The philological outrage which I have written phonetically as “suvrin-hammer” would set devout Mohammedans crazy were they to know of its existence; it is a base corruption of the old Hispano-Moresque term “sobre-en-jalma,”—over the jalma,—the Arabic word for pack-saddle, which has wandered far away, far from the date-palms of the Sahara, and the rippling fountains of Granada, to gladden the hearts and break the tongues of Cape Cod Yankees in the Gila Valley. In the same boat with it is the Zuni word “Tinka” for the flux to be used in working silver; it is a travelled word, and first saw the light in the gloomy mountain ranges of far-off Thibet, where it was pronounced “Tincal” or “Atincal,” and meant borax; thence, it made its way with caravans to and through Arabia and Spain to the Spanish settlements in the land of the West. Everything about a pack-train was Spanish or Arabic in origin, as I have taken care to apprise my readers in another work, but it may be proper to repeat here that the first, as it was the largest organized pack-train in history, was that of fifteen thousand mules which Isabella the Catholic called into the service of the Crown of Castile and Leon at the time she established the city of Santa Fé in the “Vega,” and began in good earnest the siege of Granada.
One could pick up not a little good Spanish in a pack-train in the times of which I speak—twenty-one years ago—and there were many expressions in general use which preserved all the flavor of other lands and other ideas. Thus the train itself was generally known as the “atajo;” the pack-master was called the “patron;” his principal assistant, whose functions were to attend to everything pertaining to the loads, was styled “cargador;” the cook was designated the “cencero,” from the fact that he rode the bell-mare, usually a white animal, from the superstition prevailing among Spanish packers that mules liked the color white better than any other.
Packers were always careful not to let any stray colts in among the mules, because they would set the mules crazy. This idea is not an absurd one, as I can testify from my personal observation. The mules are so anxious to play with young colts that they will do nothing else; and, being stronger than the youngster, will often injure it by crowding up against it. The old mules of a train know their business perfectly well. They need no one to show them where their place is when the evening’s “feed” is to be apportioned on the canvas, and in every way deport themselves as sedate, prim, well-behaved members of society, from whom all vestiges of the frivolities of youth have been eradicated. They never wander far from the sound of the bell, and give no trouble to the packers “on herd.”