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In the evening, the son of the agente, who had been to Tenango with a friend, came home in great excitement. He was a lively young fellow of eighteen years.
Market had begun in the morning, as we prepared to leave, but the great plaza was not more than half-full, and there was little that was characteristic. The agente said that it was not good, being mixed with earth or sand. He, himself, came from the neighborhood of Tapachula, where quantities of salt are made from the lagoon water.
After eating, we placed the mapa against the wall, wrote out a description of it, and photographed it. Dismay now filled the soul of the agente, and the one principal whom he had summoned for advice. They talked long and earnestly with me about the mapa, and begged me to assure the jefe that it was no good; that it was not autorizado; that it was mudo.
The agente rode with us in the morning quite a league upon our road, to a place which he was clearing for a milpa. We had heard so much of the horrors of the road to El Salto, that we were prepared for the worst. It was not an abrupt descent, as we had expected, but for the most part level, over black mud.
We arrived at half-past three and had our mozo been on time, might have done some work. The agente showed us the historic picture in the old church; it is the portrait of a clergyman, whose influence did much to quell the insurrection in 1713. More interesting to us than the old picture, were groups of indians, kneeling and praying.
We had never heard of Don Enrique, and thought there was some error, but after supper, the agente handed us a letter which had come that afternoon from the gentleman in question. In it we read: "Sir: Mr. Ellsworth, of the Rio Michol Rubber Co., Salto, asked me by telephone to tell you that he will be waiting for you the 4th of April in La Cruzada, and hopes that you will kindly accompany Mrs.
Here and there, were bad bits of road, deep mud, slippery stones, irregular limestone masses. It was dark before we reached Tumbala, and although there was a moon, the mists were so dense that it did little good. Arriving at 6:45, we found the town a wretched place, with a worthless and nerveless agente.
Very soon, however, his potations got the better of him, and bidding us a fond farewell, he started for Hidalgo. It was my day of fever, and I spent the greater portion of the morning on my hard bed, getting up from time to time to try to move the agente to procure an animal, on which I might make the journey to El Triunfo.
When complaints were made of the accommodations, or lack of all accommodations, the agente, who was on the vessel with us, expressed surprise, and seemed profoundly hurt. The stream is full of curves and bends, is broad, and notably uniform in breadth; it has considerable current, and is bordered closely by the tropical forest, except where little clearings have been made for fincas.
At two o'clock we reached La Trinidad, where he had promised that we should eat the finest meal in the State of Chiapas. We found a complete surprise. Trinidad is little more than a finca, or rancho, but it has an agente, and quite a population of Chol indians. The agente was a decent-looking fellow, active and ambitious; he talks a little English, and is something of an amateur photographer.
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