A few miles down the steep descent on the other side their prospect opened, and below, girt round with singularly bold mountains — rough, dark and purplish, but softened here and there with a wisp of shining vapor — lay the Valley of Mexico, which the pellucid atmosphere, transmitting colors and outlines undimmed, brought wondrously nigh. Ten small volcanoes, that had been crumbling for ages untold, stood clothed in luxuriant verdure nearly to the summit. Six broad lakes now laughed under the brilliant sun and now brooded in the shadows of passing clouds. Velvet champaigns — cut with ash-colored roads, gleaming canals and straight lines of poplars, and studded with walled haciendas, rambling towns and cozy-looking villages — were further variegated with highly cultivated fields of many crops, with groves and orchards from which peered steeples and bell-towers, with villa roofs of tiles, red and cheery, and with whitewashed cottages that shone like silver. Every possible hue of green and every possible tone of light and shade blended into one harmonious effect. And in the midst of this wonderful scene, as the climax of the stillness and beauty, the focus of all eyes, the aim of all desires, untarnished by smoke, seemingly without stain, bright with sunshine, begemmed with many a palace, park and lofty church, slumbered the capital of Mexico, Venice-of-the-Mountains. Not one of the fascinated soldiers but held his breath; and not one, testified the commander-in-chief, but said to himself or his neighbor, "That splendid city shall soon be ours!"[1]
Along this part of the route almost 13,000 trees had been cut down for barricades, and some of them had been placed in the road; but the Americans were not materially hindered, and in crossing the lower slopes they found little to do except admire the wondrous variety and profusion of the wild-flowers. On the eleventh, seeing Mexicans ahead for the second time, Twiggs waited for Quitman; but a few hours later, after passing a cross-road, he went on about four miles, and occupied the adobe village of Ayotla, half-buried in olive trees, while Harney's cavalry took post at San Isidro, a mile and a half in advance, and Quitman camped in the rear. The next day Worth's division turned to the left by the cross-road, marched three miles and a half to the squalid little town of Chalco, simmering
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