Beyond Mexico Gate, a fine public walk, planted with large cocoa-trees, leads to a suburb which has within the last few years grown into a little town; it is the great rendezvous for sailors and coolies who come to dance and flirt with the damsels of the place, and the evening is generally wound up with a hot dispute with their less favoured companions.
The coast along the Atlantic is a vast sandy plain, diversified by marshes peopled with herons, wild ducks, iguanas, and serpents, which are almost impervious from thickets of aromatic shrubs and wild flowers, in the midst of which tower magnificent trees; but the sound of no voice ever breaks on this wilderness in which lurks the malaria, save the hoarse cry of a wild animal, the passing of an eagle-fisher, or the whirling of a vulture in quest of some easy prey.
The journey from Vera Cruz to Mexico is now performed by railway, which has replaced the once cumbrous diligence, and traffic has increased to such an extent that the English Railway Company is unable to convey inland goods which have come by sea.
We start on our journey with an escort, even now a necessary precaution, for five-and-twenty years have not modified the manners of the natives, and highway robbers are still a flourishing institution in Mexico.
Pressing westward, we go through the sandy, marshy zone, and leaving behind us Tejeria, Soledad, Paso Ancho, and Paso del Macho, we reach the famous Chiquihuite bridge, when a glorious region succeeds to the flat country and parched vegetation of the coast; we continue to ascend through grander and grander scenery and more luxurious vegetation, having on our left the river Atoyac with its precipitous course, between deep ravines, and presently we come in sight of the iron viaduct, which is considered one of the best works on the line.
Still pressing upwards we reach the temperate zone, where we find coffee, tobacco, and banana plantations, spreading their broad green leaves under the shade of great trees which shelter them against the fierce heat of the sun; while little houses, embowered in orange-groves and creepers, peep out coquettishly from leaf and foliage.
And now the grand outlines of the Sierra are about us, and at every bend of the road charming views unfold before our enraptured gaze; a dazzling light colours all things with the richest tints, and Orizaba rears its magnificent head straight before us. Orizaba is, with the Popocatepetl, the highest mountain in Mexico; its snowy peak is visible for many a mile at sea. At its foot may be seen the city of the same name, extending over a large area, with her numerous and once gorgeous churches, now falling into decay, amidst a vast plateau, circled by mighty mountains, once gleaming with volcanic fires and grand summits. Mills and factories, greatly on the increase, are worked by water-power, which is brought by aqueducts or mountain torrents.
After Orizaba, the road becomes very steep; we enter the gorges of Infiernillo (small hell), where, along roads coasting deep ravines and unfathomable precipices, spanned by stupendous bridges, we reach Maltrata, where the train stops to change engines, when we ascend the heights, or cumbres, leading to the plateau.
