The New England magazine . remainingspace around the suffocating, blinding rain came driving down, making usfear every moment the frail structure wouldcollapse. The guide, who had affirmed thathe would nt sleep a wink, curled up in afat ball and dreamed of scarlet serapes andbrave bull-fights, while the inquisitive rainbeat through the gaping cracks and the firesizzled and smoked. About midnight apiercing howl awoke us. The bald-faced the giant, broken only by the black pinnacleknown as Pico del Fraile (the friars cap).At an elevation of 13,710 feet we left alltrees and grasses behind
The New England magazine . remainingspace around the suffocating, blinding rain came driving down, making usfear every moment the frail structure wouldcollapse. The guide, who had affirmed thathe would nt sleep a wink, curled up in afat ball and dreamed of scarlet serapes andbrave bull-fights, while the inquisitive rainbeat through the gaping cracks and the firesizzled and smoked. About midnight apiercing howl awoke us. The bald-faced the giant, broken only by the black pinnacleknown as Pico del Fraile (the friars cap).At an elevation of 13,710 feet we left alltrees and grasses behind us. Scoria, ashes,and snow lay in front. Our horses sankto their knees in the volcanic sand; theyquickly became exhausted, and time andagain had to stop and rest. As the gradewas steep, we advanced in a series of zig-zags, we ourselves walking most of the last we reached Las Cruces, a cheerlessbunch of rocks with one or two gruesomecrosses; here still harder work began. Theguide would go no farther, but sat down on. The shelter on the side of Mt. Popocatepetl pony had stepped square on the mozosleft foot. He clubbed the beast and movedhis bed to the manger. Presently, whenthe rain slackened and the wind lulled, wegot some sleep, waking in time to see thesun tinting the eastern skies with splendorand charging the clouds below us withgorgeous reds and yellows. We swallowedour breakfast and set out in single filethrough the silent forest. Passing over out-stretched pines, we reached the Barranca ofNiloac. Down we seemed to plunge intoits gloomy depths, letting the horses havetheir way as they felt along the narrowtwelve-inch path cut in the side of the above loomed the eternal whiteness of the cold rocks and puffed at cigarettes. Onwe pushed afoot. At an elevation of nearly16,000 feet Vaughan insisted that he couldnot go a step farther. He began to bleed atthe nose, his heart was beating like a trip-hammer, his temples throbbed as if to would not, howeve
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookidnewenglandma, bookyear1887
