Ruins of the Casas Grandes Region, Chihuahua, Mexico
Improvement Era, vol. 13, no. 3, January 1910, pp. 203 to 208
Cannon, Elizabeth R.
Ruins of the Casas Grandes Region, Chihuahua, Mexico. BY ELIZABETH R. CANNON.
The old town of Casas Grandes (big houses) was built three hundred years ago on the ruins of the Aztecs. Whether you pass through there in the full glare of the noonday sun, when the Mexicans loaf in the plaza and the old priest sounds the church bell by striking it with a hammer, or at night when the adobe walls cast weird shadows in the moonlight, you cannot help
ON THE SITE OF CASAS GRANDES. Beneath the tumbledown huts where the peons still live lies the sleeping city of Casas Grandes, sacred to the dead, and its gold.
204 IMPROVEMENT ERA.
feeling the influence of the sleeping dead beneath the city.
The dead sleep peacefully, for the Mexicans defend them against enterprising American archaeologists, claiming that they hold the graves of their ancestors sacred. Perhaps a better reason is that they believe there are vast quantities of gold hidden there, and some day, .manana, (tomorrow) they will themselves dig it up. Casas Grandes was the main city of this region, and it was surrounded by smaller villages which probably served as outposts
THE GREAT OLLA. The great olla is twelve feet high, the interior lined with rope, In it the inhabitants of Cave Valley stored their maize.
for protection. One of these had a well developed copper mine where they obtained the precious metal for the heads of arrows and spears. The villages are now, in appearance, nothing but grass- covered mounds. Some terrible catastrophe came upon this country and destroyed all the inhabitants and their homes in some mysterious manner. Many are the conjectures as to whether the dread calam- ity were earthquake, pestilence, famine or war, as bodies are found unburied near the fireplaces and along the walls, as if the people had lain down and died.
RUINS OF THE CASAS GRANDE S REGION. 20E
On digging into a mound one finds that it is composed of — many rooms a village in one house. The walls have been white- washed three or four times. Near the earthen fireplaces are pieces of broken ollas and cooking utensils. On digging several feet beneath the floor one finds the graves covered with charred wood. They probab- ly burned their wood
so it would last long- er, and prevent odors
from coming into the rooms of the living from the decayed bodies.
OLD RUINS AT CASAS GRANDES, MEXICO. A skeleton's rank is determined by the number of ollas buried with it These ollas are the highly colored pottery of the Indians, and after being buried several centuries their decorations are still fresh and brilliant. Some bodies have been surrounded by as many as nine, while others have only one plain one at the head of the grave. These vessels were most likely filled with food, so the spirit would not get hungry on its long journey. The Indians probably buried their dead under the floor only in time of siege, as there are not enough bodies to prove that they made cemeteries of their houses. The wide facial angle of the skull of the Casas Grandian shows a high order of intelligence. Their reservoirs, connected with the city by canals three miles long, showed more engineering skill than is exhibited by their lazy successors. Not far from Casas Grandes stands the Mount of the King- It well deserves the name, for it looms high above the surrounding peaks. As our horse picks his way along the trail that leads to the summit, where the wind is never still, we cannot help thinking that this would make an ideal summer home for a king, who from
206 IMPROVEMENT ERA.
this exalted altitude could survey his vast domains. As we near the summit we notice broad stone steps, above which are the ruins of several lava rock buildings, circular in shape: The summit of the peak is enclosed by a high wall built of lava stone, and still higher is another inclosing a small, circular building on the very top of the hill. On account of the protection afforded this ruin it was thought to be a fort, but the smallness of the place disproves this, for it could hold very few people. The
BURROS LOADED WITH WOOD -CAS AS GR ANDES, MEXICO.
Indians say there is a secret tunnel leading from here to the old town, but it has never been found. A better theory is that this was a temple built for the worship, high up among the clouds, of the "Unknown God." Down the side of the mountain leading into the earth towards the temple is a passage that the settlers call a mine, although there are no signs of ore. It was perhaps a secret passage leading to the temple, or possibly was dug later in a fruitless search for hid- den gold. There is a legend that one of the last Montezumas came
RUINS OF THE CASAS GRANDE S REGION. 207
from Casas Grandes, and certain it is the cruel Spaniards crushed the Aztecs only to find that most of their vast treasure had mysteriously disappeared. Very different from their advanced Casas Grandes neighbors were the strange little dwell- ers of the caves, who perched their aeries on the highest cliffs of the Sierra Madre Mountains. They were little better than the missing link. Their small, dark habitations were made by plastering sun- dried adobes on the outer wall of the natural limestone caves. That they lived in mortal terror of some deadly enemy is evident from the The MountainLion — An Omnipresent fact that they got in and out Beast, Mexico. of their dwellings by means of rope ladders, crawling in and out of tiny holes, like rats. Their implements, pottery, and fireplaces are of the rudest description. Men who live in constant fear of death have no time to cultivate the arts. Perhaps they were one of the tribes conquered by the dominating Aztecs in their march to the south. At the entrance to the main cave stands the great mud olla twelve feet high and twelve feet in diameter, used for a granary, for it still contains a few grains of corn. Not far from here are the terraced gardens where the maize was grown. They are liter- ally''hand-made," for the Cave-dwellers carried every particle of soil upfrom the valley below and plastered it on the cliffs, for they dared not plant their crops on the fertile plains. No wonder an eternal gloom envelops Cave, Valley! Below, on the rocks, amidst tangled grape-vines and the poison ivy, are the hieroglyphics— picture-stories of this strange people in
happier times before they were so close pressed by their implac- able enemies. There are two persons holding hands, perhaps tell- ing the story of a peace treaty or royal marriage. There is a clumsy>nimal, "and'byfitXbear's paw, telling'the [tale of a great
: ;
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hunt and perhaps some deed of bravery. Besides these are numer- ous symbols unintelligible to us. A better story than any of these rock carvings was told in the caves themselves by a skeleton lying through a doorway, with a stone hatchet cleaving its skull. • A few years ago some hunters, while exploring the cavea, came upon a false wall, which they promptly knocked in. They beheld the mummified body of a woman seated upright on a stone chair. The body, which was well preserved, was covered with shreds of cotton cloth. At first the hunters thought that the Indians, like the Egyptians, understood the art of embalming; but the body had been preserved by the peculiar atmosphere of the cave. Perhaps this was a hostage that the fierce little men thus walled in alive. Perhaps she was a beloved princess who, in the last days of siege, was brought here that her body might not fall into the hands of her enemies. Was she a barbarous Helen of Troy that brought warfare and destruction in her wake? Who can say? What a story those blackened lips might tell if they could only speak!
Salt Lake City, Utah.
The Family Meeting. (Selected.)
We are all here Father, mother, Sister, brother, All who hold each other dear, Each chair is filled, we are all at home, Tonight let no cold stranger come; It is not often thus around Our old familiar hearth we're found. Bless, then, the meeting and the spot, For once be every care forgot Let gentle peace assert her power, And kind affection rule the hour. We're all — all here. Charles Sprague.