LII

Lorenzo called me very early. It was three by my watch. Owing to the moon, the night seemed only a dull day. We set out at four, Bibiano and his daughter commending us to the care of the Virgin.

It seemed incredible that our progress should be more difficult than it had been, but it was. To the Dagua nothing is impossible.

We passed that night in Saltico, a poor and disagreeable village. From Saltico to Salto the perils of the journey were beyond all exaggeration. The craggy rocks of La Víbora, Delfina, with its clear stream bursting out of the heart of the mountains to mingle its waters timidly with the rushing flow of the Dagua, and the Falls of Arrayan, one after the other, were passed. For an hour we had been in the midst of a violent rainstorm, and the river began to bear along bands of foam and small bushes.

“The girl is jealous,” said Gregorio, as we pushed up to a beach.

I thought he referred to a sombre and muffled music that seemed to come from a neighboring hut.

“What girl is that?” I asked.

“Why, Pepita, my master.”

Then I understood that he meant the beautiful river of that name, which flows into the Dagua below the village of Juntas.

“Why is she jealous?”

“Don’t your honor see what is going down?”

“No.”

“The freshet.”

“And why is not Dagua the jealous one? She is very lovely and better than he.”

Gregorio laughed and replied: “Dagua has a very bad temper. Pepita sends down a freshet to make the river flow as yellow as herself.”

Urged on by Lorenzo and the extra pay he had promised them, the boatmen exerted themselves to get me to Juntas before dark. Soon after we passed the little plain of Sombrerillo, whose verdure was in contrast with the barrenness of the mountains which shaded it on the south. It was four when we passed by the foot of the dangerous rocks of Media-luna. Shortly afterwards we emerged from the dreaded Credo, and at last we made a happy end of our strange trip, leaping out on the shore at Juntas.

D⁠⸺, a former servant of my father’s, was expecting us, having been informed by the mail-carrier, who passed us at San Cipriano, that I would arrive that afternoon. He led me to his house, where I waited for Lorenzo and the boatmen. The latter were well satisfied with “my person,” as Gregorio expressed it. They would have to make an early start the next day, and took leave of me in the most cordial manner, wishing me good health, and carrying back for me a letter to the collector.