GUATEMALA, THE COUNTRY OF THE FUTURE 



621 



before it began. Easy chairs and ham- 

 mocks lend a homelike look to the long 

 vine-covered porches, and in this quiet 

 spot the days slip by unheeded and one 

 forgets the busy world beyond the tower- 

 ing hills. 



By daylight the beauty and grandeur 

 of the scene, although robbed of the 

 charm and mystery of the moonlight, was 

 none the less perfect. 



Lying at an altitude of 5,000 feet, 

 about 25 miles in length, this body of 

 water has no visible outlet, although 

 many streams empty into it. Its depth 

 is unknown ; no fish live in its icy waters. 

 Here and there mineral springs bubble 

 to the surface, and the shores are strewn 

 with pumice and stones of volcanic ori- 

 gin. Eleven Indian towns, named after 

 the Apostles, dot the shores, but by far 

 the most interesting is the town of Atit- 

 lan, lying snuggled on a beautiful bay 

 running inland between the two great 

 volcanoes. The ground here is a mass of 

 rocks and stones, undoubtedly the result 

 of some volcanic disturbance, and these, 

 loosely piled one upon the other, serve 

 as walls for the huts, which are topped 

 by thatched roofs. As one approaches, 

 the first impression is that of a gigantic 

 patch of huge mushrooms. 



Here 10,000 Indians, descendants of the 

 once poweful Quiche nation, live entirely 

 to themselves, having an "alcalde," or 

 governor, of their own tribe. Among 

 them one sees more marked the peculiar 

 and unaccountable resemblance to the 

 Chinese, which is more or less noticeable 

 in all of the Indians throughout the coun- 

 try. It is whispered that these people 

 are fire-worshipers, but that civilization 

 and religious teaching at one time pene- 

 trated to this far-away corner is evi- 

 denced by the ruins of a church, now 

 standing empty and unused in the center 

 of the town. The interior still contains 

 some fine wood carvings and beautiful 

 altar silver. 



Never, even among the poor of Italy, 

 have I seen so many children. We were 

 at once surrounded by a throng of them, 

 who accompanied us everywhere, chat- 

 tering like a lot of monkeys. 



The costume of these people is very 

 efi^ective against the dull gray background 

 of rocks and thatched roofs. It consists 

 only of a long piece of scarlet cloth 

 wound tightly around the lower limbs 

 and a loose white "guipele," or shirt. The 

 women wear a scarlet ribbon or narrow 

 piece of cloth wound through the braids 

 and around the head. 



Solola, a town of 15,000 inhabitants, 

 and capital of the province of the same 

 name, lies some 3,000 feet above the lake. 

 Although a center of commerce, it af- 

 fords little of interest to the visitor, ex- 

 cept the magnificent view of lake and 

 country. A large bare plaza, a ruined 

 church, and a broad new avenue leading 

 to a new school-house, which is painted 

 a brilliant sky blue, are the chief attrac- 

 tions of the place. 



As we rode into the plaza a military 

 band was playing, but upon our arrival 

 the musicians hurried frantically to the 

 end of the piece and then gave them- 

 selvciS up to staring open-mouthed at us. 

 We dismounted and walked through the 

 public gardens, a most melancholy at- 

 tempt at embellishment, as the stiff 

 flower beds were without flowers and 

 the fountains, like the school-house, 

 painted bright blue, were without water. 

 The place was on the whole depressing, 

 and, to raise our drooping spirits, we 

 indulged in a two-step down the deserted 

 central allee to the strains of a Sousa 

 march — whether played in our honor as 

 "Americanos" I do not know. 



We were, however, well repaid for the 

 ride. It has been my good fortune to 

 look down upon many lakes in different 

 parts of the world, but never have I had 

 spread before me a more gorgeous pano- 

 rama, earth, sky, and water outvying 

 each other in deepest sapphire tones, and 

 seven magnificent volcanoes dominating 

 the wonderful scene. 



Lake Yzabal is reached by a line of 

 steamers, owned by a German syndicate, 

 plying regularly between Livingston on 

 the Caribbean and Panzos in the interior, 

 on the Polochic River. For the first ten 

 miles we follow the winding course of 

 the beautiful Rio Dulce, or Sweet River, 



