Refreshed by our meal, we started at six o’clock on our return journey, and went down a good deal faster than we came up.  Before the end of the pumice-stone or Retama plains had been reached, it was nearly dark.  Sundry small accidents occurring to stirrup-leathers, bridles, and girths—­for the saddlery was not of the best description—­delayed us slightly, and as Tom, Dr. Potter, Allnutt, and the guide had got on ahead, we soon lost sight of them.  After an interval of uncertainty, the other guides confessed that they did not know the way back in the dark.  This was not pleasant, for the roads were terrible, and during the whole of our journey up, from the port to the Peak, we had met only four people in all—­two goatherds with their flocks, and two ‘neveros,’ bringing down ice to the town.  There was therefore not much chance of gaining information from any one on our way down.  We wandered about among low bushes, down watercourses, and over rocks for a long time.  Horns were blown, and other means of attracting attention were tried; first one and then another of the party meanwhile coming more or less to grief.  My good little horse fell down three times, though we did not part company, and once he went up a steep bank by mistake, instead of going down a very nasty watercourse, which I do not wonder at his objecting to.  I managed to jump off in time, and so no harm was done; but it was rather anxious work.

About ten o’clock we saw a light in the distance, and with much shouting woke up the inhabitants of the cottage whence it proceeded, promising to reward them liberally if they would only show us our way back.  Three of them consented to do this, and provided themselves accordingly with pine-torches, wrapped round with bracken and leaves.  One, a very fine man, dressed in white, with his arm extended above his head, bearing the light, led the way; another walked in front of my horse, while the third brought up the rear.  They conducted us down the most frightfully steep paths until we had descended beneath the clouds, when the light from our torches threw our shadows in gigantic form upon the mists above, reminding us of the legend of the ’Spectre of the Brocken.’  At last the torches began to go out, one by one, and just as the last light was expiring we arrived at a small village, where we of course found that everybody was asleep.  After some delay, during which Mabelle and I were so tired that we lay down in the street to rest, more torches were procured and a fresh guide, who led us into the comparatively good path towards Puerto Orotava.  Finally, half an hour after midnight, we arrived at the house of the Vice-Consul, who had provided refreshments for us, and whose nephew was still very kindly sitting up awaiting our return.  But we were too tired to do anything but go straight on board the yacht, where, after some supper and champagne, we were indeed glad to retire to our berths.  This was at 3.30 a.m., exactly twenty-nine hours since we had been called on Friday night.