PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF ORTON AND PERU. ; 225 
of the time enveloped in cloud and mist. Temperature at mid-day 48° Fahrenheit. 
Mules and llamas do the freighting. Llamas are driven very slowly, sometimes 
in great herds. They carry seventy-five to one hundred pounds, and are valued 
at $4 to $5 each. September 18th, we crossed the summit in the midst of moun- 
tains of snow—temperature 24°—and thence by easy roads descended the valley 
of the Escoma to Lake Titicaca. Along this valley at an elevation of 13,000 to 
15,000 feet, saw, millions it might be, of alpacas grazing—prevailing color black. 
At last, after six months of out-door life, we embarked in the schooner Aurora ~ 
for the city of Puno. The Professor dropped down on a heap of sail cloth, ex- 
claiming, ‘‘I am so glad! so glad! We’ll have no more mules, muleteers nor In- 
dians, no more annoyance, trouble or disappointment. I am so tired! so tired!” 
and quickly fell asleep. Just before daylight of September 25, after a night of 
unusual storm, he became conscious that he was dying, and there, among stran- 
gers, whom, twenty-four hours before, we had never seen, on the highest navi- 
gated lake in the world, 13,000 feet above the ocean, far away from wife, chil- 
dren and friends, calmly, quietly, without a struggle or a word of complaint, he 
died. 
But his final resting place is a glorious one, eminently befitting his life 
and career. It is upon the summit of a rocky island in Lake Titicaca, many 
thousands of feet nearer the sky than are most sepulchers. ‘There he lies in sight 
of the scenes of his last explorations; upon one side is discerned the last mile of 
iron rail and telegraph, and on the other, that mysterious lake and island from 
whence issued the great Inca monarchy. 
As he himself wrote in memoriam of Col. Stanton, a companion in a for- 
mer expedition, who was buried in Quito: ‘‘ He was buried without parade, and 
in solemn silence—just as we believe his unobtrusive spirit would have desired. 
No splendid hearse nor nodding plumes; no long procession save the unheard 
tread of angels; no requiem save the unheard harps of seraphs. Snow-white 
pinnacles standing around him on every side, we left him in this corner of na- 
ture’s vast cathedral; secluded shrine of grandeur and beauty, not found in 
Westminster Abbey.” 
At this time, with Professor Orton, died Mr. Henry Meiggs. Every station, 
engine and car, was draped in the deepest mourning—engine drivers ene with 
each other in decorations of respect. 
They relate many anecdotes of Don Enrique Meiggs, as railroad men call 
‘him. Many years ago a civil engineer of rare ability and training, was at work 
on railroad surveys in Georgia at a salary of $80 per month, when an agent of 
Mr. Meiggs offered him $125 per month, gold, and free ticket down and back, 
to go to Chili and make surveys on the railroad to Santiago. He went. Month 
after month he received his $125, while the other civil engineers received $333 
-per month. He was advised to break his contract and demand higher salary, 
OE A en ee 
but his high sense of honor would not submit to a violation of his pledged word, 
and so he toiled on month after month and year after year, to the end of his 
