, even though
the joke chanced to be on Bat Buul himself. Old as he was, he had still
the supple quickness of a boy.
“Bat Buul, whose name means ‘bean ax,’ was a native of the neighboring
village of Pisté and he was famous as a raconteur in a land where good
tellers of stories are highly esteemed. More often than not he was the
hero of the stories he told, and as he warmed up to the telling, he
would become tremendously excited and his black eyes would snap and
burn with the intensity of his narration.
“One of his best stories, that of the _xtabay_ or forest lorelei, has
the sweet flavor of those wonderful old Greek myths of nymphs and
satyrs and of gods come down from Mount Olympus for a holiday.
“Often one sees glimmering gossamer flecks twisting, twirling as
they scurry onward, aimlessly borne by a vagrant breeze. They look
like a flock of diaphanous butterflies, but in reality they are the
flying seeds of a climbing vine. The vine bears a slender, delicate,
snowy flower and the seed-case is an olive-green oval pod filled
with thousands of seeds. The seed mass is bisected within the pod by
a light, silky membrane. As the ripening progresses the pod becomes
chestnut in color and at last bursts open. The membrane with the seeds
clinging to it falls out, but is brought up short in its descent by
a thin filament that remains attached to the lower end of the pod.
The fall detaches the seeds from the membrane, or they are soon blown
clear, to be carried at the will of the wind. Each of the tiny seeds
has a transparent wing or tissue.
“Curiously, the two halves of the dried seed-pod are perfect natural
combs, which are much used by native women, who believe that use of
these combs supplied by Nature herself preserves the natural color and
luster of the hair. The natives far and wide speak of them as the combs
of the _xtabay_—forest nymphs, dryads, or lorelei—and many, like Bat
Buul, claim to have seen the nymphs combing their silken tresses. In
the old days, also, the native belles used the combs, thinking thereby
to capture some of the elusive beauty of the mythical forest maidens.
“Before I proceed with Bat Buul’s story there is one other explanation
necessary to a full understanding of the tale. Far in the hinterlands
of Yucatan are Maya Indians still called the Unbaptized Ones and these
natives wear always about their necks chains of gold and in their ears
big hoops of gold wondrously adorned with filagree. The men, even
more commonly than the women, wear these ornaments, which is strange,
for among those natives who are at all civilized the men seldom wear
ear-rings or neck-chains, though these adornments are popular with the
women.
“But the belief is common over the whole peninsula that by wearing a
gold chain with a sacred relic or crucifix pendent from it one will be
protected from danger. Men engaged in hazardous occupations such as the
making of fireworks for fiestas and religious celebrations; butchers,
and those who work with mad white men digging in haunted cities
will tell you that such a chain is a potent charm against evil and
sudden danger. Gallants occasionally wear chains of this sort, as do
goldsmiths—rather out of vanity than for defense against ill-fortune.
Always, when worn by men, the neck chains are hidden under the shirt.
“Bat Buul, who, on his own admission, has tried his hand at almost
everything, is a goldsmith by trade, a maker of rockets when and
if these are required, and a beau gallant at all times. Naturally,
then, he wears a solid-gold chain of extra length and weight, with a
solid-gold cross at the end which has been blessed by the Archbishop of
Yucatan in the cathedral of Mérida.
“On this rainy day Bat Buul was resting luxuriously, ensconced upon a
_cauche_ in the store of Monica, in his natal village of Pisté. As I
entered the store after my three-mile ride in the rain from Chi-chen
Itza, Bat Buul was holding forth to an eager group of listeners. In
his hand was a thimble glass of that aromatic beverage _xtavantum_
and evidently it was not his first. He nodded to me as I joined the
audience, but did not pause in his talk. It was evident that he
determined to outdo himself for my benefit, being reasonably certain
that if pleased, I would do the gentlemanly thing in the way of
refreshment for all hands. As we would say in Americanese, ‘He was
going strong.’ I give you his story as nearly as I can in his own words:
“‘I, Bat Buul, am a man of great will-power. I say it—yes, and it is
so. I am not large of body, but I am great of heart and very strong.
There are those who have sought to prove my strength and they have
found it to be so. I do not say these things boastfully, for only vain
and cackling fools do that, and if I do say it, I am no fool. No man
can deceive me long—no, and no woman, either. Many have tried, but few
have succeeded, albeit most of those who have succeeded have been women.
“‘But it is not given to man that he should be hard of heart and
unbelieving toward women. No; many women have liked me; some have loved
me, and because of this my heart is ever soft to all women; that is—’
here Bat Buul swallowed an entire thimble tumblerful of the perfumed
liquor and gazed at us benevolently—‘that is, toward all _handsome_
women.
“‘Well, sir, one day I started for the deepest part of the forest where
I had some _chac-ti_ logs that I had cut and left to dry for charcoal
which I needed to make powder for my rockets. I had nearly reached the
point on the road to Chi-chen Itza where one turns to enter the deep
forest, when I noticed that I was beside the place where grow the ghost
flowers which come up in the night and wither in a day. I stopped for a
moment to look at them, for have I not told you many times that I love
the beautiful things of the forest? Then it was I heard a soft, sweet
sound like the notes of a bird very, very far away calling to its mate
or like a reed flute played by one who is sad.’
“The old man paused and deliberately rolled and lighted a corn-husk
cigarette. No one spoke. I have learned that it never pays to urge the
native story-teller to get on with his narrative; story-telling is a
rite which must be performed just so, and the artistic temperament
resents any interruption not of its own making.
“At length Bat Buul resumed:
“‘I looked around me and saw a beautiful woman sitting under a tree.
She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and she was crooning
to herself, and all the while she was combing her long, shining black
hair. Suddenly she looked up and saw me with her big, velvet eyes
that held a brightness like some deep, cool forest pool upon which the
sunlight falls between the leaves. But she said nothing and continued
to sing softly in that sweet, far-away voice of hers, while her rounded
arms slowly rose and fell as the comb slipped through her glorious
hair, so soft and fine that the little breezes one could scarcely feel
rippled and floated its tendrils.
“‘I went slowly closer to her and said quietly, in a way that I have
of my own, “My handsome one, why are you out here so lonely and all by
yourself?” I meant to say more, but she rose and moved a little away
from me. Yet her eyes shone more brightly and she stopped singing and
said ever so softly and sweetly, “Oh, Bat Buul!” Then she moved farther
away. She was—how shall I say?—not thin, not fat, but plump like the
wild partridge, and she moved as lightly as feather down. Yes, she
seemed to float, so effortless was her retreat. Well, have I not said
that my heart is soft toward a handsome woman? And so I followed her,
even though she led me quite away from where my _chac-ti_ logs were
drying in the sun.
“‘She said nothing, but again began to hum a tiny, wistful, haunting
melody and as she glided on she turned her head this way and that to
glance at a plant or to inhale the perfume of a flower. And ever she
kept an eye on me that seemed to invite me on and on.
“‘Farther and farther we went from my logs, and deeper and deeper into
the forest, and she seemed to grow more lovely at each step. Suddenly
I found that I had walked right into a thorny clump of _tynbins_ and
the _tynbin_ ants were swarming over me with their stings like the
pricking of red-hot needles, while she, on the other side, was as cool
and fresh as though she had but stepped from her morning bath.
“‘And then I began to wonder, although the pain of the stings was
very great. And when a man begins to wonder he is safe, for then he
usually finds out why he is in trouble. “Ah,” I thought, “when I first
saw this lovely maid she was sitting under a tree, combing her hair,
and she called to me.” And I remembered it was a _benote_, the tree
that the _xtabays_ ever seek for shade as they sit and sing and comb
their lovely hair and try to bring venturesome men to an awful death.
“And so the Xtabay of Pisté has tried to play with Bat Buul this day.
Poor thing! we shall see!” But all of this I said very softly to
myself, for I am a wily man when dealing with women. Then, as if still
unsuspecting, I worked my way out of the thicket. As she turned to
elude me again, quick as lightning I slipped my long gold chain from
my neck, hiding the crucifix in the palm of my hand. I know women and,
after all, the _xtabay_ is a woman, and a good-looking one at that.
“‘Then I stopped as if in surprise and said as I held up the chain,
“I wonder who dropped this beautiful chain.” The _xtabay_ stopped
singing and looked back at me. Just then a ray of sunlight touched the
chain and made it glitter. And the sweet creature came up to me with
unsuspecting curiosity and leaned close to look at the chain. Ah, I am
the one who knows women! So quickly that she hardly saw the flash, I
tossed the loop of the chain over her head so that it rested about her
neck, and then held up the sacred cross so that she could see it. For a
whole minute she stood perfectly still, then she began to tremble. Her
eyes filled with big, glistening tears and she looked at me piteously
and said with a sighing sob, “Oh, Bat Buul!”
“‘I felt sorry for her, for I am not heartless and she was one to melt
even the hardest heart, _xtabay_ or no _xtabay_. Yet I gave her only
an unrelenting look and an answer that left her hopeless, for I said
to her: “Things found by the roadside and unclaimed belong to him who
finds them there. That is the law and the custom; and, pray, who is
there to claim you from me?” She made no answer, but only bowed her
head and cried the harder. Then I gave a little tug at the chain and
said, “Come on home,” and she followed without a word of protest and
with great glistening tears dripping from her lovely eyes.
“‘And leading her in this fashion, I passed the big _tanauha_ where
all the animals of the forest drink their fill even in the driest
season. I passed the rock where little Pol Mis was slain by Ek Balam,
the jaguar—black pagan that he is! And we came to the _benote_ tree
with its green fruit like big arrow-heads standing sharp against the
sky—the very tree where I first saw this entrancing nymph who now
followed me like a dog on a leash. When we reached the tree she stopped
and looked at me with pleading agony in her eyes, such a look as I
never hope to see again upon the face of any woman and she said, “Oh,
Bat Buul!” and then again, “Oh, Bat Buul!” and in her voice was the
sound of strangled tears. A man does not like that sound, ever, for it
either hardens his heart and makes him more cruel than he should be or
it turns his heart to water and causes him to be more gentle than is
just and right.
“‘So I stopped and looked at her. I did not want to, but I could not
help it; and as I looked I knew that she was more beautiful than any
woman that ever lived, even though she were an _xtabay_ and without a
soul, as the priest tells us. She was marvelously formed—not thin, not
fat. Her flesh was as soft as a child’s, yet she was graceful and quick
in her movements. She was all that a woman should be. She seemed like
a bird just ready to fly. And, as I looked, I thought, “What will my
friends say and what will the priest say and do?” Her eyes, filled with
terror, pleaded with me more strongly than any words could have done.
“‘Ah, Señor, I have the big heart! I took off the chain of gold and
covered the crucifix in the palm of my hand and released her. For a
moment she did not move and I thought she hesitated and looked at me
as though she were really sorry to be free. I was a young man then and
not bad-looking, and even an _xtabay_ may know what it is to love. She
began to move slowly away, with light gliding steps. Then she stopped
and said to me in the voice of the wood-dove talking to its mate,
“Good-by, my Bat Buul.”
“‘I could not move, but stood there spellbound and looked at her, and
soon she reached the _benote_ tree where the shadows now lay thick and
dark. Here she paused and looked at me long and tenderly; and there
was no longer terror in her eyes, but, it seemed to me, only regret at
our parting. And the sun, which was just slipping beneath the horizon,
cast for a long moment a spell of gold that gleamed upon her glossy
hair like the sheen of light on polished ebony or the glint of many
tiny bits of bright metal; and this is queer, for her hair was like my
_chac-ti_ wood after it has been burned very long.
“‘Deeper and longer grew the shadows, and at last I could no longer see
her. I leaned a little forward and I was conscious that I was breathing
hard as though I had run a long distance, and still I seemed to hear
faintly the low, sweet song that she had crooned when first I saw her;
and at last even that faded into stillness. I do not know how long I
stood there, but it was almost dusk when I turned to retrace my steps.
I was a long way from home. As I slowly turned about, I saw something
at my feet that shone like dark metal. It was the seed-pod of the
_xtabay_ plant, which women sometimes use to comb their hair, and I was
about to kick it carelessly aside when I heard a voice, “Oh, Bat Buul!”
Just a whisper it was from far off in the forest. Then I knew it was
_her_ comb and I put it in my pocket, for she was a handsome woman and
I could not throw the comb away. I have the comb to-day, although this
happened long ago, when I was young and foolish.’
“Bat Buul paused and sat very still, his eyes seeming to look beyond
us and back into the past. He did not touch the refilled glass beside
him, even though he knew that the patron was paying for it and that by
drinking it speedily he might quickly obtain another. At last he said,
with a twinkle in his eye and more to himself than to his audience:
“‘I should like to see that _xtabay_ again; perhaps I should act
differently. And, then, perhaps I should act the same, for my heart is
still kind to women, especially if they are handsome women.’
• • • • •
“As I have said before, one of the most interesting things I have
encountered in Yucatan is the native custom of story-telling. Usually
the teller of stories is an old man or an old woman with a wide
repertoire of folk-lore. Ghosts, giants, fairies; mythical animals such
as white jaguars; miraculous humans, and the ancient gods—all appear
in these tales, which are told with amazing skill. A little group of
Indians will gather about the story-teller almost anywhere, in the
courtyard of a house or in the public square of a town, and they will
sit by the hour as the speaker goes on without pause from one weird
tale to another.
“I understand that in the near-by hamlet of Dzitas there is now a
motion-picture theater and the telling of stories has been largely
supplanted by the ‘movies,’ more’s the pity.
“The children are, of course, eager for stories, and nearly every
village has some kindly old woman willing to entertain the children
with oft-told tales. Such was X’Leut Cauich. X’Leut Cauich was old,
very old, and yet, even though the outer wrappings, the casings of her
mind and soul, were wrinkled with age, her mind and seemingly her soul
remained undeniably very young.
“‘T is ever said that youth seeks youth as sparks fly upward, and the
saying is a true one. Just so surely as old X’Leut seated herself
comfortably before the _koben_, or three-stone fireplace, in her
_na_ (palm-thatched house) and started to make with colored threads
and shining needle, on snow-white cotton cloth, the beautiful native
embroidery “_xoc-bui-chui_,” just so surely would the children of
the neighborhood spring up as if by magic from the very ground about
her and beg for a story. And old X’Leut, because she was a born
story-teller, never dreamed of denying them.
“Bit Euan; Phil Canul with his three brothers, all seemingly of an
age; Pol Cocom with his big, soft eyes and harelip; Pablo Perez and
his sister, white of skin, children of the Spanish storekeeper—all
sat crouching, cross-legged, sprawling, each after the manner of his
people, around old X’Leut, listening, motionless, with eager eyes and
intent expression, to the words slowly spoken, clearly uttered, as they
fell from her aged lips.
“For them, and for old X’Leut as well, the outer world—the prosaic
world about the palm-thatched _na_—no longer existed—only the Wizard
Potters as they worked, with swiftly moving hands and fingers, the
magic clay, making the enchanted vessels of an ancient people.
“She told them of Aluxob ‘The Little People,’ how they searched in
the deep-down caves for the _kat_, the _kut_, and the _ki_, the tiny
crystals and the clays that the Wizard Potters used in the making
of the ancient vessels. She talked with her eyes, her lips, and her
hands. With agile feet alternately moving she showed how the ancient
people revolved the shallow wooden disks as the potters of other lands
work, with their hands, their revolving wheels. She told them of these
vessels—vessels with magic worked into their very substance so that
at night they changed into living things called Burro Kat and Hunab
Pob; living things that tormented by their doings late night wanderers,
thieves and drunkards; bad people generally; even children who,
disobeying their parents, stayed out late at night or ran away from
home.
“Then, as X’Leut finished, rolled up her _xoc-bui-chui_, poked the
fire in the three-stone fireplace, and started the water to boiling in
the earthen kettle, each man-child, introspectively brooding, hurried
homeward to ask of his astonished mother if there was anything that he
could do to put the house in order before night came. Ah! a guileful
woman was old X’Leut, with her ever-young soul and nimble hand! A joy
to the children and a solace to the tired mothers.”
CHAPTER XIV
FORGOTTEN MICHAEL ANGELOS
As I have said, the art of the Mayas, and of Chi-chen Itza
particularly, represents several periods of culture. Some of the oldest
examples of architecture, stone point-work, carvings, and murals, as
well as temple ornaments and personal trinkets display the greatest
artistry of design and craftsmanship.
Evidently art progressed until a golden age dawned, comparable in
its way to the golden age of Greece. Just as Pericles and Praxiteles
chiseled into stone a marvelous grace and beauty which later sculptors
have never been able to excel, so these old Maya dreamers and creators
have left behind them things more lovely than those of succeeding
generations.
Gradually the golden Mayan age waned. Creative genius became more
scarce. Sense of harmony and soaring imagination were dimmed. Technique
itself became poorer.
And then came the renaissance—the period of Nahuatl influence when
Chi-chen Itza probably reached its pinnacle of civic importance and
new temples and palaces were built thick and fast. Art was encouraged
and new genius arose, akin to that of the ancient masters, yet showing
everywhere the influence of the Nahuatl invasion. But while the new art
attained a high degree of excellence, it failed to reach the perfection
of the older culture.
It is rather difficult to assign to a given period any building as
a whole, or any piece of workmanship, because the older city was so
frequently robbed of its art treasures in the construction of the newer
city. Columns and cut stones and lintels were torn from the older and
perhaps then nearly ruined buildings to be used in the newer edifices.
As in the House of the Writing in the Dark, we see a lintel of such
extraordinary beauty as compared with the rest of the structure that
it cries aloud its story of ravishment from a nobler and older temple.
Apparently the later builders cared nothing for the beauty of this
stone, but took it simply because in size it was appropriate for their
purpose.
In speaking of the three eras of Mayan culture in Chi-chen Itza, it
is at least reasonable to suppose that the most ancient preceded the
coming of the Itzas to the city; legend says there was a flourishing
city here before the influx of the Itzas. The second period includes
the rise and decline of art under the Itzas, ending with the
Nahuatl-Aztec dominance. The third period approaches oblivion—the
centuries following the decay of the Maya nations when “campers,” as
Don Eduardo calls them, inhabited sparsely the old cities, and these
people built nothing of permanence and despoiled much of the old art,
knowing nothing of the past history and grandeur of the walls which
provided a better shelter than they could build. The little of artistic
merit which they created—if indeed, they created anything—is crude
and inferior to the work of their ancestors. “Campers” probably lived
in the Sacred City for two or three centuries preceding the coming of
Montejo and until his advent.
All that remains of the first period is the nearly obliterated old
Chi-chen Itza, where future exploration may bring to light many
treasures. Add to these the precious carvings that have obviously been
taken from the old city for the building of the newer city.
The second period is represented by the many temples and buildings,
several in an almost perfect state of preservation, in the newer
Chi-chen Itza, and the finds in the Sacred Well.
The third period is represented only in the waste and debris left by
the “campers” in and about the structures of the preceding periods.
One striking characteristic of Mayan art is the skill of the ancient
sculptor or painter in portraying the human figure and especially
the human physiognomy. The faces in murals, friezes, and bas-reliefs
are expressive, individual, full of character—the faces of men of
intellect and purpose. Nearly always these portraits in stone or
paint seem to have a sort of sublimity: an earnestness of mien, an
inscrutability, and withal an utter lack of pompousness. None but
great artists could so have caught the real character of the person
portrayed. Mayan art is a decided step ahead of the art of the
Egyptians, and beside it the Buddhas of the Orient seem insipid. There
are, of course, grotesque figures and the many hieroglyphs which, it
must be remembered, are not portraits but have been conventionalized
into symbols far in advance of the original and more primitive
picture-writing.
One of the most intriguing things is the constant recurrence of the
mask of Kukul Can, often conventionalized to fit the particular wall of
a building, frieze, or mural where it is used. And always it is shown
with a long upturned snout which some casual observer has called an
elephant’s trunk.
To go a bit afield, G. Elliot Smith’s “Elephants and Ethnologists”
takes up this subject of the elephant’s head. He believes that several
elaborately carved columns or stelæ in Copan, another Mayan city,
possibly more ancient than Chi-chen Itza, present credible pictures
of elephants’ heads with the keepers or mahouts beside them. These
carvings have caused considerable discussion; some stoutly maintain
that they portray the elephant and others say the motif is derived
from the tapir or from the head of the blue macaw. At any rate, the
appearance is that of an elephant, but very likely is intended for the
mask and nose of the great Maya hero-god Kukul Can.
Of the many murals in the Sacred City, those in the Temple of the
Tigers are the most interesting. On the opposite page is a reproduction
of the scene on the west wall; it is from a tracing done twenty-five
years ago by Teoberto Maier, of whom I shall later give further
account. Much of the lower part of the mural has since been defaced
by vandals or has chipped away through natural causes. The colors are
vivid and the battle action enthralling. Of the many human figures no
two are in the same pose. At the upper right is the Itza king or ruler,
protected by his king of serpents spitting fire and venom at the enemy.
A little lower down, and in front, is the chief Itza general with his
protecting serpent, and all about are warriors armed with _hul-ches_,
darts, and shields. At the extreme left is the opposing general with
his king of serpents and his warriors.[7] Near the bottom at the
left are the Itza notables holding a consultation, and at the bottom,
center, is the time-keeper with his calendar wheel.
Facing page 221 is an enlarged view of just a bit of this scene which,
because of its larger size, gives a better idea of the technique of the
painter.
Another part of the battle scene, covering the east wall, depicts the
invading army coming over the mountains to attack the Itzas. At the
left in the picture is an Itza general or ruler, supported as usual
by his beneficent Ahau Can or king of serpents. He is identified
as belonging to the Itzas by his typical Itzan costume. The figure
with the symbolized protecting serpent is similar to many others to
be seen elsewhere in Chi-chen Itza, in paintings and bas-reliefs. A
little lower down is his commanding general, also with a protecting
serpent, and all about are the Itza warriors, now, due to mutilation,
indicated only by the heads of their spears, pointing upward toward
the enemy. In the upper right-hand corner of the painting is an Itzan
horn-blower, standing upon a temple. His nationality is evidenced by
the knee-protectors he wears.
The invaders wear an entirely different style of clothing and their
armament is not like that of the Itzas. For example, although they use
the _hul-che_, their shields are rectangular—a shape never seen in
Chi-chen Itza nor in the whole Maya area. Still more striking is the
peculiarity of their head-dresses of three blue feathers with yellow
tips surmounting the regular feathered head-gear. It is significant
that Don Eduardo, some years ago in the excavation of a temple,
uncovered a gigantic painted head having a head-dress of three blue
feathers with yellow tips. The stone containing the picture of the
head was found upside down, and from the situation in which it was
discovered it had evidently been so placed originally and had not
fallen or been displaced. The reversed position of the head was the
Maya method of conveying the information that this foe was conquered.
Evidently the painting in the Tiger Temple was executed to commemorate
the victory over the invaders of the blue feathers, and the other
temple which Don Eduardo excavated also was decorated with murals that
indicated victory.
On each of the shields of the invaders is shown a curious red symbol
which indirectly gives a clue to the nationality of these foreigners.
In the central part of the state of Vera Cruz are found the remains of
a highly cultured people, the Totanacs. The descendants of this ancient
clan still reside in the neighborhood and their language contains many
Mayan words. Because of the peculiarity of the design, as shown on the
engraving of a clay Totanac facing page 225, there can be no doubt
that it is the same identically as appears on the shields in the Tiger
Temple. The same peculiar design occurs frequently upon the ancient
Totanac sculptures and pottery.
The Totanacs are neighbors to another tribe just to the north, the
Huastecas, who spoke the pure Maya language and were a part of the
Maya brotherhood. It seems probable either that they were left behind
in the great Maya migration from the west or that their country was
originally the home of those Mayas who later emigrated to Yucatan under
the leadership of the mighty Kukul Can.
Either supposition might be correct, for it was in this locality that
the now famous Tuxtla statuette was found which bears the earliest
date ever discovered in this part of the world—113 B. C. The
earliest date-stone in Chi-chen Itza is the one found by Don Eduardo
and its date is more than seven hundred years later. During the
interval between the two, or even before, the emigration to Yucatan
from the west might have occurred.
Another curious thing in the Tiger Temple painting is the fact that the
invaders are shown coming over mountains. Northern Yucatan contains
no mountains, not even a high hill. But in the state of Vera Cruz
there are mountains. There is little to substantiate any theory that
the people of the Sacred City invaded Vera Cruz and it is much more
probable that the Totanacs were the invaders.
In passing, another hypothesis of the ethnology of the Mayas is that
they were descendants of the Toltecas, a peaceful and cultured people
who inhabited Mexico proper before they were driven southward by the
Nahuatl or Aztec tribes. In various places in Mexico, Toltecan remains
have been found similar in construction and design to those in the Maya
areas. Yucatan may have been the final stopping-place of these people,
but as they moved ever southward, bands dropped out along the road, and
settled.
It is known that many years later Aztec soldiers marched clear around
the rim of the Gulf of Mexico and through the jungles to Chi-chen
Itza, which was their final destination. Their influence is very
evident in the buildings in newer Chi-chen Itza.
Because many of the murals in the Sacred City have reached the critical
point of deterioration in the last decade or so, I have made a point of
photographing as many of them as possible. Much of the photography has
employed the color-separation process. All told, I have taken upward
of a thousand photographs, and in addition I have made a large number
of drawings or tracings where it was impossible to use the camera. A
number of murals which were clear and perfect during my earlier trips
to Yucatan, some eighteen years ago, are now entirely faded or chipped
off.
From a minute study of the paintings I am reasonably sure that the
artists of this past age waited until the walls of a building were
completed and the inner surface had been covered with a thin, hard
stucco, then they painted the whole wall-surface to an even tone of
color, usually a light olive green. Upon this the outlines of their
pictures were sketched, either with red chalk or some soft red stone.
The outlines were then intensified with a brush dipped in red pigment.
From the character of the brush-marks I judge the brushes to have
been made of hair or feathers. The next step was the laying in of the
colors, the pigment being mixed with some sort of varnish that dried
and permitted other colors to be superimposed.
For example, take the figure of a man. After the outline was completed,
the whole figure was painted flesh color. When this was dry, further
outlining within the figure was done. Then another color was laid over
the shield, clothing, and other portions. Some details of the shield
might then be ornamented with still another color, and another would be
laid on the bosses of the shield and perhaps several colors put into
the head-dress. Wherever the red outlines were painted over, yet were
needed for completion of the work, new red outlines were painted in.
Facing page 220 [Transcriber: missing] is the reproduction of a tracing
I have made of a red outline, showing as faithfully as possible the
beginning and ending of each brush-mark. It is in the same free-hand
style used by the modern painter.
Bas-relief work was much used in the Sacred City and for this type
of art the cracks between the stone-work were filled in with stucco
to give an even surface and then the whole surface was polished. The
artist cut his designs into both stone and stucco. I cannot say how
this work was laid out, but it is reasonable to suppose that it was
outlined in red chalk and pigment much as murals were. The incised
work is from a quarter to half an inch deep and the figures stand
out boldly, especially when the direction of the light is from a
particularly favorable angle.
The projecting part of each relief was painted in identically the same
manner as murals, one color after another being superimposed. A notable
example of this type of art is found in the Temple of Bas-Reliefs,
which is just back of the mound of the Tiger Temple, and is unique in
the fact that it is situated upon level ground and not upon a pyramid.
Of this building there is still standing the right wall, nearly all
the back wall, a fragment of the left wall, and about a fourth of the
ceiling. The colors upon the bas-reliefs, with which walls and ceiling
are covered, are quite clear except upon the left wall, where for some
reason they are much faded but still distinguishable. On the ceiling
the colors are remarkably distinct, especially several tones of blue.
I recollect that my uncle, who painted the “Spirit of Seventy-Six,”
once told me that blue is a fugitive color and that there is no such
thing as permanent blue, which, he jokingly remarked, is the reason why
painters use a pigment called “permanent blue.” The prevailing shade
of blue used in these bas-reliefs is what artists of to-day would term
indigo blue in various tones.
Appropriate coloring has been used throughout. The flesh is
flesh-colored; garments, war-gear, everything is properly colored. In
these as in nearly all the bas-reliefs, the incisions or background
are colored a deep red, originally, I judge, as brilliant as Chinese
vermilion but now mostly faded to a brick red.
These walls represent the very pinnacle of Maya art. There is nothing
of antiquarian interest upon the American continents that excels or
even approaches them. The figures are not stiff and unlifelike as
are Egyptian figures. On the contrary, they are uncannily faithful
portrayals of men in action. They are about three feet high, and on
these walls are more than eighty figures of kings, gods, priests, and
warriors. Many, particularly the priests, are clad in most wonderful
and elaborate vestments. The warriors are more simply clothed and all
carry _hul-ches_ such as were actually found in the Sacred Well. Upon
the back of each fighting man is a quiver holding five darts. Each
dart bears the individual mark of its owner, so that if retrieved it
might be returned to him.
The bas-reliefs depict six different scenes, and each runs completely
about the room. Separating each scene from the one above it is the
conventionalized body of a great serpent.
In all of this work I have discovered but one female figure. Below this
figure is an ornamental border about eight inches high on which are
engraved flowers and small human figures in curious acrobatic postures.
The front portion of the roof is now fallen in, but I surmise that
originally the illumination of the building was such as to bring out
the relief work most prominently.
At present one gets a much better impression of this work at about ten
o’clock in the morning than at any other period of the day.
In the National Museum at Washington, there is a reproduction of these
bas-reliefs, but this modern work has scarcely caught the spirit of the
old Maya artists. It should be the immediate aim of archæologists to
preserve or duplicate the bas-reliefs in the most faithful manner, for
the sake of posterity, for I doubt if we shall ever uncover anything
finer in American antiquity.
Teoberto Maler spent a great deal of time in making photographs,
drawings, and tracings of the old Maya murals and reliefs, and the
world owes him a debt of gratitude for the minute care he took and the
faithfulness of his reproductions. Maler, who is now deceased, was no
mean antiquarian. He was also an artist and a man of most peculiar
personality.
For several years his more or less undirected exploration was done
for the Peabody Museum, and then he fell out with the heads of that
institution and thereafter worked as a free-lance. For years his
livelihood was derived by selling information, photographs, and
drawings to dilettant antiquarians. So many of these failed to pay him
for such services that the poor fellow became suspicious of virtually
every one who attempted to be friendly with him. I called on him four
times before I could even get him to talk about archæology. But I
always took several bottles of beer with me, so he became more cordial;
and as I was especially careful not to question him in any way to
indicate an interest in his work, he finally thawed out completely.
An Austrian by birth, he had accompanied the ill-fated Maximilian
to Mexico and had finally drifted southward into Yucatan, where he
centered his interest on archæology.
One day he presented me with about twenty photographs from his
collection, which I was happy to have, although some were discards.
Seeing the sincerity of my gratitude, he offered to show me some
things which he said had never been seen by any one else. Among these
treasures was his excellent tracing of the battle scene in the Tiger
Temple. The next day I asked him with some trepidation if I might make
a copy of the tracing. He was quite willing and when I suggested that
I would travel to Mérida to get some tracing-paper for the purpose he
produced a whole roll of it. I spent an entire week making this tracing
and several others, Maler working beside me and helping for several
hours each day.
I tried to pay him when the work was completed, but he would never
accept a penny, saying I was the only man who had ever come to him
without trying to get something for nothing, and he repeated this
remark, I have been told, to other people. He told me he trusted only
two men in the world. Naturally, I was very glad to have won his regard.
One day, some years later, he showed me several golden ornaments which
I afterward found had come in some devious way from the Sacred Well. I
fortunately made some photographs and drawings of them, for the next
year, when I asked to see them again, Maier no longer had them. Some he
had evidently sold to a museum abroad and the remainder he had disposed
of otherwise.
Maler had a foolish hatred for Don Eduardo and called him “falsifier
Thompson,” but the latter had no such feeling toward Maler; in fact,
one can scarcely imagine Don Eduardo’s hating anybody.
During one of my visits Maler promised me that the following year
we should make a two weeks’ journey into the interior of Yucatan,
where he had discovered a temple unknown to the world which contained
some marvelous murals. He said that he had discovered an underground
entrance to the temple and when he left he had covered up the entrance
and planted shrubbery over it so that it would remain hidden from
archæologists. At that time I made a tracing of one of his drawings,
showing a wall of this temple on which is depicted a water scene,
with a volcano spouting fire and smoke, buildings falling into the
water, people drowning, and a figure dressed like a warrior, paddling
away from the scene, in a boat. Maler was a firm believer in the Lost
Atlantis theory and contended that this picture represented the
destruction of Atlantis. It was an obsession with him that nothing from
this secret temple should come into the possession of what he termed
“that infamous museum.”
I shall always regret that Maler died before I was able to make the
intended trip with him to this hidden temple, as the knowledge of its
location died with him.
Teoberto Maler, soldier of fortune, artist, archæologist, and eccentric
misanthrope, yet at heart kindly and lovable, died of a fever three
years ago, in his adopted land of Yucatan. All of his personal
belongings were taken over by the Austrian consul, and I am told that
except for his numerous photographs and drawings there was nothing
among them of value.
Among the modern inventions which the antiquarian has to be thankful
for, place first in the list the camera, which makes possible faithful
reproductions, frequently under most unfavorable conditions. Compare
modern photography with the difficulties that beset Catherwood, who
made the exceptionally fine engravings with which Stephens’s books are
illustrated. Catherwood did his work nearly eighty years ago, using a
“camera obscura,” a rather clumsy device which projects an image on a
screen so that it may be traced. In making a single tracing Catherwood
worked for hours at a stretch in the tropic heat, beset by insect
pests, whereas to-day a few moments with a camera would be sufficient.
One of the interesting things shown in the old murals and bas-reliefs
is the diversity of costumes. The dress of the figures varies from the
simple wide belt, with flaps hanging down front and back, to the very
elaborate vestments of the priests. To the belt might be fastened
armor of heavy quilted cotton or of wood or even of metal.
The costume of the warrior always included an ornate feathered
head-dress and there was wide variation in these head-ornaments. In
some cases they were made of wood in the shape of a bird or other
animal and the surface was covered with a thin layer of metal such
as beaten copper or gold or with well-tanned deerskin or of finely
woven cotton fabric embroidered with feather-work. From the top of the
head-dress, feathers sometimes descended in graceful curves clear to
the ground. The entire head, wings, and tail of a bird were often a
part of the head-gear. The head-gear of kings and nobles was decorated
with the feathers of the sacred quetzel, or bird of paradise. On a few
of the pictured head-ornaments, one or more serpents’ heads are seen,
and these may have been a symbol of rank or the coat of arms, so to
speak, of a certain family. In other cases the front of the head-piece
shows the face or mask of some deity, often the face of Kukul Can.
Fastened about the warrior’s neck is often a cape of cotton fabric
so heavily embroidered with feathers that it appears to consist of
feathers alone. Some of these capes or tunics are covered with metal
scales to ward off the thrust of spear or dart. The Maya love of finery
is indicated by the ubiquitous string of jade beads about the neck,
ending in a heavy jade pendant or medallion. Such beads are worn by
many of the pictured figures.
Around the warrior’s waist is a wide, embroidered belt supporting an
ornamented apron. Protectors of feather-work surround the knees, and
upon the wrists are curious wristlets. Sandals are made of deerskin or
heavy felt and are decorated with geometrical figures; they are laced
in front and frequently have high sides like a shoe. Both deerskin and
felt sandals have been found in the Sacred Well. A band is worn around
each ankle, with feathers projecting from the front. This band is
purely decorative and has no connection with the sandal.
Usually the fighting-man is shown either holding five darts in his left
hand or having that number of darts in a quiver on his back. In his
right hand he grasps the _hul-che_.
Some of the figures have their arms almost entirely obscured by bands
covered with feathers. Other figures wear cloaks or mantles fastened
at the throat and reaching nearly to the ground. These are generally
embroidered heavily with the feather-work so dear to the ancient Mayas.
Figures are also shown wielding the formidable spear tipped with flint.
Some of the spear-heads taken from the Sacred Well are from eight to
nine inches long and two to three inches wide, and razor-edged. Spears
were usually gaily decorated with feathers attached to the shaft where
it joined the head. In the bas-reliefs is shown, also, a spear-head
with serrated edges. For fighting at close quarters the battle-ax was
used. It consisted of one or several stones or of a metal blade fitted
into a wooden helve.
In addition to the armor worn there were shields. Some of the shields
were built to fit closely the back and sides of the warrior and
were fastened to the broad band of his belt. Other shields, carried
in the usual manner, were made and ornamented in several different
ways. Usually the base was wood, embossed with metal, studded with
jewels or ornamented with feathers. I was fortunate enough to be
with Don Eduardo at one time during the dredging of the well and had
the thrill of picking from the muck of the dredge the golden section
of a shield-front, which had been a large round ornamented disk of
considerable size, embellished with carvings of flowers and scrolls.
The net also was used in battle and, as shown in the bas-reliefs,
was carried by the spear-thrower, in his left hand. Very likely it
was effective in stopping the thrust of a spear. Or—who knows?—it
may have been used to entangle the enemy in the manner of the Roman
gladiator armed with net and trident.
The warriors went into battle to the resounding blare of horns, and
trumpets were used to signal troops in action. There were whole
companies of horn-blowers, each man provided with a horn nearly as tall
as himself. Horns and horn-blowers are clearly shown in the murals of a
second-story room in La Casa de las Monjas.
Our information obtained from a study of the bas-reliefs and murals
and from the articles retrieved from the Sacred Well and other finds
checks with remarkable closeness the writings of Landa, whose sources
of knowledge were chiefly legend and the old Maya writings. Landa says:
They had for their defense round shields which they made of
split reeds woven round and adorned with deer-skins. They had
jackets padded with cotton and filled with salt. These were of
two thicknesses or layers of padding and extremely strong.
Some of the chiefs and captains had helmets of wood. They went
to war with plumage and tiger and jaguar skins on—those that
had them. They always had two captains, one hereditary and
perpetual, the other selected with much ceremony for a term of
three years.
On the roads and passes they erected defenses of twigs and wood
and sometimes of stone for their archers.[8] If they captured
some distinguished man, they sacrificed him, because they did
not want to leave alive anyone who might later harm them.
They had hatchets of certain metal which they fastened into
handles of wood and these served them as arms and also as
instruments to cut wood. These they sharpened by pounding with
a stone to harden them as the metal was virginally soft. They
had small, short lances with points of hard flint.
In their earth there was not discovered until now any kind
of metal with which they might make implements with which to
work on their numerous edifices. However, not having metals,
they found in the earth flint with which they made materials
for their lances which they used in their wars; and the knives
for sacrifice were made from flint which the priests had
selected.[9]
They had a certain kind of white brass with admixture of gold
from which they made their hatchets for different functions and
also hawk-shells and a certain kind of small chisel with which
they made their idols. The brass and other plates of metal and
hard copper plates they used to barter for things from Tabasco
for their idols, trading back and forth.
In the illustration following page 232 may be seen the more elaborate
costume of the priests. This illustration of a small section of the
back wall of the Temple of the Bas-Reliefs represents a religious
ceremony. The whole wall is covered with figures of priests and
warriors paying devotion to Ahau Can, the king of serpents.
The Great Serpent looms majestically over and about the high priest,
who is decked in gorgeous apparel. Mask and helmet cover his face and
head, and from his body intricate scrolls extend in all directions,
denoting the words or chant to which he is giving voice. In his hand
he holds a shield over the surface of which the body of the protecting
serpent undulates. From the mouth of the Great Serpent issue scrolls of
red and yellow, which may be words or venom.
Perhaps one may realize from this sculpture how keen was the decorative
sense of these ancient people. It was ever seeking an outlet for
expression. The undecorated space on wall or ceiling must have seemed
to the Maya artist an inartistic space. He crowded his areas with
ornamentation, yet with so nice a balance, so true a harmony that he
achieved a perfect result without giving an impression of congestion.
Other figures show the use of ear- and nose-ornaments and of labrets
made of thin disks of gold and of highly polished jade.
Finally, there are the wonderfully worked ornaments of fine flint,
flawless and shaped curiously like the parts of a bishop’s crozier.
In the Tiger Temple is a frieze near the top of the wall, extending
clear around the four sides, which shows a procession of jaguars. It
is a thing of sheer beauty, for the artist has caught in his paintings
the very nature of the beast. There he is, in all his slinking, lithe,
feline ferocity, conventionalized but losing nothing of his character.
Above and below the row of jaguars is an ornamentation of
conventionalized serpent motif which is graceful, accentuating the
litheness and grace of the huge cats. The whole frieze is done on a
surface of stone polished to such smoothness that it conveys the idea
of white marble worked by the hand of an old Italian master.
Another remarkable mural was upon a stone which was found by Sylvanus
Morley in the debris of a partially ruined temple in old Chi-chen Itza
which he named the Temple of the Owls. It is so named from the fact
that many of the fallen columns bear sculptures of owls. For a number
of reasons I believe that this is one of the earlier temples, built
when Maya art was at its best, and I was thrilled at the quality of
workmanship on the stone. The colors were much faded and the entire
picture too faint for the camera. I found first, in cleaning the
corners or unimportant parts by washing in water, that the paint would
stand almost any sort of gentle rubbing. In fact, the only way it could
be destroyed was by scraping it off with an edged tool. Washing showed
that the colors were somewhat more vivid when the stone was wet and it
occurred to me that it could be treated in much the same manner as an
old oil painting, which may be greatly revivified by cleaning and then
applying a coat of varnish.
Acting on this assumption, I first cleaned the stone with a weak
solution of hydrochloric acid, which had no effect on the pigments
but did remove much dirt. The next question was varnish. I had some
turpentine and a few other chemicals but no varnish. And then I thought
of the copal incense that Don Eduardo had taken from the Sacred Well.
I took a ball of this and scraped off the calcined outer surface. The
remainder of the copal I broke up and placed in an earthen bowl which
also came from the well. Then I added a little turpentine and heated
the mixture over a slow fire until the copal was melted. Finally I
strained the liquid through a piece of cloth and had an excellent
transparent copal varnish. I tried it out on several unimportant stones
and found that it gave a fine surface gloss. I then applied it very
carefully to the painted stone I had discovered, first to the blue
border and then to the whole surface. I was overjoyed, when the varnish
had dried, to find the colors magically restored, several of them
being nearly as bright, I think, as when originally applied, perhaps a
thousand years before.
It was now a simple matter to obtain excellent photographs and I took
several, both in black and white and with color separations.
This stone, which I named the Stone of Kukul Can, told a complete
story. It represented the long-nosed god, the particular deity of the
Sacred City, emerging from the mouth of a serpent, just as shown in the
old Maya books and in many other places. In other words, it depicted
the birth of Kukul Can, the feathered-serpent god. Below the serpent
and the figure of the god was shown the bowl of the earth, or the
archaic representation of the earth. Here and there were cacao pods,
from which was obtained chocolate—then as now an important article of
food, a highly prized delicacy among the Mayas and other races. Cacao
is one of the fruits the Mayas thought to have been brought them by
Kukul Can.
The god held in his hands emblems of life and generation. Above
were the celestial heaven and the zodiac. At right and left were
the hieroglyphs of the sun and planets. On the upper margin was an
inscription. The whole was majestic and exquisitely done. It indicated
all of the good things of life,—prosperity and plenty,—bestowed upon
his people by the mighty god Kukul Can, born of a serpent.
When I had finished photographing and studying this extraordinary
stone, I wrapped it carefully and stored it in Don Eduardo’s hacienda,
where it was later ruined when the hacienda was burned by unruly
Indians.
This lost stone was an excellent example of the older and finer Maya
art and a careful comparison of it, as photographed, with the pages
of the Perez Codex, one of the few remaining ancient Maya books (now
in the National Library in Paris), shows its similarity to the work
therein displayed. The portraits of Kukul Can are identical. The
hieroglyphs have the same peculiarities of shading, due to the stroke
of the brush being heavier on one side than on the other. If the artist
who painted the Stone of Kukul Can did not also illuminate some of the
Maya books, he at least belonged to the same period and the same school
of artists. I am sure that the great work of Mr. Morley of the Carnegie
Foundation, which is now going on at Chi-chen Itza, will uncover many
more stones similar to this one and it will be demonstrated that many
of the Maya books were produced in the ancient city.
Very frequently in the murals or the bas-reliefs, where figures of
men are shown, the glyph representing the man’s name appears above
his portrait. Thus we have “Mr. Can,” or, in English, “Mr. Snake,” as
in the second cut opposite page 112. Above him is the carving of a
serpent. This gentleman has the conventional nose- and ear-ornaments
and over his head is the double feather of a warrior. From his mouth
issues a scroll representing speech. Other figures are “Mr. Duck,” “Mr.
Phallus,” etc.
In one of the Codices is shown an eclipse of the sun. It is remarkably
well drawn in colors.[10] At the top of the page is what may be called
the text, which we are not able to read although we know many of the
characters. Directly below is the celestial band, representing sun,
moon, and planets. Dependent from this band are three hieroglyphs of
the sun in the heavens. The central figure is the sun, and wings at
left and right mean movement of that body, or day and night. Under each
of these figures is a bird in the act of devouring the sun. The word
for eclipse in Maya is _chi-bal-kin_, literally “mouth-action sun,”
or “bitten sun,” and it was the ancient belief, which persisted until
fairly recent times, that at the time of an eclipse the sun was bitten
by a serpent or by birds or other creatures.
Beneath each picture representing the devouring of the sun are the
date-glyphs.
An interesting colored mural from the ceiling of La Casa de las Monjas
shows a warrior standing upon a pyramidal structure. In his left hand
is the _hul-che_ and in his right a shield and battle-ax. He has just
shot two lances to which are fastened firebrands, which have passed
over a walled inclosure and are intended to set fire to the buildings
within. In one corner of this picture is a building representing the
Iglesia (one of the annexes of the Nunnery) or a similar structure,
as denoted by the mask of Kukul Can sticking out from the wall of the
building. In the foreground, at the left, is a mammoth head-dress,
which may be explained by the fact that it was not uncommon for the
Maya artist to make a picture and then to introduce into the foreground
large figures entirely out of proportion to the remainder of the
picture.
As for full-relief carving, one need only see the serpent columns of El
Castillo or the Tiger Temple, and the serpent balustrades, to know that
the Maya artists were fully as skilful at such work as in producing
bas-relief and murals.
Among the pottery, incense-burners, and funerary urns discovered at
Chi-chen Itza are frequently exceptionally fine examples of ceramic
art. A vase of a substance like alabaster found by Don Eduardo is a
thing of matchless beauty.
Of metal-work in gold and copper there are many pieces indicating
great skill and artistry. Jade ornaments such as beads and plaques are
exquisitely worked and perfectly polished.
Of stone point-work, heads of darts and spears, and blades of
battle-axes, as well as cutting-tools and weapons, nothing has been
found in America which can compare to the Maya work. The sacrificial
knives found in the well are peerless in their artistry.
The art of the Mayas shows the greatest variety in media, style,
and technique. Even casual observation of that in the Sacred City
shows that many different painters and sculptors were employed; yet
everywhere painted or carved figures are natural, true to life, the
proportions perfect. The best are comparable to those of ancient
Greece; the worst, though crude, are never stiff and mechanical like
those of Egyptian art.
Unfortunately there are no statues like the Memnon of Thebes nor the
Apollo Belvidere, for the Mayas did not produce statuary or monolithic
carving, with the few rare exceptions of Chac Mool figures and serpent
columns. Rather their effort was toward detail and precision of figure
and design. Some of the carvings are so minute that they are hard
to see easily without a magnifying-glass. We can only wonder at the
exceptional ability of this ancient people to originate, imitate, and
express in stone or pigment or by the goldsmith’s or the lapidary’s
art.
CHAPTER XV
THE TOMB OF THE HIGH PRIEST
José Alvarado, once a common mine laborer, an ordinary peon, became the
Silver King of Mexico, so fabulously rich that he offered to pay off
the whole national debt of Mexico. His offer was declined by Porfirio
Diaz, then President of Mexico. Alvarado inherited from a hard-working
father a meager silver-mine and he took up the arduous working of this
mine upon the decease of his parent, gaining from his toil scarcely
enough to pay for his scant frijoles, chiles, and tortillas, until
chance led him aside and caused him to strike his crowbar into an
obscure cliff, a mountain of virgin silver.
“Some of my finds in the Sacred City,” says Don Eduardo, “have been
as much a matter of sheer chance as that of José Alvarado. And if the
truth be told, I fancy a good many pioneer operations, scientific
or otherwise, depend largely on Dame Fortune—or Lady Luck, as I
understand she is now called in the States.
“Earlier in life I gave rather less credit to chance and more to
scientific deduction, and once I made a discovery in the Sacred City
which followed so closely my calculated prediction that I concluded
I had evolved a formula which, so far as this special class of
work was concerned, would eliminate chance entirely. I went at the
work of excavation with a new vim and mounting enthusiasm. It was
hard, back-breaking toil for me, digging and heavy lifting, yet
I was sure of my diagnosis, certain of final triumph. I kept on
digging,—endlessly, so it seemed, but with hope unflagging,—until
suddenly I brought up against a solid ledge of living rock. It could
not be explained away. To me it seemed to say, ‘Well, here I am
and here I have always been, and your wise deductions, your clever
calculations—where are they now?’ And to prove to me further that I
must not ignore the little gods of chance, as I returned dejected and
crestfallen along the deep trench, my crowbar accidentally struck a
projecting limestone fragment which fell to the bottom of the trench,
disclosing a dark cavity, within which were a rich find of pottery and
a most interesting skeleton. But for the chance dislodgment of the
stone, I should have missed the object of my search.
“While I was engaged in some excavation in the building called
Chich-an-chob (literally, “The Strong, Clean House,” called now the
Red House) a small but unusually high mound to the southwest of the
building was often in my line of vision. Although I could only guess
at its outline through the thick growth of tall trees and matted vines
that covered its sides, the little I could make out of its peculiar
form excited my interest and kept it in my thoughts.
“Eventually the progress of the work brought me to it and I had the
opportunity to obtain at least an approximate idea of its structure.
I found it to have been originally a small but well-built shrine or
temple crowning a steep-terraced pyramid, but now converted by time
and disintegration into a mere conical mound. The greatest factor in
the decomposition of the shrine, as in the case of many others, was
not wind and weather but the wrenching apart of the stone-work by the
growing roots of trees.
“The temple itself was similar in plan to the great edifice which
towers above Chi-chen Itza. In fact, it was El Castillo in miniature
but differing in several important details, among which were corner
and lateral stelæ or carved stone monuments, the rear ones bearing
inscriptions which seemed to place the shrine in a different category
from any of the other buildings I had examined in the Sacred City. Like
huge El Castillo, this miniature temple has a main stairway facing the
northeast, and similarly the approach is guarded by twin serpent heads,
each a finely carved monolith. Protruding from the massive heads
are forked tongues extending for some little distance. The serpent
bodies, conventionalized into wide, flat bands, serve as balustrades,
extending one on each side of the wide, steep stairway, clear to the
temple platform. The big blocks of stone and masonry, fallen from the
temple level, had rolled down these stairs and carried away most of the
stairway, leaving just enough of the handsome, carefully cut steps and
balustrade to indicate what had once been a perfect thing. Indeed, the
stairway is no longer usable, although a few of the steps remain in
place, and the difficult ascent is made by grasping projecting roots of
trees and stone fragments and treading in the gashes left in the mound
by the avalanche of rock masses from above.
“Gaining the crown of the pyramid, we found there massive serpent
columns corresponding to those encountered on the plain below. Well
carved, artistic, they were half buried in the fallen walls of the
temple, while one of the impressive capitals of the now famous serpent
columns, consisting of the conventionalized rattles of the rattlesnake,
lay precariously balanced on the very edge of the platform. Its twin
companion had long since crashed down the steep incline and its great
bulk lay amid the debris and matted growth at the base of the mound.
“In clearing away the forest growth and surface accumulations on the
top of the mound, we uncovered the capstones of four large square
columns which had once supported the triple-vaulted arched roof of the
inner chamber. These capstones indicated by the almost effaced carvings
on them that the columns beneath probably were covered with carvings.
Believing these to be of real importance, as well as a safe guide to
follow in the work of excavation, we began carefully to clear the space
about them, and as fast as the column faces were cleared and cleansed
I made plaster casts or molds of their wonderfully carved surfaces.
When we at last reached the floor-surface of the chamber, we gave these
ancient columns an opportunity to dry out thoroughly, after their
centuries of accumulated dampness, before we continued work in their
vicinity.
“Being a dyed-in-the-wool New England Yankee as well as an antiquarian,
I have, naturally, evolved some mechanical aids for my particular line
of work in the thirty years I have been at it. Among these contrivances
is an instrument which has proved most useful in detecting subterranean
cavities near the surface. The device consists of an octagonal bar of
steel with a tuning-fork at one end. The other end flares out into a
protuberance like the bulb of an onion. By tapping with this crude
instrument, using it as long experience has taught me, I have often
been able to locate burial vaults and other cavities which I might
otherwise have overlooked.
“After the floor of the shrine had been cleared I sounded the whole
area with my steel stethoscope and it indicated a large, deep cavity
about midway between the first line of columns.
“The floor was made of heavy cut stones, smoothly joined, and with our
simple tools it was something of an undertaking to loosen and remove
one of these large blocks. But at last we did raise it and found,
beneath, a square cavity about four feet wide. At first the depth
could not be determined, because the cavity was completely filled
with crisscrossed roots. None was thicker than a pencil and most were
thread-like, but all were so intertwined that they virtually formed a
solid mass. My helpers looked doubtfully at this yellow, spongy mass of
unknown depth. ‘Who knows what strange underground poisonous creatures
may be hidden in this sickly mass of yellow and brown?’ they asked.
“A stout pole was laid across the cavity and a rope tied to it so
that it dangled down into the hole. Finally two of my bravest workers
were persuaded to descend the rope, each clinging to it and wielding
a dexterous machete with his free hand, hacking away at the spongy
mesh of roots. Hardly had they warmed to the work when one of them, in
heaving up a root mass, found himself covered with large red scorpions.
Angry at being so rudely ejected from their habitation, they crawled
over him with upraised, menacing tails, and several did sting him.
Both men came popping out of the hole in record time and I at once
administered antidotes, from my medicine case, to the man who had been
stung and sent him back to the plantation house for the remainder of
the day. Another man took his place and the work proceeded, but more
cautiously.
[Illustration: A sculpture in bas-relief showing a warrior-priest in
ceremonial attire, representing the Maya hero-god Kukul Can, the plumed
serpent.]
[Illustration: A religious ceremony depicted in the Temple of
Bas-Reliefs. This is but a small section from the interior walls, which
contain more than eighty figures.]
“We had just about finished getting out the root masses when there came
from the cavity two terrified yells and two even more terrified men.
When they had quieted down enough to talk intelligently they said that
after cutting away a root mass, the last one on the bottom, and tying
it to the rope so that those above might raise it, they had perched on
a projecting ledge and lighted cigarettes, waiting for the rope to be
lowered again. As it came down between them and rested on what they
supposed was the bottom of the pit below them, they saw the bottom
heave into a writhing mass and out of it rose the head of a big snake
with shining eyes and jaws that yawned at them wickedly. As one man
they climbed the rope and scrambled into the open. I think they would
have rolled down the side of the mound and kept rolling right up to
the plantation house if I had not grabbed and held them. Eventually
their fright subsided and was replaced by curiosity and they stayed on
willingly enough.
“Nobody seemed particularly anxious to go down into the pit, so I
thought it might be just as well to make some long-range observations
before starting any hand-to-hand encounter with whatever was down
there. A reflecting mirror threw a shaft of clear, strong sunlight into
the well or shaft and my field binoculars, adjusted to a short-distance
focus, revealed to me the coiled body of an amazingly large snake. As
the shaft of light played about, the big fellow raised his head, waved
it uncertainly, and then dropped it again. To judge from the size
of the head and the shape of the body, the snake evidently was not a
crotalid, or rattler, but rather some species of boa. Boas are not very
difficult to handle, especially if you would just as soon have your boa
dead. This particular representative of the boa family was, apparently,
sleeping off a hearty meal and was still rather torpid, and it was no
trick at all to kill him.
“When brought to the surface, the deceased proved to be a _chaib_, a
kind of boa noted for its beautiful skin, handsomely marked with large
mottles—greenish yellow and chocolate brown. Our victim was fourteen
feet long and had a maximum diameter of eight inches. From his skin,
native tanners made me a money-belt and a very comfortable pair of
slippers. The _chaib_ is not poisonous and I have never heard of a case
where a human being has been attacked by one as South American and
African boas are said to attack. Nevertheless this snake bears an evil
reputation among the Mayas, who believe that a nursing mother crossing
its path becomes powerless in its coils and that the reptile sucks the
milk from her breasts, though it does not otherwise harm her.
“After disposing of the snake we resumed operations in the shaft. We
discovered that some emanation of a gaseous nature or perhaps a fine
dust from the roots produced a violent headache, much like that caused
by the fumes of dynamite. I remembered that quarrymen find relief from
dynamite-fume headaches by drinking strong, hot coffee, and similarly
we found this beverage an effective remedy for our headaches.
“Cleared of invading roots, the cavity was now really a cavity.
Descending hand over hand by the rope a full twelve feet from the
level floor of the temple, I found myself standing on what seemed to
be an accumulation of little stones and plaster, intermixed with small
bones which I took to be those of animals that had been the prey of
the _chaib_. There was a good deal of parchment-like material lying
about, which I thought at first was cast-off skin of the big boa, but
which was actually an epidermal root-covering sifted down from above.
Standing at the bottom of the square shaft and looking up at the
vertical walls, I saw that each wall-surface was built up of a myriad
of small cut blocks of tan-colored limestone, so smoothly polished as
to suggest marble. It was unlike any ancient wall-surface I had ever
seen. The stones were not inserted in mortar like Florentine wall
mosaics; neither were they built up into high relief, like the famous
walls of tombs and chambers at Mitla. Rather, each tier of small stones
was cut to a bevel, with the upper or horizontal surface projecting
some two inches beyond the face of the tier above.
“As nearly as I can describe it, the effect was like the siding,
or clapboards, on a house, supposing that the siding were put on
upside down, thick side uppermost. The stones were cut with exceeding
niceness, and each wall section, though simple, combined with the
others to form a most artistic whole. At the four corners, where the
lateral bands would have met, they were intercepted by vertical stone
bands about four inches wide, running from bottom to top of the shaft.
“At the time I could spare only a passing interest in these walls,
for in the debris beneath my feet were fragments of pottery and
a projecting human jaw-bone. We painstakingly removed the stone
fragments and mortar-dust. Working with trowel, spatula, and
whisk-broom, I found that the chamber contained the disordered remains
of two graves.
“Evidently one grave had originally been superimposed on the other,
and the contents of the two had been thrown together by the force of
falling debris from above. The two graves, I think, were once square
and separated by stone slabs. Here I found fragments of pottery and
splintered human bones, brittle with age and gnawed by rodents.
Reconstructing the scene from the fragments, I surmise that each grave
contained, besides its human remains, a small, shallow tripod vessel,
the outer surface of which was burnished with red pigment, and a deeper
gourd-like vessel. I believe that the shallow dish contained food and
that the deeper one was filled with drink of some sort—very likely
_sacca_ or _bal-che_, both of which the ancient Mayas believed were
acceptable to the soul of the departed and to the gods.
“The skeletons were so broken and disturbed that beyond the fact that
they were two in number and that the bones were so old they were
fragile as pipe-stems, nothing else was casually to be noticed. The
finding of skeletal remains and of funerary urns made it clear beyond
dispute that this building was a mausoleum, a tomb of kings or of
priests.
“I carefully collected all of this fragmentary material and sent it
aloft to be preserved for future study. Then I made measurements of the
chamber and jotted them down in my note-book. This being done, I turned
my attention to the stone floor of the tomb. My steel stethoscope
indicated that below there was a still deeper cavity. With much
careful effort we pried up the stone floor-slabs, disclosing another
grave. Apparently this burial-vault had suffered but slightly from
the concussions and disturbances which had all but destroyed the two
upper graves. The walls and bottom were lined with thin slabs of stone
covered with mortar. Much of the mortar had flecked off and lay spread
out unevenly over the various objects in the grave, but no serious
harm had been done either to the skeletal remains or to the funerary
vessels. The bones, however, had been gnawed and dragged out of place
by rodents.
“A shallow earthen vessel was found in the grave, of the customary
small tripod type, painted red, with a blue line around the rim. A
bowl-shaped vessel, gray-colored and smooth, was placed at the right
of the skeleton, and both vessels were half filled with sifted mortar.
Even though the bones were somewhat disarranged, it was plain that the
human remains had been buried with the knees drawn up to the chin, and
the arms placed over them, with hands clasped. I found the hunched-up
remains reclining upon their right side. Whether the body had been so
buried or had been buried in a sitting position and had later toppled
over, is a matter for conjecture. If this grave or the others had ever
held anything of perishable nature it had completely disappeared.
“When the vault had been cleared, I resorted once more to my crude
stethoscope, which left no doubt of a still further cavity. Raising the
floor-slabs, we discovered a grave similar to grave Number Three, but
the contents were interesting variations. The usual tripod vessel was
there and also the bowl-shaped container, but the bottom inner surface
of the tripodal receptacle was cross-hatched with deep-cut lines,
and beside it was a large tripod vessel containing a caking of hard
material that proved to be copal incense of finest quality. It was so
altered by time that it was crystallized, almost fossilized, but when a
small portion was burned it gave off the familiar copal fragrance.
“In one corner of the vault, almost hidden under mortar-dust, was a
little heap of verdigris. This proved to be a number of copper bells,
like our sleigh-bells in shape but very much smaller, like the bells
brought up from the Sacred Well. The outer bells in the heap were so
oxidized that they simply flaked away when we tried to clean them,
but the inner ones retained their shape and finish even after they
were washed and cleaned. Copper bells played an important part in the
rituals and in the economic life of the ancient Mayas and of their
successors, even down to almost modern times. That old and faithful
chronicler Padre Cogolludo says of the olden people: ‘The monies they
used were copper bells and valuable according to their size.’ But the
probable reason for the presence of bells in this tomb is the fact that
in still older history bells were a part of the regalia of Ah Puch,
the God of Death, and were attached as anklets to his person. He is so
shown in the many hieroglyphs of him.
“The skeletal remains in this grave seemed to point to a re-burial.
Either the bones were taken from another tomb and re-interred here or
else they were cleared of their integuments and flesh prior to burial.
I say this because they were found in a queer bundle-like heap, with no
reference to their relative anatomical positions.
“In all of these graves were found traces of wood-ashes, but no signs
of burned or calcined bones to bear out any theory of cremation.
“Once again the steel stethoscope was put to use and again it told us
that we had not struck bottom. The floor of the fourth opened up into a
fifth grave, deeper than any of the preceding ones and more free from
accumulations. It contained pottery and a mingled heap of bones, as
the grave above had done. But in one corner, just where we had found
copper bells in the grave above, we discovered what looked like a dusty
pile of glass, which proved to be a handful of beautifully polished and
glistening rock-crystal beads some of which were handsomely fluted.
This find was the first recorded one of rock-crystal beads or pendants
in Yucatan. And amid the dust and debris on the floor we recovered a
dozen or more perfectly cut and artfully shaped jade beads of small
size. They were found either just above the surface or buried in a
fine ash deposit which may have destroyed somewhat their original
luster. Even so, they are valuable specimens, especially because of the
surroundings.
“The floor of this fifth and last of the several graves was on a
level with the base of the pyramid, and I concluded, therefore, that
it rested upon ledge-rock formation and that we had now reached the
end of our search. In fact, I had noted an upward tilt in the ledge
rock and had wondered why we had not already encountered it in the
shaft. The ancient builders very wisely took advantage of these rises
and outcroppings of ledge rock, in placing their buildings, so as to
save filling-material and the labor otherwise required to give the
structures a solid foundation.
“Judge of my surprise, despite my silent prediction, when the
tuning-fork device again signaled, ‘Good-sized cavity below’! It took
more than a casual glance to find the seams in the floor of the crypt,
so closely were the stones fitted, and we had considerable difficulty
in dislodging and raising them. Instead of a sixth and similar tomb we
encountered a flight of steps hewn out of the living rock.
“We had spent many days of constant back-breaking labor in the
excavation of the five graves, the noting of data, the preparation of
the specimens, and the packing of them in cases. Incidentally, the
deeper we went, the greater was our danger of cracked skulls from
falling stones and we had all taken to wearing stiff, high-crowned,
wide-brimmed Mexican sombreros. The high crowns we stuffed with
_pochote_ (tree-cotton). We covered our shoulders with thick pads of
gunny-sack, worn like a cape. When not working we threw the flaps back
over our shoulders. Occasionally a stone did fall, striking harmlessly
upon our improvised helmets and padded shoulders. If, however, it
chanced to hit a naked leg there was a howl of mingled pain and rage,
followed by words of unmingled Maya expletive. Such accidents happened
but rarely and the whole undertaking went through without a single
serious mishap.
“Each day, as the work progressed and we went farther and farther down,
the light from above became more and more feeble, except when the sun
was at the zenith, and much of our work had to be done by candlelight.
When we came to the flight of steps we found it so choked with ashes,
lime-dust, small bits of stone, potsherds, and charcoal, each in
quantity in the order indicated, that at first we could obtain no
idea of the dimensions of the chamber below. From the contour of the
roof-stones I judged it was not large, but it was so filled with debris
that I had to enter it feet foremost and lie upon my side to fill the
wicker baskets with material and pass them back to one of my helpers,
who in turn passed them on. Thus from one to another they passed,
until they could be hoisted up to daylight, where trusted hands and
experienced eyes separated the dross and placed the remainder in field
safety-boxes for my later inspection.
“In this manner, an endless chain of filled baskets went up and empty
ones came down to one man in the mysterious vault, lying on his back,
half naked, dripping with sweat, and plastered with grime, but now and
then smiling seraphically as he caught the gleam of a shining jade
jewel or a finely worked bit of flint. He could not see clearly for
more than an instant at a time, for when he was not blinded by sweat
the alkaline ash-dust smote his eyes, and the two at times combined to
make him fairly writhe. And he would not have changed places with a
king, for every once in a while he came upon something more precious to
him than kingly possessions.
“At first this work progressed very slowly for, perforce, I was the
only worker in the heaped-up chamber, my head and shoulders in the
flickering light of wild wax-candles while the rest of my body was
buried in the darkness of unknown centuries, my high-booted feet
crowding against who knows what noxious cave creatures.
“The mass of material, though hard-packed by time, was mostly
wood-ashes; and once these were loosened, a heavy booted foot or even a
sandaled one might injure some priceless museum specimen. And so for
a while I preferred to work alone in the confined space. At last I had
cleared away the accumulation above the second step of the stairway,
and I worked a clear space about the third step, using only my bare
hands, a sculptor’s spatula, and a whisk-broom. Even the trowel was
tabooed. Finally a sufficient space was cleared for my two most trusted
aides, Manuel and Pedro, to work beside me and then the work progressed
more rapidly.
“For several days things went along in this manner, with our interest
and curiosity mounting hourly, so that all who worked with me, down to
the last peon, grew feverishly excited and food and drink became mere
irritating interruptions. And each day added to our hoard of potsherds,
human bones, and shining jade.
“To this day I cannot think of that strange chamber without wonder.
Neither can I account for the presence of the material which so nearly
filled it. That it was a depository for the contents of previous
burial-places, is, I think, a fact beyond a doubt. Ashes, half-burned
fragments, even pieces of smooth wall-finish foreign to this particular
chamber, potsherds and jade ornaments—all lead to this conclusion. At
first I thought that the place had been a crematory, but I was soon
convinced that this could not have been so.
“As the work went forward the outline of the chamber became well
defined. The opening was relatively high and wide and I could stand
there almost erect. The passage, however, narrowed quickly like a
funnel, ending in a dead wall. The week was drawing to a close and with
it, so it appeared, our task. The work within that deep-down, badly
ventilated shaft was not too pleasant. The air was close; the place
was frightfully hot, and the big wax candles, dim and smoky, did not
tend to make the place more comfortable.
“We three—Manuel, Pedro, and I—were stripped to the waist and looked
more like chimney-sweeps than delvers after scientific lore. The work
seemed so nearly at an end that we kept doggedly on, the boys digging
and sifting while I stopped frequently to make notes. Late in the day,
all seemed finished except for a few isolated ash-heaps and a big flat
stone that leaned again the very end of the wall.
“Heaving a sigh of relief and wiping away the layer of grime and sweat
from my eyes, I said, ‘Well, boys, there’s nothing left but to haul
away that big flat stone and sweep up the ashes behind it on the chance
that there are some beads or small objects in the mess; then we’ll take
a few measurements and call the job finished.’ I grasped the stone
slab with both hands and pulled it toward me. It yielded so suddenly
that I fell back with it; and my companions likewise fell back, for,
instead of uncovering a pile of ashes, it disclosed a big, circular,
pitch-black hole and from that unsuspected, terrible hole came a long,
soughing rush of cold, damp wind. Our candles went out at once, leaving
us in inky blackness. The cold wind chilled our overheated bodies.
I was left with an insecure foothold too near the opening to dare a
movement in the dark. The two natives were simply glued to their places
in sheer terror.
“Finally Pedro spoke. ‘It is the mouth of hell,’ he said, and I heard
his teeth chatter as he said it. Even then, with my feet so placed on
the sloping wall-space and my body so inclined on the sloping floor
that it seemed as if an incautious move might slide me smoothly into
that black hole and through it into Eternity, I felt a pleased interest
in Pedro’s statement, for to the ancient Mayas, hell, called by them
Metnal, was not a burning pit of fire and brimstone but a dank, cold
place where lost souls, benumbed with chill, struggled forever in
thick, dark mud. The words of Pedro, coming so spontaneously from the
heart and coinciding so nearly with the ancient belief, the belief of
his ancestors, caused me to wonder.
“For the moment, however, it suited my purpose to have the more
Christian idea prevail and I did some rapid missionary work, saying
reprovingly in the native tongue, ‘_Ehen_, Pedro! What did Padre Ortiz
say about the hot flames of an ever-burning hell? It is a cold wind and
not a hot flame that comes from this hole.’ My logic evidently appealed
to them and freed them of a superstitious fear and they became once
more calm and resourceful.
“Working slowly and carefully in the utter darkness, we managed to
block up the hole with our wide-brimmed hats and we held them in place
by toppling the big flat stone against them. I was then able to get to
my feet and relight our candles. By long experience in subterranean
work, cave explorations, and descents into ancient cisterns, I have
learned to take certain basic precautions. As one of these, I wear
about my neck, hanging from a stout cord of deerskin, an air-tight
metal case within which are a glass vial of proof alcohol and some
wax matches. By this means I am freed of the vexation of damp matches
and a futile blue line of phosphorescence when a light is quickly and
urgently needed. I also carry invariably in such work a small Davy
lamp and a hundred-foot steel tape.
“The lamp is a safeguard against possible gas explosions. Lighting
it, I once more uncovered the hole, and once more the rush of cold
air began. I waited until the air-currents had balanced themselves
as nearly as they were likely to do and then proceeded to a further
examination of the hole. The orifice was about thirty inches in
diameter and after piercing the rock for about two feet it opened into
a cavity of unknown size and depth. I could, of course, have dropped a
stone into the cavity and timed its fall, gaining at least some idea
of the depth. But I wanted to take no chance of breaking anything
of antiquarian interest which might be there. Instead, I fastened
the lantern to the end of the steel tape and slowly lowered it into
the hole, but the thickness of the two-foot wall between me and the
perpendicular descent prevented me from seeing what was discovered by
the lantern as it went down. So I had the two boys hold tight to my
legs while I squirmed through the orifice until, head down, I could
sway freely above the pit. The convulsive hold on my legs assured me
that I should not drop down the hole suddenly if the boys could prevent
it, so I turned my entire attention to the void beneath me.
“By feeling the tape nicks as the lantern rested on the bottom of
the pit I found the depth was almost exactly fifty feet. By swinging
my body and the tape with the lantern at the end like a pendulum I
ascertained that the cavity was bottle-shaped and about twenty feet
wide at the bottom. I also ascertained that it was quite dry, the air
pure in it and the ventilation perfect. This seemed to be all of the
data necessary for the moment, so I had the boys pull me back to terra
firma and then cautioned them to say nothing whatever about our latest
discovery. And so we returned to the upper air and the scent of orchids
and to a hearty supper.
“That night, when I knew the men were resting and chatting before
taking to their guitars and their hammocks, I sent for Manuel—wise,
level-headed, dependable, my trusted companion through long years of
this sort of work. I said to him, ‘Manuel, to-morrow is going to be a
very interesting day even for old-timers like you and me and we shall
not often see and handle that which I hope we shall discover to-morrow.
Now, I want you to see Juan Cancio, Mathildé Uh, and José Uh. I will
see Pedro and his brother. Tell Juan, Mathildé, and José to meet us
here at five o’clock in the morning with their machetes, with their
water-gourds filled and with dinner in the _sabucan_. And, Manuel, tell
each of them that a shut mouth catches no flies. We may find something
and we may find nothing but piled earth, and if the latter we do not
want the other men laughing at us behind our backs.’
“Early the next morning we hastened toward the mound and with us went
stout ropes, block and tackle, shovels, and all the necessary tools
for six men. We slid down the rope into the shaft and then made our
way down the stairway into the funnel-shaped chamber. Here we fixed
a strong post and attached to it a double block and tackle, with the
several necessary ropes, so that all of us could safely descend and
ascend the fifty-foot bottle beyond the small, dark orifice. With a
lighted miner’s lamp on my head and my Davy lamp preceding me by ten
feet, I placed my foot in a noose in one of the ropes, swung myself
through the orifice, and hung over the pit. Between my teeth was my
sharp hunting knife which I always carry in this fashion in entering a
subterranean reservoir.
“My plans were well made and it was my intention to be lowered slowly
that I might study these grim walls as I descended. I had gone down
less than half the distance when I began to turn and whirl in the air
like a dancing dervish, with the difference that the dervish whirls on
solid ground, to the prayerful cries of his brethren, and he can stop
when he wishes, while I whirled in mid-air in darkness and silence,
like some dead celestial sphere and as powerless to stop. In our haste
we had forgotten to take the kinks out of the new ropes we were using
and my rope was avenging itself by beginning to unkink as my weight was
felt on its twisted strands. For a few seconds I could do nothing but
hang on dizzily. Meanwhile the rapidly twisting rope had caught and
jammed in the block, serving as a brake and had entirely checked my
downward progress.
“Suddenly a coil of rope from above fell loosely on my shoulders and
aroused me to my danger. The men above, not knowing what was going
on below in the darkness, were steadily paying out the rope and if
the choked block became suddenly free, there was nothing to prevent
my falling headlong through that terrible blackness to whatever was
below. Hurriedly looping the rope as best I could, to insure my present
safety, I yelled to the men above, and a voice came down to me,
sounding thick and flat in that black space.
“‘What is it, Master?’ the voice said.
“‘Listen,’ I replied, as steadily as I could. ‘Do exactly as I tell
you, for my life is at stake!’
“‘We will do it, Master,’ answered the voice.
“‘Haul up the slack of the rope until I tell you to stop.’
“‘I hear you, Master,’ and the snake-like coils began to recede, to
grow small, and finally to disappear. The slack had been taken up.
‘What now, Master?’ came the voice and I knew from the tension in it
that the sight of the slack rope had told its own story.
“‘Send me down Manuel and José.’ (They were the lightest and most agile
of the men.) I had no more than spoken before they came sliding down
the other ropes and shortly I was descending as slowly and carefully as
I had planned to do, until the pilot light of the lamp touched ground
beneath me, standing as firmly erect as though placed by unseen hands.
I glanced at the two men beside me on the ropes and we all nodded our
heads approvingly.
“Below, clearly seen in the light of the lamp, was a pure-white vessel
which had fallen apart, and from it streamed gleaming, shining objects.
We landed as carefully as though stepping on a mound of eggs. Before
taking our feet from the nooses we called to the men above to make
the ropes fast and to be ready for our signals. Leaving the lantern
standing as it was and no longer troubled by air-currents, we lit
our candles. Directly in the center of the pit was a large mound and
crowning it was the white vase, made of translucent material like
alabaster, carved from a solid block and engraved with a leaf design
in highly conventionalized meanders, combined with geometrical designs
around the rim and sides. It was broken into several pieces, but these
were large and the whole was quickly and easily fitted together into
the original shape.
“The vase, which had a capacity of about a quart, contained a quantity
of exquisite jade beads and pendants, a large plaque with surfaces
richly carved and representing conventionalized human figures with
religious regalia, a polished jade globe over an inch in diameter
and shining clear in spite of the ages of dust, oblong pendants, and
thin, minutely carved ear-ornaments. This was but a tenth of what the
vessel had once held. The rest we found later in the heaped-up material
beneath it.
“At a signal anxiously expected, the other men came swirling down
the ropes like firemen sliding down a brass pole to answer an alarm.
Then we all went to work. Each of the men had had long experience in
similar labors under my supervision. Occasionally was heard a swift
intake of breath and a man would hold up some interesting find and then
settle back to his task. While they worked I made notes, numbered the
specimens, and helped to pack them in the safety-boxes. Thus the work
went on. Occasionally we had to stop to kill a _tzeentum_, a big, flat,
crab-like spider. _Tzeentum_ spiders can give an ugly sting producing
a fever hard to subdue, and at times they seem to swarm out of hidden
crevices. By reason of their flat bodies and quick movements, killing
them is not always easy.
“We found temple vases, incense-burners, tripod vessels, cylindrical
urns, some of which are perfect, others marred, and many broken. We
obtained fragments of large, hard-baked earthen vessels of complicated
design. Unbroken, these must have been at least thirty-six inches
high. We secured, also, chipped flints of fine workmanship and of
unknown use. All these and many other finds came to us from this mound,
and after it had been gone over carefully by hand and had then been
screened we decided we had left nothing of value and as with one mind
we began to think of supper. Pedro swarmed up one of the ropes hand
over hand, followed by his brother, and they hoisted the specimen cases
and tools. The rest of the workers followed one by one. I was the last
to leave the mysterious burial-chamber, which seemed to name itself by
occult suggestion ‘The Sepulcher of the High Priest.’ And as I left
its dark depths behind me, the mysterious atmosphere, which no one,
probably, will ever be able to dissipate, seemed to cling to me.
“When we arrived at the top of the square-walled shaft it was eleven
o’clock at night and all the people of the plantation were there,
anxiously awaiting us. The families of the men who accompanied me were
in a hysterical state. Ropes had been brought and an attempt was about
to be made at our rescue. With our specimen cases held aloft and in the
midst of a rejoicing crowd we returned to the plantation house and soon
the noise died away and we all slept.
“I am asked why I call this shrine upon the mound with the crypt
beneath it the Temple of the High Priest. That is a fair question.
“I believe there comes to most sentient beings, after protracted
periods of intense observation and deep interest in a given subject, a
certain mental domination over the subject beyond a mere recognition
of the facts which have been encountered. One becomes possessed of a
clarity of vision not psychic but reaching farther than cold logic.
Call it intuition or what not; it so frequently arrives at the right
answer, spanning the gap that cannot be spanned by the chain of facts,
that I have great respect for it when it is honest, genuine, and
strongly felt.
“As I left behind me the black depths of the pit, its haunting mystery
seemed to permeate me. I had had the same strange feeling come over
me before, in research work among the burial-places of Labna and also
during and after my discovery of the ruined city of Xkickmook. Never
had it been so potent, so definite as when I ascended this wonderful
old burial-shaft and came into the moonlight of the living world.
“The feeling, impressive beyond words, was undoubtedly intensified by
the vision of the treasures I had so recently seen and handled: the
beautiful alabaster-like vase above all comparison with anything of its
kind hitherto found in the whole Maya area; the remarkable terra-cotta
votive urns nearly three feet high, each bearing the mask of a god
surrounded with sacred ornaments; the elaborate incense-burners and
other extraordinary pottery; the big, polished, globular beads of
jade; the carved jade plaque; the labrets, ear- and nose-ornaments;
the tubular rosettes; the thin disks of polished jade; the wonderfully
worked, flawless ornaments of flint, shaped like the parts of the
crozier of a bishop.
“And linked with these in my mind’s eye were the deeply paneled
surfaces of walls and columns, everywhere in the Sacred City, depicting
god-like personages with all the regalia of exalted priesthood:
neck-chains of big globular beads, breast-plaques of finely carved
design, ear- and nose-ornaments, and, grasped in the hand of these
dignitaries, a staff crowned with an object resembling the crozier of a
bishop.
“To me these pictures and the finds we had just made dovetailed
perfectly. Beyond dispute, too, is that fact that many ancient races
placed at the side of the departed those things which were most used
in life and which they would, presumably, want first in the hereafter.
The old Phœnicians, the Egyptians, the Scythians, the Norsemen, the
Eskimos, the redskins of the North and West, the Pueblos and the
Nahuatls, and the Incas and pre-Incas—all followed this custom. And I
know at first hand that the Mayas were no exception, for I have found
well-defined graves, never previously disturbed—graves containing
child skeletons with toys beside them; graves of women in which were
bone needles and spinning-whorls of terra-cotta or worked stone; graves
where beside the thick bones of once-powerful men were found flint
lance-heads and heads of darts for the _hul-che_ and knife-points of
obsidian.
“Beyond question I had uncovered the last resting-place of a priest
obviously of very high rank. Reason and logic and facts carry us thus
far. But those five hidden graves, each guarding the one below and
blocking the way to the deep secret passage and the pit at its end
wherein lay the sacred relics of the arch-priest—how may these be
explained? It is here that the mysterious assurance came to me—the
sure intuition, if you will—that this was not merely the tomb of a
great priest but the tomb of _the_ great priest, the tomb of the great
leader, the tomb of the hero-god, Kukul Can, he whose symbol was the
Feathered Serpent. Evidence is lacking, I can offer no scientific
proof, and yet I am certain that ultimately further discoveries in the
Sacred City will bear out my intuitive belief.”
CHAPTER XVI
THE LEGEND OF THE SACRIFICIAL PILGRIMAGE
Within the province of Mani the water-holes, the _satenejas_, were dry.
For many weeks no rain had fallen and the growing corn had withered and
died. The people were perishing of hunger and thirst and Ah Pula Xia,
overlord of the province, saw that something must be done and swiftly
or the tribe of Mani would be no more.
And so he caused the great summons to be sounded, the command to every
man, women, and child in the whole province to appear before him—the
command that had not been heard for twenty years. The _uliche_,
drumsticks with heads of rubber, striking upon the _tunkul_, caused
the earth to tremble with the loud booming of the summons, while
swift-footed _holpopes_, or runners, carried the message to the most
distant parts of the nation.
At the appointed time Ah Pula ascended to his kingly seat under the
spreading shade of the great _yax-che_, the sacred tree of the Mayas,
and grouped around him were his councilors and chiefs; the _ah-kin_,
the high priest, the _kulel_, the aged prime minister, the _nacon_,
chief of the warriors. Behind each of their leaders were grouped the
officers of lesser grades, each clad in his richest vestments and
holding the badge of his office. And flanking these nobles were the
_tupiles_, or guardians of the law, in long lines; and each bore the
white wand, insignia of their authority. Beyond, as far as the eye
could see, clear to the horizon where the level plain met the forest,
were massed the commoners, the whole nation of Mani.
Slowly Ah Pula, the _batab_, rose from his throne, and as he rose
the tall lances, the great battle-swords, and the _hul-ches_ clashed
together in one mighty salutation like the sound of giant trees
crashing to earth in a hurricane.
The gaze of the _batab_ roved over the assembled multitude and with one
hand upraised he commanded silence.
“O friends and councilors, sons and brothers! Those armed for war and
ever ready to defend the province! Priests of the Sun, who bring to
us the words of our gods and transmit to them our prayers! Listen to
my words and listen closely, that your answering thoughts may be well
chosen and weighty, light-bringing and life-giving. Thus and thus only
may we survive the calamity that threatens.
“Five times have the seasons come and gone. Five times have we planted
our fields of corn since the strange white men came to our land. We
did not invite them nor seek them. They sought us, these strange white
men coming in strange craft from a far land. They came and we did not
welcome them as did the Cheles and the Peches, nor did we meet them as
enemies when the Cupules, the Cochuahes, and the Cocomes fought against
them. Three times while they were here we planted and gathered abundant
harvests. Three times have we planted our fields since their departure.
Twice we have failed to gather enough even for seed for the following
season and the last planting, the third one, is now parched and dying.
“How, then, shall we feed our people? How shall we fill the breasts of
the nursing mothers and warm the cooling blood of the aged and feeble?
In this time of need even the wisest and strongest require the wisdom
and counsel of their brothers.”
Ah Pula Xia the king sat once more upon his throne, that ancient seat
of authority shaped in the form of a jaguar. Turning, he said to the
_ah-kin_, the high priest, in measured words, “O Father of the Temple,
Brother of the Sun, tell us from the store of thy sacred knowledge and
from thy god-given wisdom, why have the gods been deaf to our prayers?
What have we done that they have forsaken us and left us to be scourged
so sorely?”
The pontiff, tall, spare, and lined of feature, with eyes burning
bright in their deep sockets, rose from his seat and faced the king.
His words came forth so clear and simply that even the youngest and the
dullest of his hearers could not fail to hear and, hearing, understand:
“O Batab, ruler! O Halach Uinic, father of thy people, hear what the
outraged gods say through my lips to thee and thy people:
“‘Unknown beings from a strange land and worshiping pagan gods have
polluted this earth with their tread, have deafened our ears with their
foreign tongue and defiled our temples with prayers to other gods.
They have entered as guests into your towns and villages and you have
received them. They have lived in your homes and you have suffered it.
Your servants, at your command, have given them food and drink.
“‘The gods of our fathers are slow to wrath. They waited in patience
your repentance, but you repented not. Then did the gods turn against
you their wrath. With quarrels and dissensions they divided the evil
white men. With pestilence and strange diseases they decimated them.
Smitten by enemies, harassed by insects, and poisoned by reptiles,
these white men faded in strength and numbers, until the few that still
lived returned to the unknown land whence they came.
“‘All this was by the command of your gods, the gods that now you have
forgotten. But though the serpent passes, his trail still remains.
Because of these things that you have done the gods are punishing you.
They have forbidden the clouds to form and they have forbidden the
rain to fall. They have forbidden the grain to germinate and the roots
to sprout in forest or field. They have caused hosts of insects to
devastate your stores and eat up your substance. They have brought upon
you terrible diseases that your wise men and physicians cannot cure.’
“You ask what can be done to appease the anger of the gods. Now, the
knowledge has come to me, through the ancient records and writings
handed down from high priest to high priest since time began, that once
before in the history of our people was the wrath of the gods, and
especially the wrath of Yum Chac, the Rain God, kindled against us when
we forgot his precepts and disobeyed his teachings.
“In that olden time beautiful maidens were sent to him as messengers,
to plead for his forgiveness and to carry with them rich offerings of
viands, flowers, and precious jewels. Thus was his ire appeased and
fecundity restored to this unhappy land.
“My words are these: ‘Let us follow the ancient example. Let us go in
solemn procession with maidens as chaste and lovely as the opening
buds of the white pitahaya, to carry our plea to the god, and with our
prayers let us send food and drink in fine vessels, the ripest fruit,
the fattest grain, and our richest jewels. Thus may we hope to avert
the divine wrath and restore to life our starving nation.’”
The _kulel_, the prime minister, then stepped forward. His form was
bent, his hair gray, and his face seamed with lines of deep thought.
His voice, though low and calm, was heard distinctly amid the crowding
ranks of the common people.
Said he, “O Batab, ruler of the people, we have listened to the words
of our pontiff and his words befit his high office. We listen to them
with the respect due him as high priest and as the mouthpiece of the
gods. To hear these words and the command they convey, is to obey
without question.
“He who is ordered by those above to go upon a journey, surely goes
if he is faithful. But he who goes upon such a journey without
due preparation is not a good servant, for, by reason of his
unpreparedness, he may be delayed, led astray, or otherwise impeded in
carrying out the will of his master.
“Therefore let us think what this act of expiation requires us to do,
and then consider how to do it with the least delay and without waste
of life and effort. What we seek to gain is evident, for we all feel
the pangs of hunger and have seen our nearest and dearest fade away
and die. We have seen the grain and the fruit wither. We have seen our
scant stores devoured by clouds of insects. We have seen our people
wander into the deep forest seeking food and they have never returned.
“What we most desire is to appease the dread anger of our gods, that we
may have once again food and health and happiness.
“We are all agreed that we must make sacrifice at the Sacred Well,
the Chen Ku of Chi-chen Itza. The question is, then, how shall we
reach the Sacred Well and how shall we make our sacrifice? The way is
long, full of thorns, and covered with sharp stones. The thorns are
the lance-points and the stones the pointed darts of the Cocomes, the
Cochuahes, and the Cupules, our ancient enemies, through whom we must
pass to reach the well. Either we must gain their permission to pass in
peace and friendship or we must push our way through them by force of
arms.
“My voice is for peace with these our lifelong enemies. I have said.”
Then came the _nacon_, the chief of all the fighting men, powerful,
thick-set and sturdy. As he arose the warriors clashed their weapons in
a deafening roar and then all were silent, awaiting his words.
“O Batab, ruler,” he said, “we have listened with reverence to the
words of our high priest, with awe and submission to the words of our
gods that came from his lips. We have heard with respect the measured,
temperate wisdom of our aged _kulel_. He has said that we must not
delay our sacrifice and yet his voice is for peace.
“I, too, say that we must not delay, but why need we who are among
the greatest and strongest in the land, ask of any one permission to
sacrifice and worship? Who gave the Cocomes the right to say who may
worship in the temples or make sacrifice at the Sacred Well? Is not
Chi-chen Itza the holy city of the gods, our gods as well as theirs?
“Let us open wide the path to and from the Sacred City and keep it open
with the points of our spears, the keen edges of our swords, and the
swift terror of our _hul-ches_. I have spoken.”
The _batab_, with the _ah-kin_, the _kulel_, and the _nacon_ turned
toward the assembled people and the _batab_ cried in tones that rolled
over the thickly packed mass and beyond into the trees of the forest:
“What is your voice? What is the word of my people?”
With a noise like thunder came the mighty chorus:
“We want food! We are dying. We go into the forest to dig for roots to
fill our empty stomachs and we find none. The land is accursed and even
the birds no longer fly over it and the snakes even no longer burrow
within it.”
The _batab_ pondered deeply and long, then raised his head and said:
“This we will do: We will first ask of the Cocomes that they allow our
people to pass to make sacrifice at the Sacred Well. If they consent we
will make a great pilgrimage and a sacrifice that shall be remembered
through the ages to come, for it will be the seal of friendship and
of peace between old and bitter enemies. If they refuse us their
permission to pass freely and to make our sacrifice, we will then take
that right, as they of old took it, by force, and by force we will hold
it for all time.
“Now, this very night we will send the message to the Cocomes, so that
we may know without delay what course to follow. Until then let each of
you in his own way so prepare that whatever comes we shall be ready.
“At once, summon the swiftest runners to take the message to Nachi
Cocom, Batab of Zotuta, and through him to his allies, the Cupules and
the Cochuahes!”
Nachi Cocom, Batab of Zotuta, King of the Cocomes and leader of allied
provinces, sat in his great council chamber. About him were his chiefs
and nobles and those of his allies, the Cupules and the Cochuahes. Upon
the high walls of the council chamber were war-banners and trophies of
many hard-won battles. On broad wooden platforms, one at each end of
the building, were heaped the captured weapons, war-masks, and armor of
those who had fought against the Cocomes or their allies and lost.
Gathered around the entrance were keen-eyed warriors armed with
lances and swords and _hul-ches_. Lounging but watchful, they first
gave the warning, high-pitched and long, that echoed through the city
and carried even to the houses nestled in the fringe of the forest:
“_Hek-utal le macoboo!_ Here come strangers!” Down the winding path
came the messengers from the Batab of Mani, carrying his word to Nachi
Cocom, Batab of Zotuta.
The messengers were three brothers, picked men, _holpopes_ all three;
good men to look upon and worthy of their office. For Mayas they were
tall but well proportioned and lithe, as supple as young jaguars.
Wide of brow and clear-eyed they were. None could doubt their fitness
to be the messengers of the king. Striding up to where the Batab of
Zotuta and those of his council sat, each fearlessly and proudly made
his obeisance and gave his salute—the sign of a _holpope_ bringing a
message. To the chief _holpope_, the eldest and tallest of the three
brothers, the _batab_ said, “Welcome, _holpope_, and those with you.
Speak!”
Said the chief _holpope_:
“To thee, O Batab of Zotuta, I bring a message from the Batab of Mani
and thus runs the message:
“‘To the Batab of Zotuta and its provinces I, Batab of Mani and its
provinces, send greeting.
“‘We are brothers, in that we were both born and are nourished from the
same earth-mother, this land of Mayab. Therefore I, Ah Pula Xia, Batab
of Mani, do now and by these my chosen messengers send to you, Nachi
Cocom, Batab of Zotuta, this brotherly greeting and with it a brother’s
request:
“‘The gods have smitten us sorely for our sins, you and me and all our
people. I, Batab of Mani, with my people desire to make peace with our
god by a pilgrimage of atonement and solemn rites of sacrifice, that we
may once more receive the blessing of the Rain God, your god and ours.
“‘We have had our brothers’ quarrels, but the quarrels of brothers can
be forgotten. We have had our hard-fought battles, but wars that have
been fought are things of the past, things to forget. To-day we are
scourged together, you and I and all our people. Let us, then, forget
the past with its bitter memories and come together like brothers,
forgiving and forgiven. Let us unite in a great and solemn pilgrimage
of atonement and sacrifice to the angered god, in his temple at the
Sacred Well of Chi-chen Itza. Thus will his wrath be appeased. The
rains will follow the clouds in the heavens and fecundity will come
once more to the earth, now sterile, baked, and dead.
“‘For this we ask your word and your promise that my people may pass
undisturbed and unharmed to pray in the temples and to make sacrifice
to the Rain God in the Sacred Well at Chi-chen Itza. I and my people
await your answer.’”
Nachi Cocom sat motionless in thought, neither asking nor receiving
counsel from those about him; and such was their fear and awe of this
indomitable and cruel ruler that none dared speak as he sat with crafty
eyes staring at the ground before him. At last he raised his head and
fixed the messengers with his inscrutable gaze and said:
“Messengers from the Batab of Mani, listen closely and carefully that
your words to him be my words to you.
“‘From the Batab of Zotuta to the Batab of Mani, greetings! You say
that we are brothers, in that this land of Mayab is our common mother.
You say that we are together and alike scourged by an outraged god.
These things are true. The land, our common mother, has felt the curse
of the white man’s tread. By this act was she violated and we, her
sons, permitted it—you by acquiescence, I by impotence.
“‘But all this is past, you say, and we must now find means to avert
the disaster which threatens to overwhelm us both—a calamity that can
be avoided only by a pilgrimage and sacrifice to Noh-och Yum Chac at
the Sacred Well of Chi-chen Itza.
“‘_Be wale!_—so let it be!
“‘You say that brothers quarrel and then forgive; that the war that is
ended may be forgotten.’
“Now,” and here he bent forward and spoke in deep earnestness, while
about his thin lips wreathed a twisted smile that made those who knew
him well recoil in terror, “tell my brother, Ah Pula, Batab of Mani, to
send his pilgrims, the maiden messengers, the sacrificial offerings,
and the priests, when and how he wishes. When they come they will
find me and my people ready and waiting to give them warm welcome. No
spear shall be cast, no weapon raised against them. We will guard the
pilgrims and send them on their way to worship and to make sacrifice to
that god with whom they so urgently wish to make peace—to your god and
our god, for are we not the offspring of a common mother?
“They will need to bring neither food nor arms, for I, Nachi Cocom,
and my people will provide these things. Thus can your people come on
more quickly to ask the forgiveness of the god for traitorous acts,
snake-like deceptions, and cowardly submission to strange white men.
“I have spoken. Messengers of Mani, eat, drink, rest, and then
speed back the word of Nachi Cocom to—” and here again he smiled
sardonically—“to his brother Ah Pula Xia.”
Thereupon the _batab_ rose and departed, and his councilors likewise
left the chamber.
But the chief councilor spoke in a whisper to his brother, leader of
the warriors, and said:
“No man may know but the _batab_ himself what thoughts are deep buried
in his mind, but I know and fear that thin-lipped smile, and as he
spoke to the messengers of Mani a strange feeling came over me like
_ek muyal_, the black cloud. I had a fear of something, intangible but
terrible; something he is planning that will bring down upon us the
annihilating wrath of the gods.”
“Brother,” his companion answered, “do not voice such thoughts nor even
think them. I have forgotten that you spoke. Remember that the will of
the _batab_ is supreme. We may not question it. I also felt your fear,
but say no more!”
Swiftly, tirelessly the messengers of Mani sped on their homeward
journey; over sunlit plains, threaded by the smooth worn paths of the
jaguar and the wild boar; through cool forests whose shade beckoned
enticingly; past wells of crystal-clear water where thirst cried to be
quenched. But they stopped not at all until, as the sun sank slowly
down into the west, they passed between the great parched corn-fields
of Mani and at last reached the palace of the _batab_.
So quickly had the _holpopes_ returned that the _batab_ said of them,
“They are birds, not men.”
And the _nacon_ answered: “If they are birds, then are they eagles,
for these three _holpopes_ in the battle with the Uitzes killed three
warriors and took three prisoners.”
The _batab_ cast an approving glance at the deep-chested, thin-flanked
young _holpopes_ and said:
“Let it be proclaimed from the temple that for their services in time
of peace and for their brave acts in battle these three brothers shall
henceforth be of the eagles and shall bear the regalia and wear the
mask of the eagle in the sacred rites.” And so it was from that time
on. The three brothers, known as the Three Eagles, wore the feathers
and mask of the eagle in the sacred festivals and until after the
coming of the later white men the figures of the Three Eagles were to
be seen carved upon the walls of a temple in Mani.
Great was the enthusiasm and greater the joy at the message sent by the
Batab of Zotuta to the Batab of Mani and the tale of the warm welcome
given to the _holpopes_ and the warmer one promised to the pilgrims.
Ah! could they but have seen the venomous look and the twisted smile
that was hidden behind the unctuous softness of those pleasant-sounding
words!
In the province of the Cocomes great preparation was made for the
expected guests. At frequent intervals along their destined path
from one village to another were placed arches made of saplings tied
together and bent to the ground. Those at the entrance of each village
were adorned with fresh vines and bright flowers until the curve of
the arch was a solid mass of green leaves and fragrant blossoms. There
were scarlet clusters of _cutz-pol_, or turkey-head, white _sac-nute_
blooms, the frail blue jungle morning-glory, and the golden trumpets of
the _xkan-tol_ flower.
As the pilgrims reached each new village the head men and the most
beautiful maids of the district came to meet and welcome them, the
head men with the symbols of their authority and the maidens with
gourds of cool _sacca_ to quench the thirst of the travelers. And with
songs of welcome they invited the tired but happy pilgrims to rest and
then to feast in the village. As they neared Zotuta, where dwelt the
_batab_, he and his councilors came forth to welcome them. The whole
city, even to its most distant outskirts, was seething with the hum of
preparation. Wild turkeys, wild pigs, green corn, big tubers, white,
flaky, and succulent—all were being cooked underground with heated
stones and surrounded with fragrant herbs after the manner and custom
handed down from ancient times.
On came the pilgrims, heralded by groups of children and women singing
and chanting words of welcome. At the feet of the pilgrims were strewn
clusters of flowers and along the way were bowls of incense, so that
the fragrant smoke pleased their nostrils. First came the priests and
the nobles. Then came the lovely maidens chosen to be the messengers
to the great god at the bottom of the Sacred Well, and these girl
brides of the god were carried upon litters richly adorned and smoothly
transported by trained bands of bearers. After them came the devotees,
their arms filled with rich offerings. And last came captive warriors,
men of fighting renown, esteemed for their valor to be worthy of
sacrifice to the Rain God.
Thus with solemn joy and chanted welcome the pilgrims entered Zotuta,
not only as pilgrims on a sacred mission but as an embassy bearing
offerings of peace and good-will between brothers long estranged but
now reconciled and reunited by the god to whom they would soon offer
prayer and joint sacrifice at the Sacred Well.
Soon came the feasting, the religious games, and at last the solemn
ritual of the Sacred Dance. The hours passed too pleasantly and sweetly
to be heeded, until drooping lids could no longer stay open and the
pilgrims were conducted to the group of houses that had been set aside
for their use.
In the cool darkness that precedes the first gleam of dawn, that
time when the whole world sleeps, the Cocomes in the houses beyond
the palm-thatched dwellings where the pilgrims lay and the pilgrims
themselves—all were buried deep and sound in slumber. Then silent,
shadowy forms swiftly surrounded the quiet houses where the pilgrims
rested in fancied security.
Red tongues of flame, smokeless because of the dry materials upon which
they fed, shot up from each house corner and like snakes crawled along
the thatched roofs. Before the sleepers could arouse to their danger
the big structures were roaring and crackling, each a huge funeral pyre.
Shrill shrieks of women, hoarse cries of men, choking, gasping moans,
frenzied prayers, imprecations, and inarticulate sounds filled the
morning air and the barred doors and burning roof-poles were shaken
furiously.
The voice of Nachi Cocom of the crafty eyes and the thin-lipped cruel
smile was heard above the crackling of the flames and the shrieks of
the dying pilgrims. His black eyes glittered venomously, like the eyes
of a deadly serpent when it strikes home its fangs, but his voice was
smooth and oily as he said:
“_Ehen!_ pilgrims, brothers, brothers of a common mother! How fares
it? It would seem to me, standing here and looking on, that you have
changed your minds and that you are making sacrifice to Yum Kax, god
of fire, and not to Yum Chac, god of rain! But what does it matter,
brothers of a common mother? Both are gods and both are worshiped by
brothers that spring from a common mother. You are now saved the
trouble of visiting the Sacred Well.”
As he said these words, as if by a common signal, the blazing roofs
sank slowly in, the cries of agony ceased, and shortly all was still.
Once again the _batab_ spoke and the twisted smile was on his lips as
he said:
“Rest now in peace, brothers. This is the warm welcome that I promised
you. Long years ago, I promised you such a welcome, but you had
forgotten. And Nachi Cocom never forgets.”
The _batab_ turned and strode from the place, the baleful glitter still
in his eyes, but the populace—people of Zotuta and those from distant
villages, drawn by the pilgrimage and the feasting—fled from the
city, and many rushed into the jungles and were never seen again. Only
the soldiers of the _batab_, with callous obedience to their orders,
remained to watch over the smoldering funeral pyres.
It is said that the Rain God, incensed at this act, deserted the Sacred
Well with all his court and, leaving the land and the people to their
fate, made his home in a far distant and unknown region. The people,
abandoned by their god, ended by fighting with one another like rabid
animals. The shrine on the brink of the Sacred Well was no longer
carefully tended, and it fell gradually into ruins, piece by piece.
The beautiful carved cornices and roof-stones were wedged apart by
the growing roots of trees and toppled into the still, dark waters
below. When, in after years, the white men came again they found a few
miserable Mayas living in carelessly made huts under the shadow of
the great ruined city, and these natives shunned the Sacred Well and
believed it to be haunted.
Thus passed the power and majesty of mighty chieftains and thus died
the Maya nations.
CHAPTER XVII
THIRTY YEARS OF DIGGING
Right here in America, only a short journey from the United States and
closer to them than our Panama Canal, are the remains of at least sixty
ancient ruined cities—marvelous places about which we know almost
nothing, nor of the people who built them.
We know infinitely more of the ancient Egyptians—of their buildings,
their customs, their beliefs, their history, and their writings.
Virtually every hieroglyphed surface left by them which has been
uncovered has been pored over by many archæologists and its meaning
deciphered beyond question.
For a hundred years antiquarians from every civilized land have spent
their lives in studying the ancient empire of the Nile. Millions of
dollars have been expended in scientific, minutely careful exploration.
No slightest clue to further knowledge has been ignored, and tons of
books, written in every language, have been printed, so that the man on
the street anywhere may go to his nearest library and, if he will, read
all there is to know on the subject.
And here at our very door, on our own continent, are the remains of
an early culture not one whit less interesting than the Valley of the
Kings. Possibly it is not so old, but on the other hand it is more
steeped in mystery because of our profound ignorance. We know next
to nothing about it: who were its builders; where they came from;
their history, creeds, or customs. We can read but a few scraps of
the writings of which they left such an abundance—enough, in all
probability, to fill in many of the empty spaces in our knowledge if
we but had the power to decipher them and extract their meaning. Even
our hard-won and sadly limited information concerning this culture has
never been given to the general public. To get it one must read Spanish
and French and German, as well as English, and the average public
library contains possibly three or four books on the subject.
Until last year no well-planned, completely equipped exploration backed
by ample finances had ever been undertaken. Archæologists have delved
in many of the ancient Maya cities—puny expeditions pressed for time
and cash. The work backed by the Peabody Museum has been the most
consistent, but even that has suffered often from lack of finances, and
much of Don Eduardo’s work has been done at his own expense.
Happily, I think the American public and American antiquarians are
waking up to the neglected opportunity. The expedition sent out by
the Carnegie Foundation is most promising. It has well-laid plans;
it is under the leadership of Sylvanus G. Morley, a thorough-going
archæologist and one of the foremost in knowledge of the ancient Maya
culture. He has made the study of the subject his life-work and has
achieved fame through his finds in the Maya area. He has uncovered
many important date-stones and is the most eminent authority in this
specialized activity.
The new exploration is being carried on at Chi-chen Itza on a big
scale and most methodically; and, best of all, it is prepared to
continue twenty years if necessary, to the ultimate completion of its
work. Fallen temples will be rebuilt, stone by stone. Every scrap of
knowledge that can be extracted from the excavations and study of what
is already uncovered will be noted and correlated. There can be no
question that this work will add very largely to antiquarian lore.
I await with eagerness the delving into what Don Eduardo calls “old
Chi-chen Itza,” the completely ruined and tree-covered part of the
ancient city, which lies to the south of the newer and less damaged
buildings, for it is there that the most ancient architecture and the
noblest carvings are to be found and, with them, other remains of the
highest Maya culture—the relics of that earlier golden age which had
already fallen to decay before the Nahuatl dominance resulted in the
buildings of a lower order in the newer city.
The Spanish conquerors discovered many of the ancient cities and wrote
about them in their annals; and the world promptly forgot about them
for two hundred years. Then vague stories about them began to drift
back to civilization, carried by adventurous wanderers who had seen or
heard of them. At the end of two hundred years we knew considerably
less about early Mayan culture than was known by Landa and Cogolludo
and the other Spanish padres who followed in the wake of the conquering
Spanish flag. It remained for Stephens to lead the way once again
and show us the wonder and mystery of the old cities. The great Von
Humboldt came and was deeply impressed. Le Plongeon labored like ten
men for years and tragically broke under the strain, leaving little to
advance the world’s knowledge from the much that he discovered. Then
came Maler and knowledge of a hidden city—knowledge lost to the world
when he died.
To Don Eduardo must be given credit for bringing to light in the past
thirty years the things which gave a real forward impetus to this
particular phase of American archæology. Many of his finds, consigned
to the Peabody Museum, are not yet accessible to the general public,
having been held in reserve by that institution, doubtless for sound
reasons which are unknown to me. For thirty years Don Eduardo has
followed unswervingly the ambitious, adventurous dream of his boyhood.
Literally, he has followed the rainbow to its end and unearthed the pot
of gold. His dream was to make the Sacred Well yield up its treasures.
That he has done and more.
Edward Thompson—or Don Eduardo, as I have called him through these
pages, because that is the name by which I have known him so long and
well—is no richer in a material sense than if he had never raised
the fabulous treasure from the great Sacred Well of Chi-chen Itza.
But he has had what money cannot buy: a life of notable achievement;
a cherished dream realized to the full; a thousand gorgeous memories,
each packed with such adventure and thrill as we less favored folk have
never experienced.
He has made the well of sacrifice yield its secrets. The skeletons of
the girl brides of the Rain God; the bones of sacrificed warriors;
the copal incense and the religious vessels; the jade ornaments and
objects of gold; the _hul-ches_; the sacrificial knives—each is a link
in the chain of evidence which makes fact out of legend. His finds
prove the existence of the ancient belief in the Rain God and the fact
that sacrifices were made to him. They prove that this great water-pit
actually was the Sacred Well. They make plausible the legend that
Chi-chen Itza was the Sacred City, the center of the cult of Kukul Can.
The finding of the date-stone, by Don Eduardo, may, to the casual
reader, seem insignificant, but from the scientific point of view it
is tremendously important, for it gives us one more indisputable fact.
From it we know that the city existed in the seventh century, A.
D. We do not know how much older than that it is actually or how
long it flourished thereafter. There remains the incontrovertible
date from which we may, in time, proceed forward or back to a further
knowledge.
His discovery and excavation of the Tomb of the High Priest is a
brilliant achievement. It lays bare more facts and opens up new avenues
for speculation. Time alone can prove whether it is, as Don Eduardo so
sincerely believes, the tomb of the hero-god, the great leader, Kukul
Can, around whom all Mayan theology revolves.
And now Don Eduardo is no longer in his first youth. He is still far
from decrepit, but the time has come when it is fitting for him to
step aside from the active and strenuous work of exploration and he
has leased all his holdings, including the Casa Real, to the Carnegie
expedition. I know that he takes a profound pleasure in the feeling
that this expedition is going to finish thoroughly and completely what
he has so ably started and carried on under handicaps that will not
beset the newer work.
To the layman Don Eduardo’s achievements may seem small as against
thirty years of ceaseless endeavor, but do not forget the days and
weeks and months of profitless effort that must be spent in this sort
of work. It does not move forward like the building of a railroad, the
manufacture of goods, or the planting and reaping of fields.
Thirty years are well spent if their labor helps in the least to shed
even a feeble ray on the nearly obliterated pages of the past. And each
rising sun brings fresh the hope that to-day will be the day of a great
discovery, the finding of a key that will unlock the door to knowledge
concerning a wonderful people whose monuments are to us as a few torn
pages of some master manuscript without beginning or end, but still of
such absorbing interest that one cannot rest until the missing pages
are found.
As antiquarian thirst grows—as it surely must, for few things in
the world contain a deeper human interest than antiquity—attention
will certainly turn more and more to the still unsolved mystery of
ancient American and, particularly, Mayan culture. Instead of one great
scientific exploration there will be scores. Each of the ruined cities
is worthy of research. There are magnificent temples to be restored;
priceless finds to be bared; and that vexing riddle to be completely
solved—the clear reading of the Maya glyphs.
And with all of this must come inevitably the tourist to a new
and delightful land, and through him will grow a new and keener
appreciation of America.
APPENDIX
LIST OF MORE IMPORTANT GOLD AND JADE OBJECTS FOUND
IN THE SACRED WELL
One basin of fine gold, twelve inches in diameter with shallow rounding
bottom. About a pound in weight.
Four other basins, bowls or cups, smaller in size, uncarved, but of
massive material and very artistic in contour.
None of the above basins were twisted, cut or broken.
Seven gold disks, embossed or beaten, about ten inches in diameter.
Eight gold disks, embossed or beaten, about eight inches in diameter.
Seventeen gold disks, embossed or beaten, about six inches in diameter.
Ten gold disks, embossed or beaten, small sizes.
One handsome _penache_, forehead band or tiara, over eight inches long
by four inches wide, of beautiful openwork, the design being entwined
serpents with plumed head-dress.
This is the finest piece of gold work ever found in the Maya area.
Eleven reptile and animal figures, probably brooches and similar
ornaments; all massive gold and finely worked. Frogs, bat-like
figures and monkey-like objects, most of them cast (not beaten work),
massive and of pure gold.
Fourteen small gold objects shaped like candlesticks.
Ten human or monkey-like figures of gold.
Twenty gold rings, mostly of thin but pure gold.
Sixty other objects of unknown use but of gold material.
One hundred bells of various sizes but all gold, even to the clappers.
Forty other unclassified objects, either of pure gold or of gold
and bronze; sandals, disks, ferrule-like objects, pieces and strips
evidently portions of shields and regalia ornaments.
Forty gold washers or scales, one and a quarter inches in diameter,
with holes in the center.
One solid-gold mask seven inches in diameter, the eyes closed as if in
sleep or in death and over the right eyelid the same kind of slanting
cross that we often see carved on the so-called elephants’ trunks.
One gold _hul-che_ (throwing-stick) of entwined serpents.
Seven jade plaques or tablets, broken but restored, three inches by
four inches.
Nine jade tablets, two inches by four inches by one quarter inch thick.
The jade tablets were evidently broken intentionally before being
thrown into the well.
One hundred sixty beautifully carved large jade beads and pendants of
large size, virtually perfect.
Seventy carved jade ear-ornaments, nose- and labret ornaments, from two
inches in diameter down to one half inch, all finely cut and
polished.
Fourteen jade globes, one and a half inches in diameter, all very
finely polished and several finely carved with well-executed figures
and other designs.
One small but very finely worked and polished jade figurine, four
inches wide and four inches high. It represents a seated figure of
the Palenquin type with elaborate head-dress. It is perfect and is
one of the finest, if not the finest figure found in the Maya area.
Many hundreds of small jade beads of all sizes and shapes, all
polished; many of them artistically carved and shaped.
One flint-bladed sacrificial knife with the handle formed of golden
entwined serpents. It is the only perfect one taken from the Sacred
Well and probably the only authentic and perfect knife of this kind
in any museum on the American continents. At least it is the only one
in the Peabody Museum.
Several parts of other knives, such as handles, flint blades, etc.
Many beautiful flint spear-heads worth many times their weight in gold,
worked down to the thickness of a steel spear-head with edges as
sharp as a razor, the finest ever found anywhere in the world.
A thousand other articles of great value to archæology.
INDEX
Agriculture in Yucatan, 6
Aguilar, Gerónimo de, first of the Spanish conquerors, 166, 167, 170
Akab Tzib, or House of the Writing in the Dark, 62, 63, 64
Alphabet of Landa for employing Maya glyphs to denote Spanish
letters, 41, 42
Alvarado, José, Silver King of Mexico, 235
Ancient cities, condition of at time of Spanish Conquest, 43, 44
Animal figures and carvings recovered from Sacred Well, 135, 137
Annexes, unnamed temples near Nunnery, 69, 70
Arches, Maya, 195
Atlantean figures, 78, 79, 85, 86
Atlantis theory of Mayan ethnology, 36
_Bal-che_, an ancient intoxicating beverage, 115, 137, 244
Balustrades with serpent motif, 77, 78, 80, 238
Bas-reliefs and full-relief works, 79, 80, 81, 82, 219, 220, 221,
224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 229, 230, 32, 233, 234
Bas-Reliefs, Temple of, 81, 82, 219, 220, 221, 228, 229, 230
Beams, sapote, 78
Bells of copper from High Priest’s Tomb, 246
Bells of copper and gold recovered from Sacred Well, 131, 132
Boa-constrictors, 95, 96, 182, 241, 242
Bolshevism among natives, 17
Bowls and disks of gold recovered from Sacred Well, 133, 134
Brooches recovered from Sacred Well, 135
_Caluacs_ or ceremonial wands, 135, 143
Caracol, or Snail-shell, 71, 72, 73
Carnegie Expedition in Chi-chen Itza, 87, 279, 280
Casa Real, home and estate of Don Eduardo,
Ancient gateway, 55, 56, 57
First view by Don Eduardo, 55, 56
Looting by unruly natives, 17
Size of estate, 60
Caves, 33, 97, 139
Cenotes (see Wells), 135, 143
Chac Mool figures, 82, 182
Chich-an Chob, Red House, or Strong, Clean House, 73, 74, 75
Chilan Balam, Maya writings in Spanish characters, 37, 38, 40
Chi-chen Itza,
Arrangement of buildings, 60, 61
Distinction between old and new cities, 47, 60, 280
Lack of streets, 60, 61
Location and how to get there, 3, 5
Montejo’s military headquarters, 172, 173
Retreat of Spaniards from, 70, 71, 173
Chisels,
Recovered from Sacred Well, 132, 133
Of nephrite found near Great Pyramid, 192, 193
Chronicles, Maya, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42
Church, or Iglesia, 69, 70
Cisterns, 98, 99
Codices, Maya, rare books written in hieroglyphs, 37, 38, 39, 232
Conquest of Yucatan by Spaniards, a brief history, 166 to 178
Construction of Maya temples, 189 to 197
Copal, 107, 108, 110, 111, 112, 113, 119, 121, 139, 140, 142, 246
Copper and gold objects recovered from Sacred Well, 131 to 137
Córdoba, Francisco de Hernandez, commander of second Spanish
expedition to Yucatan, 167, 168
Cortes, Hernan, commander of Fourth Spanish expedition to Yucatan,
146, 147, 169, 170, 171, 174, 175
Costume and arms of ancient Mayas, 20, 22, 227, 228, 229
Costume of modern Mayas, 11, 12
Cotton, 248
Cruelties of Spanish conquerors, 175, 176
Cuzmil, ancient city of, 169, 170
Dances, native ancient, 22
Dances, native modern, 18, 19
Dates, earliest recorded Mayan, 37
Date-stone of Chi-chen Itza, 184, 185
Deities of the Mayas,
God of Death, 53, 246
Rain God, 53, 54, 55
Disks and bowls of gold recovered from Sacred Well, 133, 134
Diving operations in Sacred Well, 118 to 131
Dredging of Sacred Well, 55, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110,
111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 117, 118, 119, 122, 123, 124, 125
Earthen jars from High Priest’s Tomb, 257
El Castillo, or the Great Pyramid of Kukul Can, 50, 51, 75, 76, 77,
78, 79
Elephant head controversy, 214
Embroidery, 12
Fabrics recovered from Sacred Well, 121, 144
Fiestas, ancient Maya, 21, 22
Finds in Sacred Well, 107 to 115, 121, 129 to 146
Fuentes, Francisco de las, lieutenant of Montejo, 28
Geological formation of Yucatan, 97
Gold and copper objects recovered from Sacred Well, 131 to 137
Gold, value (compared with jade) to ancient Mayas, 146, 147
Golden Age of Maya Art, 211, 212
Gourds and gourd implements, 121, 140, 141
Great Pyramid of Kukul Can, or El Castillo, 50, 51, 75, 76, 77, 78,
79
Grijalva, Juan de, commander of third Spanish expedition to Yucatan,
168
Gymnasium, or Tennis-court, 82, 83, 84, 85
Henequen, from which rope and twine are made, 6
Hieroglyphs, 41, 42, 213, 214
Homes, ancient Maya, 20, 21
Homes, modern Maya, 15, 16
Homes in Mérida, 8, 9
House of the Writing in the Dark, Akab Tzib, 62, 63, 64
_Hul-che_, or throwing-stick, 108, 109, 110
Humor, Maya sense of, 18
Iglesia, or Church, 69, 70
“Incidents of Travel in Yucatan,” by John L. Stephens, 5
Itzamna, mythical founder of race, 34
Jade, value (compared with gold) to ancient Mayas, 146, 147
Jade from High Priest’s Tomb, 247, 249, 257
Jade recovered from Sacred Well, 130, 141, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148
Jewelry, modern Mayan, 13, 200, 201
Knives, sacrificial, recovered from Sacred Well, 136
Kukul Can, hero deity of the Itzas, 34, 46, 50, 217, 260
La Casa de las Monjas, or the Nunnery, 52, 64 to 69, 227, 233
Lance poles and other wooden objects recovered from Sacred Well, 141,
142, 143
Landa Alphabet for employing Maya glyphs to denote Spanish letters, 41
Landa, Diego de, 19
Legends,
Itzamna, 34
Ix-lol Nicte, 150 to 163
Kukul Can, 34
_La flor de Calentura_, 24 to 31
Lorelei, 198 to 207
Misfortunes of Mayas prior to the Conquest, 44 to 47
Present of jade from Montezuma to Cortes, 146, 147
Sacrificial pilgrimage, 261 to 276
Wizard Potters, 207 to 210
Xkan-xoc, 163 to 165
Le Plongeon, Maya archæologist, 92
Lintels, 63, 64, 195
Maler, Teoberto, 214, 221, 222, 223, 224
Marital customs of modern Mayas, 14
Masks of copper and gold recovered from Sacred Well, 132
Maya Chronicles, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43
Maya Codices, rare books written in hieroglyphs, 37, 38, 39, 232
Maya, derivation of name, 33, 34
Maya language, 10
Mayas, ancient,
Costumes and arms, 20, 21, 22, 227, 228
Dances, 21, 22
Deities, 54, 55, 246
Homes, 20, 21
Music, 21, 22
Occupations, 22
Physical characteristics, 20
Pride in genealogy, 23
Tattooing, 21
Mayas, modern,
Cleanliness, 13
Costume, 11, 12
Dances, 18, 19
Homes, 15, 16
Honesty, 14
Hospitality, 14, 15
Humor, 18
Improvidence, 18
Jewelry, 13, 200, 201
Language, 10
Laziness, 18
Marital customs, 14
Music, 18, 19
Physical characteristics, 10, 11
Religious outlook, 15
Treatment by plantation-owners, 16, 17
Unconquered tribes (Sublevados), 17, 18
Mayas, earliest mythical wanderings, 34, 35, 36
Later legendary history, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47
Mayapan, invasion of, 43, 46
Medallions recovered from Sacred Well, 133, 134, 137
Mérida, capital of Yucatan,
American Club, 9
Ball, 8
Carnival, 8
Description of, 6, 7, 8
Homes, 8, 9
Palace of Montejo, 9
Monoliths, 78, 79, 80
Montejo, Francisco de, 169, 171, 172, 173, 174, 175
Retreat from Chi-chen Itza, 70, 173, 174
Montejo the Younger, 174, 175, 176, 177
Montezuma, King of the Aztecs, 146, 147
Mortuary urns, 139
Murals, 80, 81, 82, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 219, 224, 225, 226, 227,
228, 229
Music, native ancient, 21, 22
Music, native modern, 18, 19
Nahuatls, 43, 47
Nahuatl influence on Maya culture and art, 47, 64, 197, 211, 212,
217, 218
Names of persons indicated in murals and bas-reliefs, 232, 233
Nunnery, or La Casa de las Monjas, 52, 64 to 69, 227, 233
Padres, coming of, 176, 177
Phallic cult, 143, 144
Physical characteristics of ancient Mayas, 20
Physical characteristics of modern Mayas, 10, 11
Pigments used by ancient Mayas, 191, 192, 194, 195, 220
Plaster or stucco used in Maya buildings, 191
Pottery and potsherds, 107, 113, 119, 136, 138, 139, 244, 245, 246,
247, 257, 258, 259
Progreso, only seaport of Yucatan, 73, 74, 75
Relacion de las Cosas de Yucatan, the book by Diego de Landa, 19, 20
Rings recovered from Sacred Well, 130, 132, 137
Roads, ancient construction, 89, 90, 91
Location, 60, 61, 88, 90
Rock-crystal beads from High Priest’s Tomb, 247
Rubber finds in the Sacred Well, 110, 111, 112
Sabua skull, 115, 116
Sacca, an intoxicating drink, 245
Sacred Way, linking the Sacred Well and Temple of Kukul Can, 52, 53,
54, 55, 97 to 102
Sacred Well,
Diving operations in, 122 to 149
Dredging, 59, 103 to 122
Finds in, 107 to 149
Sacrifice of maidens, 53 to 55
Sacrificial knives recovered from Sacred Well, 136
San Isidro, Church of, 24
Sandals recovered from Sacred Well, 114
Sapote beams, 78
Scorpions, 240, 241
Semitic features of some ancient Mayan sculptures and murals, 35, 36,
83
Serpents, 95, 96, 182, 241, 242
Serpent balustrades and monoliths, 78, 79, 80, 238, 239
Skeletal remains in Tomb of the High Priest, 244, 245, 246, 247
Skeletons from Sacred Well, 114, 115, 116, 121
Snail-shell, or Caracol, 71, 72, 73
Sounding device for discovery of hidden cavities, 239, 240
Spiders, 257
Stairways, 74, 77, 78, 190, 238
Stelæ, 196, 214
Stephens, John L., American traveler and writer on Yucatan, 5
Stone point-work of ancient Mayas, 141, 142, 226, 234
Strong, Clean House, Red House or Chich-an Chob, 73, 74, 75
Sublevados, unconquered tribes, 17, 18
Tattooing in ancient times, 21
Temple of Columns, 86, 87
Temple of Cones, 86
Temple of Owls, 230
Temples in Chi-chen Itza,
Annexes, unnamed temples near Nunnery, 69, 70
Temples in Chi-chen Itza,
Construction of, 189 to 197
Great Pyramid of Kukul Can, or El Castillo, 50, 51, 75, 76, 77, 78,
79
Iglesia or Church, 69, 70
House of the Writing in the Dark, Akab Tzib, 62, 63, 64
Nunnery, or La Casa de las Monjas, 52, 64 to 69, 227, 233
Red House, Strong Clean House, or Chich-an Chob, 73, 74, 75
Snail-shell or Caracol, 71, 72, 73
Temple of Bas-Reliefs, 81, 82, 219, 220, 221, 228, 229, 230
Temple of Columns, 86, 87
Temple of Cones, 86
Temple of Owls, 230
Tiger Temple, 79, 80, 81, 214, 215, 216
Unnamed Temples, 87
Tennis-court, or Gymnasium, 82, 83, 84, 85
Tiger Temple, 79, 80, 81, 214, 215, 216
Throwing-stick or _hul-che_, 108, 109, 110
Tomb of the High Priest, 75, 236 to 260
Tools used in construction of Maya buildings, 190 to 197
Totanacs, 215, 216, 217
Treatment of an ancient painted stone to restore its colors, and the
story it tells, 230, 231, 232
Treatment of natives by plantation-owners, 16, 17
Tuxtla statuette, 37
Ulumil, chieftain of the Itzas, 43
Unconquered tribes (Sublevados), 17, 18
Unnamed Temples in Chi-chen Itza, 87
Uxmal, founding of, 43
Vase of alabaster-like substance from High Priest’s Tomb, 256, 257
Velasquez Diego, Governor of Cuba, 168, 171
Wasps, 182, 183
Wells or cenotes,
Chen ku (see Sacred Well)
General, 97, 98, 99
Tol-oc, 58, 59, 99, 100
X-Katum, 100
Yula, 101
Whipping-post, 16, 17
Wooden objects recovered from Sacred Well, 141, 142, 143, 144
Xtavantum, an intoxicating Maya beverage, 201
+----------------------------------------------------------------------+
| FOOTNOTES: |
| |
| [1] The suffix “el” added to any Maya word denotes action. In the |
| glyph sign this often was indicated by adding the wing of a bird to |
| the main hieroglyph; therefore “Mayanel” was an active woman, hence |
| very clever.—_Author._ |
| |
| [2] In an article written for “Harper’s Magazine,” by Mr. Edward |
| Huntington, reference is made to the Jewish cast of features of |
| the modern Mayas, and I have often noticed the similarity. One |
| prominent writer on Yucatan considers the possibility of Jewish |
| origin for the Mayas as being the most substantial of the several |
| theories I have mentioned.—_Author._ |
| |
| [3] Peten: “Something surrounding an island.” |
| |
| [4] “The Four Winds” is a Maya expression. |
| |
| [5] The Spanish Conquerors, as will be seen from this description, |
| were not previously familiar with rubber. |
| |
| [6] A _katun_ is a little less than twenty years. |
| |
| [7] The protecting serpent does not necessarily indicate that the |
| invaders were Mayas or believers in the cult of Kukul Can; it |
| merely points out the “big man” or leader. |
| |
| [8] By “archers” Landa doubtless meant fighting-men armed with the |
| _hul-che_. |
| |
| [9] Several sacrificial knives were found in the Sacred Well. |
| |
| [10] Shown on page 39. |
| |
+----------------------------------------------------------------------+
Transcriber’s Notes:
- Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
- Blank pages have been removed.
- Advertisements have been moved to the back.
- Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.
- Some spelling and hyphenation variations have been made consistent.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The City of the Sacred Well" ***
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