against it; but Carrera sent a detachment of Indians, who clambered up the ravine at another place, and attacked it in the rear. The fortifications were pulled down and burned, the boundary lines demolished, and Los Altos annexed to Guatimala. Here we met an Indian, who confirmed what the muleteers had told us, that the road to Santiago Atitlan, the place of residence of Don Saturnino's relatives, was five leagues, and exceedingly bad, and, in order to save our luggage-mules, we resolved to leave them at the village of Godines, about a mile further on. The village consisted of but three or four huts, entirely desolate; there was not a person in sight. We were afraid to trust our mozos alone; they might be robbed, or they might rob us themselves; besides, they had nothing to eat. We were about at the head of the lake of Atitlan. It was impossible, with the cargo-mules, to reach Santiago Atitlan that day; it lay on the left border of the lake; our road was on the right, and it was agreed for Don Saturnino to go on alone, and for us to continue on our direct road to Panajachel, a village on the right border opposite Atitlan, and cross the lake to pay our visit to him. We were told that there were canoes for this purpose, and bade farewell to Don Saturnino with the confident expectation of seeing him the next day at the house of his relatives; but we never met again.
At two o'clock we came out upon the lofty table-land bordering the lake of Atitlan. In general I have forborne attempting to give any idea of the magnificent scenery amid which we were travelling, but here forbearance would be a sin. From a height of 3,000 or 4,000 feet we looked down upon a surface shining like a sheet of molten silver, enclosed by rocks and mountains of every form, some barren, and some covered with verdure, rising from 500 to 5,000 feet in height. Opposite, down on the borders of the lake, and apparently inaccessible by land, was the town of Santiago Atitlan, to which our friend was wending his way, situated between two immense volcanoes 8,000 or 10,000 feet high. Farther on was another volcano, and further still another, more lofty than all, with its summit buried in clouds. There were no associations connected with this lake; until lately we did not know it even by name; but we both agreed that it was the most magnificent spectacle we ever saw. We stopped and watched the fleecy clouds of vapour rising from the bottom, moving up the mountains and the sides of the volcanoes. We descended at first by a steep pitch, and then gently for about three miles along the precipitous border of the lake, leaving on our right the camino real and the village of San Andres, and suddenly reached the brink of the table-land, 2,000 feet high. At the foot was a rich plain running down to the
