ember, 1875.

Colonel Diaz was about to visit the posts under his command. This
gentleman, as much to respect the orders of his superior as to give
me a proof of his appreciation of my person, resolved to accompany
us to Chichen with part of his forces. He did so, leaving
Valladolid protected by a company of his battalion, and another of
the 18th regiment of the line which at the time was stationed in
that city. Arrived at the village of [C]itas, we learned that the
old footpath, the only one that had ever existed between this point
and Piste, four leagues distant, was entirely closed up,
impassable, consequently, for horsemen.

Colonel Don Jose Coronado, who, from esteem, had also wished to
accompany us, offered to go forward with a part of the company, and
some Indians, to re-open the road, and make it ready. His offer
accepted, he departed, and a few days later we were able to
continue our march to Piste, not meeting in the transit other
annoyance than the roughness of the road, the roots and tree trunks
that had obstructed it having been removed.

So, on the 27th of September, after a tedious march of six hours in
the thicket, we reached the advance-post of Piste.

Piste, ten years ago, was a pretty village, built amid forests,
around a senote of thermal waters, surrounded by most fertile
lands, which the industrious dwellers cultivated. Suddenly, on a
certain Sunday (election day), when they were entertained at the
polls, the ominous war-cry of the Indians of Chan-Santa-Cruz fell
upon their ears. Few were the villagers that, taking refuge in the
bush, escaped the terrible _machete_ of their enemies. Of this
village only the name remains. Its houses roofless, their walls
crumbled, are scarcely seen beneath the thick green carpet of
convolvulus, and cowage (mecuna). These overspread them with their
leaves and beautiful petals, as if to hide the blood that once
stained them, and cause to be forgotten the scenes of butchery they
witnessed. The church alone, sad and melancholy, without doors, its
sanctuaries silent, its floor paved with the burial slabs of the
victims, surrounded by parapets, yet stands in the midst of the
ruined abodes of those who used to gather under its roof; it is
to-day converted into a fortress. The few soldiers of t