“Every step now had to be cut out of the solid ice, and the fatigue and light air were beginning to tell on our uninitiated muscles. At eleven o’clock, we were at the foot of what is known as the rocks of the _arrepentimiento_. This is the last grand pull, the home-stretch, and it could not be more appropriately named. It is probably not over three hundred yards to the top, but it is almost a perpendicular wall of ice, and as it is reached when the adventurer is already fainting and about ready to give up, it is a formidable obstacle. We were three hours in getting over it, and then, almost fainting, and completely exhausted, we threw ourselves down on a little shelf of sand at the top of the peak.” It was two o’clock in the afternoon when they reached the summit, just eleven hours after their departure from the Cave of Santa Cruz, which is itself no less than thirteen thousand feet above the sea. Two of their Indians left the party, preferring to climb the mountain the next morning, to spending the night on its top. Mr. Richardson says that that was the most horrible night he ever hopes to pass. He says: “Shortly after our arrival, a cold wind came up that struck us to the very bone. There was no shelter to be obtained, as the descent into the crater was impossible, and the excavations from which the Indians take sulphur were covered deep with ice and snow. The bald, naked peak presented but one point where it was possible to spend the night. A little below the lip of the crater, on the southern side, a little steam escapes through a bed of sand, and here the snow is melted off a spot about a rod square. Into this sand we scratched a hole, and, pulling our blankets over us, laid down. We had no eyes for the magnificent panorama which was spread out before us, or the sun, which was going down blood-red in the west; we were too utterly miserable and cold. “I do not think any of us slept a wink all night. Our blankets froze stiff as boards, and all attempts to light a little spirit lamp and make coffee were fruitless. We could not even drink our wine, for it had turned to ice in the bottles. Thus hour after hour of the longest night I ever spent dragged by, and at length signs of day began to creep up slowly from the east. Almost too stupefied and stiff to move, we were only induced to crawl out from our holes by the stern realization of our desperate situation. The wind, too, now began to go down somewhat, and after moving about a little we felt better. Making our way up to the topmost pinnacle, we planted our flagstaff and unfurled our blood-red banner to the breeze. [Sidenote: THE CRATER OF THE ORIZABA.]