The day was far advanced, when I stood for the last time on the corner, stone of the upper terrace and looked at the beautiful prospect around me. It was the centre of a mighty plain. Running due north were the remains of an ancient paved road leading over prairie and barranca to the city,[1] distinctly visible at the foot of the Sierra Madre—and, all around, at the distance of some miles, east, west, and south, rose lofty mountains, among whose valley-folds nestled the white walls of haciendas that owed their strength and massiveness to the spoliation of the very ruins on which I stood. Palace, temple, tomb, fortification, whatever it was, (and to all these uses has it been appropriated by the guessing tribe of antiquarians,) the Pyramid of Xochicalco was nobly situated in its day and generation, and no one will now visit its crumbling remains without a better opinion of the unfortunate races who were pushed aside to make room for the growth and expansion of European power.
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TETECALA.
It was near three o'clock, when we again took up our line of march under a burning sun; and, lingering with Pedro until after my companions had departed, I found, on reaching the bottom of the hill, that they were already out of sight, and that all traces of them were lost on the path among the trees and bushes. I shouted—but there was no answer. I inquired at the first Indian hut I passed, but no travellers had gone that way; and, although following a distinct and apparently straight, forward road, I acknowledge that I was lost. To add to my disquietude, I had forgotten the name of the village at which we were to lodge. It was useless, however, to sit down in the forest, and I therefore resolved to push onward with confidence that the path led somewhere. I had not gone more than half a mile when I came up with another straggler of our party—lost, like myself—and we trotted along side by side, occasionally shouting for our companions, and then halting a moment to take breath in the close and sultry air filled with clouds of mosquitos and flies that settled on our hands and faces as soon as we drew our bridles.
Suddenly, our road terminated at the margin of a wide stream, which was swollen over its banks by the late heavy rains, and was dashing along with the rapidity of a mill-race. On the opposite shore the road again reappeared, and we judged that this was of course the ford.
Pedro, who was mounted on a stout, long-legged animal, was sent ahead, and partly swimming his animal and partly wading, he reached the bank in safety. I immediately followed, but my horse was both short limbed, and weary from the exertions he had made in the morning. Scarcely had the water risen above his girth when he was off his legs. I kept his head
- ↑ Cuernavaca.
