XIX.
The Fishing Party.
The stars were yet brilliant in the sapphire vault, and in the branches the birds were still asleep when a merry party went through the streets of the pueblo, toward the lake, lighted by the glimmer of the pitch torches here called huepes.
There were five young girls, walking rapidly, holding each other by the hand or waist, followed by several elderly ladies, and servants bearing gracefully on their heads baskets of provisions. To see these girls’ faces, laughing with youth, to judge by their abundant black hair flying free in the wind, and the ample folds of their garments, we might take them for divinities of the night fleeing at the approach of day; but they were Maria Clara and her four friends, the merry Sinang, her cousin, the calm Victoria, beautiful Iday, and pensive Neneng. They talked with animation, pinched each other, whispered in each other’s ears, and pealed out merry rounds of laughter.
After a while there came to meet the party a group of young men, carrying torches of reeds. They were walking, silent, to the sound of a guitar.
When the two groups met, the girls became serious and grave. The men, on the contrary, talked, laughed, and asked six questions to get half a reply.
“Is the lake smooth? Do you think we shall have a fine day?” demanded the mamas.
“Don’t be disturbed, señoras, I’m a splendid swimmer,” said a tall, slim fellow, a merry-looking rascal with an air of mock gravity.
But they were already at the borders of the lake, and cries of delight escaped the lips of the women. They saw two great barks, bound together, picturesquely decked with garlands of flowers and various-colored festoons of fluffy drapery. Little paper lanterns hung alternating with roses, pinks, pineapples, bananas, and guavas. Rudders and oars were decorated too, and there were mats, rugs, and cushions to make comfortable seats for the ladies. In the boat, most beautifully trimmed, were a harp, guitars, accordeons, and a carabao’s horn; in the other burned a ship’s fire; and tea, coffee and salabat—a tea of ginger sweetened with honey—were making for the first breakfast.
“The women here, the men there,” said the mamas, embarking; “move carefully, don’t stir the boat or we shall capsize!”