Vagabond Life in Mexico

by Gabriel Ferry

At this moment the Franciscan suddenly paused, and, turning to me, said, "Are you listening?"

"I confess," I rejoined, "that I am paying more attention to the noise of the water which is now rising about our feet."

"Fray Epigmenio," said Serapio, without attending to my remark, "fancied himself a saint, since temptations like these assailed him, and that he was struggling against the devil, like the monks in the old legends. One day, about sunset, not content to wait for the tempter in his cell, he resolved to beard him in the forest itself, which was peopled with such phantoms. He had not wandered far among the pines when he heard the sound of stifled sobbing not far from him. He stopped and listened, and then advanced in the direction from which the moaning seemed to proceed. For a long time his search was fruitless. At last, after many turnings and windings, he arrived at a glade in the wood, in the centre of which lay, on the turf, a man, who invited him by signs to approach. Fray Epigmenio hesitated a moment. At last, having crossed himself devoutly, he falteringly approached the wounded man. 'In God's name,' cried he, 'of what unfortunate accident are you the victim?' The holy name of God appeared to rouse in the stranger a painful emotion, and his voice was hardly perceptible when he told Epigmenio that, as he was traveling with his daughter, he had been set upon by robbers, stripped of all he had, and left bleeding on the ground. He added that it was not for himself that he was asking assistance, but for the feeble creature by his side; and, at the same time, parting the branches of a bush near which he lay, he showed the monk a young lady lying in a swoon upon the grass. The rays of the moon fell full upon her marble countenance and white dress. You may imagine the confusion Epigmenio was in when he saw this beautiful female, who seemed to realize to him the most beautiful visions of his dreams. After a short silence, he represented to the stranger that the convent of the Desierto was not far off; but, were it nearer, a female could not be received within its walls. The unknown was grieved that he could not continue his journey, as his horse had escaped when the robbers attacked him. Plucking up his spirits, he declared, as his wound now gave him less pain, he would like to rise and seek for his lost steed. They set out together, but soon after agreed to separate, and—"

A blinding flash of lightning interrupted the monk's story. The storm was increasing. The muddy water had now risen as far as our stirrups. Our horses, that had stood without motion a long time, now turned and presented their chests to the current, which was surging up higher and higher every minute. Around us, in the depth of the woods, the noise of the torrents was mingled with the wild harmony of the brawling winds, that seemed to blow from every point of the compass.

"The water is rising," cried Fray Serapio, "and our horses will soon be utterly powerless against its force."

Almost at the same moment the poor animals turned quickly round, and, whether guided by instinct, or carried away by the force of the current, they moved toward the bottom of the ravine. A cry of distress, wafted to us by the wind, apprised us that the torrent was also bearing away our companions in misfortune. A second flash lighted up the forest, and was followed by a clap of thunder which shook the air. A sulphurous odor filled the atmosphere, and immediately, to our inexpressible satisfaction, a pine, which had been struck by lightning a few paces from us, blazed up, and soon illuminated the surrounding objects.

"We are saved!" cried Fray Serapio: "I see near us a rock low enough for our horses to mount."

Our companions had already escaped from the torrent; they encouraged us by voice and gestures to do the same. My horse, by a desperate effort, reached the top of the bank. I had kept close by Fray Serapio, whose horse had twice attempted the ascent, and had twice fallen back; but the third time, like a true Mexican, he accomplished it. We were still not out of all danger. A shelter must be found, as it was now out of the question to push on to the hacienda.

By the pale light in the sky, which was now comparatively clear, we could discern a narrow bridle-path running along the edge of the ravine. This road doubtless led to the Desierto, the very convent in which Fray Epigmenio had first taken his vows. We hurried along this path, certain this time of not missing our way; and a few minutes after, having escaped the most imminent peril, our little troop stopped, with heartfelt satisfaction, before the ruined walls of the ancient monastery.