Once in a while, as I wheeled around some sharp bend, I could hear
a sullen roar that plainly indicated the presence of falls below; but it
seemed so far away that I paid but little attention to it. I kept
driving steadily along, enjoying the exhilaration of the rapid pace,
when my attention was attracted by the report of a gun. Looking up I saw
a guarda civil, the gendarme of Spain, who held his carbine aloft and
vigorously waved his hat with the other hand as I shot by. The
current increased and the roar below became more audible. Going around
another bend I saw a number of people on the bank waving their hats
with a downward motion. That is the signal used in Spain when you are
desired to approach. I misunderstood it, and thought it meant for me to
take the other side, which I did and found I was in a current from which
I could not extricate myself. Another sharp, turn and the village of
Puente del Arzobispo came into sight with the heavy spray from the falls
rising high in the air. The roar was like the deep rumbling of thunder
when near at hand. I paid no attention to the shouts of the people to
stop, for I saw could not possibly get out of the current, so I exerted
myself to pass the falls safely. I saw where the water sank on the
brink and I knew that was the course of the channel, and I also knew
that my only chance of safety was to reach that point.
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