[Illustration: CEMENTED BAS-RELIEF OF AKÉ.]
Expedition to Izamal and Chichen-Itza—Brigands—Cacalchen—Market Place—Great Pyramid—Small Pyramid and Colossal Decorative Figures—Cemented Roads—The Convent of the Virgin at Izamal—A Precarious Telegraph—Tunkas—Garrison—Quintana-Roo—An Old Acquaintance—Citas—A Fortified Church—Troops—Opening a Path—Native Entertainment—Arrival at Pisté.
Our expedition to Izamal and Chichen was a somewhat serious undertaking: we required a large number of hands for our work in mid-forest; we should have to camp out for three weeks at least, removed from all human habitation; finally a military escort, fifty strong, was deemed necessary to secure us against a sudden attack from the revolted natives, respecting whom alarming rumours of pillaging were afloat. Our heavy baggage had been sent on, and armed with twelve-shot Winchesters, and provided with letters from the Governor for the officers in command of the district garrisons which were to supply the escort, we started on January 4th, travelling over a monotonous, dusty, abominable road. Our drivers, however, were such good whips, that we went over the distance in no time.
There is hardly a soul to be met on the road, save at rare intervals some carts loaded with henequen; some natives returning from the next village, the women veiling their faces or turning their backs upon us at our approach; now a company of reserve on their way to the front or homeward-bound, for the borders are strictly guarded against a _coup de main_ from the revolted natives.
We stop at Cacalchen; for our early start, the crisp morning air, and the jolting of the road, have sharpened our appetites. We breakfast under a shaded verandah opening into a central court planted with cocoa-trees. We are waited upon by a very pretty Meztiza, whose fair complexion, rosy mouth, large black eyes, and exquisite figure, are shown to the utmost advantage in her transparent _uipil_, doing her work with simple, quiet grace, while her presence and her bewitching smile seem to light up the whole place. What dish would not have tasted sweet, offered by her shapely hands?
Izamal, where we arrive at three o’clock, is an important place numbering some five or six thousand souls. It looks beautifully white, for it has just undergone its annual cleaning, when every building is whitewashed in honour of the patron saint.