Hillsdale Whig Standard

The Following account of an expedition to the Snow Mountain, in Mexico, prepared by an officer of the Fourth Artillery who made one of the party, was originally published in the "Out Post Guard," a small American paper printed at Toluca:

Having breakfasted, and the day being fair, not a cloud obscuring the horizon; our pans, kettles, meats, and eatables of all kinds were stowed away in our wagons, together with the knapsacks and blankets of some fifty men who had volunteered from the Fourth Artillery to accompany us, and at 8 o'clock on the morning of the 13th of March we started upon our expedition to the Snow Mountain of Toluca. In about two hours we reached the hacienda of Guadalupe, passing the little hill of Tiacotepec on the left. Procuring guides here we continued on, and with our wagons, entered some three miles into the pine forest which encircles the mountain, and there bivouacked for the night.

Some 2 or 3 tents, brought in the wagons, were pitched, houses of pine tree boughs were built, and in a short time the place had the appearance of a small village. Huge fires sprung up all around as if by magic, and soon every one was employed in cooking, making bowers, bringing water from a small stream near by, or hunting dry wood for the fires. All was bustle, life and hilarity.

The sun soon set, and the wind now commenced blowing, bringing up huge masses of clouds, that, as the night set in, rainy and starless, seemed to fill every one with desponding and anxiety for the weather on the morrow. The cold was severe, and we continued sitting around our fires, making merry with chocolate and hot punches until a late hour, when, one by one, the party stole off, to sleep as comfortably as the number of blankets each man had brought would permit him.

The next morning before sunrise every one had prepared his own breakfast. I myself then thought that nothing could have tasted sweeter than a cup of chocolate of my own make, and a leg of chicken. Breakfast over, our horses were saddled and, the guides leading, we were soon on our winding way, pursuing a narrow course through the forest which seemed to me interminable.

As we had feared, the morning was cloudy, and the mist so dense that we could scarcely see the guides before us. The trees became smaller and more stunted as we proceeded, and finally disappeared altogether. We then emerged into a sort of wild ascending prairie, covered with a long rank growth of grass which had the appearance, from Toluca, of banks of snow. Continuing on over this prairie for some three miles we arrived at the foot of a steep hill. On reaching the top of this we found that we were now only separated from the highest peaks by a deep intervening valley. Passing through this and up a slight elevation on the other side, we at length stood at the base of the towering snow-capped summits far above us.

Our party now scattered: some, leaving their horses here, commenced the ascent of the hill, at whose base we then stood, while others continued on towards the peaks beyond the lakes. My horse being completely exhausted I left him and commenced the first ascent at hand. After climbing a short distance I stopped and gazed with wonder upon the scene before me. My further ascent was to be over a perfect mass of piled up rocks black, rent in prismatic blocks, and through whose crevices the eye would occasionally penetrate into many a dark recess.

The ascent was so difficult and tiresome, from the rarified state of the air, that but few upward steps could be taken at a time, and then the heart would throb with violence, and the air in the lungs seem exhausted.—The head would swim, and not until one had inhaled a copious draught of air could he continue on. After climbing up for more than an hour, completely exhausted, I seated myself upon a projecting rock and gazed around in bitter disappointment—dense clouds and mist hid every thing from my view. But while sitting here the gods seemed to take compassion on me, and, in reward for my perseverance, with one blast swept the mist and clouds from before me, revealing to my longing eyes, in the far east, the snow-topped summits of Popocatapetl and Iztaccihuatl.

Below me lay the fertile valley of Toluca, which, though bounded on the east by a lofty ridge, now seemed to be shut in by the merest hills. Over the tops could be seen the far famed valley of Anahuac, and still further on to my right rose that mariner's guide, high aloft amid clouds, the snow topped peak of Orizaba. This scene was disclosed but for a moment, and again the envious mist enshrouded all in obscurity.

Continuing the ascent, I at last stood on the highest pinnacle of this range, there now only remained above me on the opposite side of the lake, whose deep blue waters lay calm below the high unapproachable peaks of the western ridge.

Again the mist and clouds for an instant broke away, and looked with longing eyes to the west, if possible to see the bright waters of the Pacific; but this was denied me—the air was too dense, the mist too thick. And even later in the day, when the sun had broken out and in some measure dispelled the gloom I could still catch to the west no glimpse of its waters.

I remained here gazing around for some time, and then determined to let myself down towards the lake by the almost perpendicular side which descends towards its ever silent waters. Having proceeded a short distance I found the undertaking much more difficult than I had imagined it could be.—At times as my foot occasionally fell upon some huge rock, it would shake, totter, leave its bed, and, with a noise like thunder, leap down from crag to crag, and bound into the gaping mouth of the crater below. After some danger and much exertion I reached the base, and, on looking up again, I scarcely could realize that I had descended from a point so high.

Our party was now scattered over every part of the mountain. On every snow-topped crag could be seen moving figures, who made the mountains echo and re-echo with their shouts and the reports of their muskets. I stood on the shore of a little lake and gazed down into its waters, and the thought arose, with feelings of awe, that these towering summits, these huge masses, these piles of rocks, had all been cast up from its now calm and tranquil depths.

The day continuing cloudy, and having seen all that the mist would permit us to see, having been fifteen thousand feet above the level of the sea—above all vegetation, in the region of perpetual snow—the tierra caliente lying below us on either hand, clothed in perpetual summer, we now turned away, I know not why, with feeling of sadness, and retraced our footsteps to our little camp.—Many of those mounted on good horses returned to Toluca that night; remained and came in the next morning, satisfied that in the Nevada de Toluca I had seen one of Nature's grandest works.

S.L. G.