Stuck in the muddy road was a train of ox-carts, and the oxen from seven or eight were yoked to the head cart; and when that was dragged out of the slough to a camping-place, the next and all the rest were treated the same way. We wandered about town between the showers, saw lime-kilns, a lead-mine, and several potteries, and at last came to the church,—a more considerable building than we had yet seen in Central America. The door was tied with a leather shoestring, and there was no resident priest. The images seemed, to our unaccustomed eyes, most horrible; but they must have appeared in holier form to the poor worshippers, for marigolds and amaranths were strewed before them, and votive candles burned on the floor. The ancient name of this town was Tucurúb (meaning “town of owls”); but the Spaniards re-christened it by one of the saints called Michael,—which I do not know, but apparently not that one whose churches in western Europe are usually perched on some almost inaccessible pinnacle, as at Le Puy in France, St. Michael’s Mount in Cornwall, etc. Only one man in the town could speak English, and he could give us very little information about our road. Indeed, all the way we were in that delightful condition of travelling without knowing exactly what is coming, and constantly meeting the unexpected. The rain at last came down in earnest, and drove us within doors. A Boston boy who has a fine coffee estate in the neighborhood came in as we were at dinner and initiated us into the mystery of _tortillas tostadas_. Certainly by toasting, the tough, clammy, cold tortilla is made even better than new. At four in the morning our boy Roberto lighted the candle and waked us up. We had settled our score the night before, and so did not disturb the family, but completed our toilet on the doorstep, as we saw to the saddling of our horses, by the light of the solitary candle. It was so dark as we rode away that we could not see the road, and blindly followed our guide’s white horse. A gate across the road gave us some trouble, as we could only feel it. By daylight the scenery must be fine; but as the noise of rushing waters, and a blacker streak by the road-side, alone indicated the torrents and _barrancas_ at hand, we were troubled rather than pleased by these picturesque properties. We came to an ox-train camped in the middle of the road; and but for the glowing embers of their camp-fires we should have had great difficulty in passing. As the gray dawn brightened over the mountains, the numerous white cascades attracted enough attention to keep us from the drowsiness we were both falling into from the darkness, cold, and dampness, and the slow gait of our horses. Fire-flies were still sparkling when it was light enough to see the road.