Santa Rosalia.—Mineral Springs.—Chihuahua.—A Peculiar City.—Cathedral. —Expensive Bells.—Aqueduct.—Alameda.—Hidalgo’s Prison and his Fate.—Eulalia.—A Large State.—A Grand Avenue of Trees.—Local Artists.—Grotesque Signs.—Influence of Proximity to the United States.—Native Villages.—Dangerous Sand-Spouts.—Reflections on Approaching the Frontier.—Pleasant Pictures photographed upon the Memory.—Juarez, the Border Town of Mexico.—City of El Paso, Texas. —Railroad Interests.—Crossing the Rio Grande.—Greeted by the Stars and Stripes.

Santa Rosalia is a quiet, quaint old place, with six or seven thousand inhabitants; but, being on the direct line of the Mexican Central Railroad, it is sure to rapidly increase in numbers and in material prosperity. Though it is now scarcely more than a country village, still it has its plaza and its alameda, in the former of which a military band performs two evenings in each week. A couple of small but most valuable rivers, the Rio Conchos and the Rio Florido, flank the town and afford excellent means for irrigation, which are improved to the utmost, the effects of which are clearly visible to the most casual observer, in the delightful verdure and the promise of teeming crops. The place has a most equable climate, for which reason many northern invalids suffering from pulmonary troubles have come hither annually. A few miles west of Santa Rosalia are mineral springs believed to possess great curative properties, especially in diseases of a rheumatic type. There are yet no comfortable accommodations for invalids, but we were told that it was contemplated to build a moderate cost hotel at this point. The ruins of the fort captured by the American army on its way to join General Taylor are seen near Santa Rosalia.

Still pursuing our northward course, bearing a little westerly, over an immense desert tract so devoid of water that the railway train is obliged to transport large cisterns on freight cars to supply the necessary article for the use of its locomotive, we finally reach Chihuahua,—pronounced Chee-waw-waw,—capital of the state of the same name. One would think this immediate region must be well watered, as we cross several rivers while in the state. Among them the Florido, at Jimenez; the Concho, just north of Santa Rosalia; the San Pedro, at Ortiz, and the Chubisca, near to the city of Chihuahua. This name is aboriginal, and signifies “The place where things are made.” It was founded in 1539, and lies upon a wide, open plain at the base of the Sierra Madre, whose undulating heights are exquisitely outlined in various hues against the sky, and beneath whose surfaces are hidden rich veins of iron, copper, and silver. The valley extends towards the north as far as the eye can reach. It is looking southward that we see the disordered ranks of the mountain range. When we first came upon the town, it rested beneath a cloudless sky, bathed in a flood of warm, bright sunlight. We were told that these are the prevailing conditions for seven months of the year. This is on the main line of the Mexican Central Railroad, a thousand miles, more or less, north of the city of Mexico, and has a population of about eighteen or twenty thousand; but, like most of the Mexican cities, it once contained a much larger number of inhabitants than it can boast of to-day. It will be remembered that the American forces, in the year 1847, advanced upon and took possession of the city after the battle of Sacramento, which occurred February 28 of that year. This was the force commanded by Colonel Doniphan, and from here it made the celebrated march southward, forming a junction with the division of General Taylor.

The city presents a pleasing and thrifty aspect, though most of the houses are but one story in height and constructed of adobe, with low, flat roofs, very much like an Egyptian town,—a comparison which is constantly occurring to us in Mexico. The patios of the better class of houses are ornamented with flowering plants, and pets of all sorts, especially birds, are numerous, the favorite species being the mocking-bird. One patio we noticed full to repletion of tame pigeons, blue, black, white, and mottled fantails. The state and government buildings, the mint with its low, square tower, and a few other edifices are large and handsome structures. In the tower of the mint the patriot Hidalgo was confined, with three of his comrades, previous to their execution. They were shot here July 31, 1811. In the Plaza de Armas there stands a fine monument to the memory of Hidalgo. The cathedral, the shell of which cost over eight hundred thousand dollars, stands on one side of the plaza, an area ornamented as usual with beautiful trees and flowers, together with a large fountain in the centre, about which are winding paths, and benches whereon to enjoy the shade. This is a delightful resort in the evening, when the music-loving populace are regaled with the admirable performance of a Mexican military band three or four times a week. The cathedral is of the Moorish and Gothic orders combined, and it has considerable architectural merit, bearing upon its rather crudely ornamented front thirteen statues, representing San Francisco and the twelve apostles. The interior was found to contain some interesting and valuable oil-paintings, though we saw them in an extremely bad light. The towers of this cathedral are remarkable for a costly collection of bells, and the interior of the church for a series of magnificent carvings. One of these bells is pointed out to the visitor as having been broken by a cannon-ball during the bombardment of the town by the French in 1866. The other sides of the plaza are bordered by the state buildings and the best stores of the town.

The gray, crumbling line of an arched stone aqueduct, built long ago to supply the town with water, forms a picturesque feature of the environs. There is an admirably kept alameda for public enjoyment, divided by four rows of ancient cottonwood-trees, some of which are five feet in diameter. The Rio Chubisca flows through the city. Crops are raised solely by liberal irrigation; water is the one thing most needed on this high, flat land. Some of the finest grapes in Mexico are raised in great abundance here, and are shipped both to the south and across the border into our own country. A very large share of the republic, with its volcanic soil, is admirably adapted to this industry. Fifteen miles from Chihuahua are the rich silver mines of Eulalia. The road thither is a rough one, but many persons enjoy the excursion, over what at first sight seems to be a plain of lava, though as there is no volcano visible, one is a little at fault in divining from whence it came. We were told finally that it was slag from the workings of the mines at Eulalia, and that more modern processes of disintegration and amalgamation might extract good pay in silver from these “tailings,” now spread broadcast for many miles on the surface of the plain. Santa Eulalia is a rude hamlet lying among the mountains, with a very humble mining population and a small stone church. There are over two hundred mines in and about these hills, all of which have been worked more or less successfully.

This state, by the way, is the largest in the republic, being about the size of New York and Pennsylvania combined. To be exact, the state is four hundred and thirty miles long from north to south, and three hundred, thirty-seven miles wide, It is famous for its many sheep and cattle ranches, affording, as it does, great advantages for stock-raising. Large herds are driven over the borders into our own country every season, and sold to American herdsmen, to be driven still further north and fattened for the eastern and northern markets. There is a quaint, oriental aspect about the adobe-built town which would prove very attractive to an artist’s eye. One tree-embowered roadway attracted our attention, which so strikingly resembled the Beacon Street Mall in Boston as to call forth remarks to that effect from more than one of our party. It is known as the Calle de Guadalupe. The deep shadow of the long gothic arch, formed by the entwined branches, was exquisite in effect. In the busy portion of the town, groups of Indians, wrapped in bright-colored blankets, added variety to the scene.

Wood carvings and wax figures from the hands of intelligent native artists,—for artists they are—come so near to one’s ideas of perfection as to be a surprise. This artistic genius was also observed among the humbler classes further south, and is by no means confined to the neighborhood of Chihuahua. After a few moments of watchful observation of even a stranger, some of these Indians will retire, and in an almost incredibly brief space of time will return with an excellent likeness of the individual whom they design to represent, not merely as regards his ordinary physique, but in facial expression. Practice has made them quite perfect in this impromptu modeling. Chihuahua, if we may credit the historians, as well as judge by the remains, once had a population of two hundred thousand.

A singular and most disagreeable custom was observed here which prevails in some other Mexican cities: that of placing fantastic signs, painted in gigantic size, on the outside of shops. These are grotesque representations of the business carried on within. It would seem as though the object was to ridicule the proprietor’s occupation by the vulgarity of these signs. Be this as it may, the inevitable half dozen pulque drinkers lean upon the counter all the while, absorbing the liquid which brings insensibility. As they drop off one by one, their places are taken by others, who are promptly supplied by the plethoric bar-tender. In the plaza péons were offering for sale a very small species of dog indigenous to this district, tiny creatures, peculiarly marked and evidently stunted by some artificial means. However, some of our party were captivated, and became purchasers of the delicate little tremulous creatures. Considerable building was observed to be in progress here, not structures of adobe, but fine stone edifices, of an attractive and modern style of architecture, three stories in height. One of these was designed for a hotel, and would be an ornament to any city.

Though Chihuahua is two hundred and twenty-five miles south of the Rio Grande, still it shows many signs of its proximity to this country. Such buildings as we have just referred to would not be thought of in middle or southern Mexico. American fashions in many things are obvious; a large portion of the population speak English; the faces of the common people evince more intelligence; and the masses are better clothed than they are a little further south. We found that free schools were established and other matters of higher civilization were in progress. Many of the customs prevailing north of the national boundary line have been adopted here. The universal burro of Mexico begins to disappear, and strong, shapely mules and large horses take his place. Beggars are few and far between.

There is very little of interest to engage the traveler’s attention on the route of the Mexican Central Railroad between Chihuahua and Juarez, formerly known as Paso del Norte. The country is quite sterile, varied by occasional long, tedious reaches of cactus and mesquite bushes, or a few cottonwood-trees wherever a water-course is found. The mesquite grows to the height of ten or twelve feet. The seeds are contained in a small pod, and are used by the natives to make a sort of bread which is sweet to the taste. The wood is extremely hard and heavy. At long distances apart a native village comes into view, composed of low, square, adobe cabins. The treeless character of this section of country is not without a depressing influence, while the want of water is only too manifest everywhere. Sometimes one sees for hours a fairly good grazing country, and, where water is available, some cereals are raised. Corn, wheat, and barley occasionally form broad expanses of delightful green. Still, only the most primitive means of agriculture are in use, reminding the observer of the unfulfilled possibilities of the really capable soil. Where these fertile districts are seen, the results are brought about by the same irrigating ditches that the aborigines used more than three hundred years ago. The touch of moisture is like the enchanter’s wand. In California, water is conveyed thirty, forty, and even fifty miles, by means of ditch and flume; here the sources of supply are not usually half the first-named distance away. Grapes are grown, as at Chihuahua, in great abundance, the soil seeming to be particularly adapted to their cultivation. Many tons of the big purple fruit are regularly converted into wines of different brands, said to be fully equal to the product of California.

As the sea has its water-spouts, so the land has its sand-spouts, whereby the whirlwinds, forming on and sweeping over the barren plains, gather up the soil and rush circling along with it for miles, sustaining the mass in the air, two hundred feet or more in height. This phenomenon was often observed while traveling on the Mexican plateau. Sometimes, as has already been said, half a dozen were seen at a time. Between Chihuahua and Juarez they were again observed. The course of these dusty pillars of sand was generally towards the foothills of the high ranges. The moment any large obstacle is encountered, as is the case with a water-spout at sea, they are at once broken and disappear. Any ordinary cabin or other frail building which is struck by a sand-spout is pretty sure to be demolished. This might not always follow, as they move with different degrees of force, some being vastly more powerful than others. Trees are not infrequently broken and destroyed by them. We were told that horses and cattle exposed upon the plain were sometimes taken up in the suction of air caused by their progress, carried a hundred rods or more, and then dropped to the ground lifeless. Other stories were heard of the erratic performances of sand-spouts on the Mexican plateau, but they were of a nature requiring too much credulity for us to repeat them in these pages.

As one approaches the frontier, a feeling of regret steals over the traveler that he is hourly leaving behind him a country in which so much delight has been briefly experienced. That discomforts have been encountered is very true,—withering heat, dust, fatigue, and indifferent food, but these quickly fade into mere shadows. Not the pains, but the pleasures, of such a journey remain indelibly fixed in the memory. No cunningly painted canvas is so retentive as the active brain. While we roll over the broad cactus plains, closing the eyes in thought, a panorama moves before us, depicting vivid tableaux from our two months’ experience in Aztec Land. We listen in imagination at the sunset hour to distant vesper bells, floating softly over the hills, and see the bowed heads and folded hands of the péons. Once more we gaze delighted upon lovely valleys, dark shadowy gorges, far-reaching plains of cacti and yucca palms, bordered by lofty, snow-tipped mountains; we see again the exuberant fruitfulness of the tropics, and the loveliness of the floral kingdom in this land of the sun; once more we stroll through the dimly lighted aisles of grand cathedrals, listening to the solemn chant of human voices, and the organ’s deep reverberating tones; or view again the suggestive ruins of a vanished race. Groups of the native population in many colors, long lines of heavily-laden burros, dashing caballeros and lovely senoritas, pass in turn before the mind’s eye. Now a grand comprehensive scene comes before us, a view from the battlements of Chapultepec, from the hill of Guadalupe, or the Pyramid of Cholula, and, above all, that presented from the towers of the superb cathedral of Mexico. This is not an enchanting dream, but the exquisite photography of memory, a store of glowing pictures for future mental enjoyment. It is such experiences and memories which render us never less alone than when alone.

Juarez is the northern end of the great railway line, the border town between Mexico and the United States, where we cross the Rio Grande to enter the city of El Paso, Texas, a town which promises in due course to become a grand commercial centre. At the present time the most remunerative business of the thrifty but ugly looking place, seems to be that of smuggling, which is carried on with a large degree of enterprise by the people of both nationalities. This arises from the excessive duties put on both the necessities and luxuries of life by the Mexican tariff. Juarez is an old settlement, dating from 1585, and is situated three thousand eight hundred feet above the sea. It is subject to great extremes of heat and cold, the thermometer showing 105 deg. Fahr. at times in July, and 5 deg. below zero in January. Snow falls here occasionally to the depth of two feet, while the Rio Grande freezes hard enough to bear heavily laden mule wagons. It is difficult for the place to cast off its former name, El Paso del Norte (Passage of the North), so called because of the ford on the river and the pass which nature here constructed between the mountains. The town extends along the west bank of the river some three miles, and back from it about one mile. The Rio Grande water is passable for drinking purposes, and good for general use, though it is somewhat impregnated with alkali.

Juarez possesses many fine old trees and much attractive verdure. It has numerous modern and handsome edifices, and the place is sure eventually to be a large distributing railway centre. The Southern Pacific Company’s line, the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe, the Mexican Central, and the Texas Pacific railways all diverge from this point. There is an ancient stone church here which will be sure to interest the stranger, dark and gloomy within, but full of votive contributions and quaint belongings, recalling the chapel of Notre Dame de la Garde on the hill which overlooks Marseilles, where the Mediterranean seamen have deposited so many marine toys, images, and curiosities.

At Juarez the narrow, shallow Rio Grande, with its bare quicksands, was once more crossed, and the Texas city of El Paso, shadeless and verdureless, was reached. Its population is what would be expected in a frontier town of this region, while an air of crudeness permeates everything. As the vestibule train which had been our home for the past two months crossed the iron bridge, and as we came once more on to the soil of our own country, the American flag on the custom-house station was dipped three times in acknowledgment of our hearty cheers, and to welcome the party on its successful return from a long, but delightful journey through the states of the Mexican republic.