We triumphed in the end, I would not return the way we came, so from the mainland opposite our camp, the Irishman got across hand over hand, on a wire hawser that spanned the river. It used to serve the ferry which now lies wrecked and derelict half a mile down-stream; once across he improvised a boat, out of a big wooden box and came across to fetch me. We were rather silent at supper; there seemed some food for thought. It is a beautiful but awesome thing, this river. Higher up just around the bend of the mountain it cascades for half a mile: thunderous and forceful. It approaches our island, almost like a flood, diverting into varying streams, creating islands, engulfing trees, there is not a sight of it that does not contain a waterfall and a fast current that pours over rapids. Everywhere there are waterfalls, usually six at a time from every direction. Dick says all the rivers in the world have joined us here. It is an hypnotic, wondrous, fearful thing. Sometimes I hate it, always I fear it, several times it has tried to snatch Dick from me. Always I think it wants to take Dick, and he loves it so, is always in it, fearlessly going out of his depth, by hanging on the swiftly floating logs. The river has the spirit of a passionate irresponsible creature that knows no laws. It thunders and foams, roars and rages, laughs, is uncontrollable and wild one minute, the next, gentle as a little child, a thing of moods, untameable. There are people with the spirit of the river. They are genius’s or revolutionaries. Some of them are mad.... I hate, I love, I admire, I fear the river. SEPTEMBER, 1921. _In Camp._ He left today (the Irishman I mean); I walked with him to Micos station. The train was due at 7 a.m. by starting at 9:30 a.m. he only had 3 hours to wait. (Such are the Mexican trains). It was a hot long climb, I had not been back to the village since I left it. When we got there we found that it was Sunday. Instead of the little peaceful half asleep village I had known, it was thronged with people, the stores were doing a roaring trade. The meat-sellers had it hanging in streamers from a pole, the fruit-sellers had them on a handkerchief in the mud. Everyone from the neighboring country had come to town. The women looked at me pityingly, their men gave them dresses and shoes and shawls but I, poor thing, my man gave me only his old clothes and boots to wear. The most successful seller was the fellow who had a lump of ice and sold colored drinks. I drank and drank, my man gave me that unstintingly! he gave me colored drinks, a penknife, twelve handkerchiefs, and a straw hat--it was not ungenerous!