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Updated: May 24, 2025
Riding up to the little town-house, which had a portico enclosed by a neat railing and supplied with pine benches, we dismounted, and, with some doubt as to its reception, presented our old letter. The secretario was an intelligent mestizo from Tuxpan. He sent at once for the alcalde, who was a good-natured, little Huaxtec, of pure blood, thoroughly dependent upon his subordinate officer.
In the course of our conversation, I was reminded that Ozuluama is the home of Alejandro Marcelo, a full-blooded Huaxtec, who once published a book upon the Huaxtec language. Expressing an interest in meeting this man, he was sent for. He is far older than I had realized, celebrating his 74th birthday that very week. He was a man of unusual intelligence and most gentle manner.
Mestizos and Aztecs both speak of them with contempt, and treat them like dogs. As for their language, it is neglected and despised; while many of them know both Spanish and Aztec, neither mestizo nor Aztec considers it worth while to know a word of Huaxtec. While we had no trouble with the men, we began to feel that the women would fail us.
After five o'clock we saw, from the slope on which we were, for we had left the llano and were again in rolling country, a little village, and higher and further to the left, a second. The first of these was Gutierrez Zamora, which is Huaxtec, with a few Mexican families living at one side; the second was our destination, Tamalin. We passed through Gutierrez at six, and reached Tamalin at seven.
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