were celebrated this year in one village; and
there were many confessions and communions together with the feast and
procession of the institution of the most blessed sacrament--both of
which were conducted with devotion and grandeur, although with some
inconvenience, as they were not celebrated at their proper time.

Nevertheless, on account of the extraordinary and crying needs
of Catubig--which, as we have said, is in the eastern part of the
island of Ibabao, bathed by the South Sea--Father Juan de Torres,
accompanied by a brother, was constrained to go thither from Tinagon
at the end of the year one thousand six hundred and one. For a year
and a half no one had visited Catubig, because there was no one who
could go there; and now, although this caused a lack of service at
other stations, the greater needs of Catubig compelled us to leave them
[for the present]. Well did our Lord exercise them in their journey,
so that upon arriving they might enjoy the pleasant fruit which
they afterward gathered; for besides the rivers and swamps--through
which they journeyed with the water, in some places, and the mud in
others, to their knees--the slopes and mountains were so rugged that
it was impossible to advance except by using their hands as feet. But
consolation was not long delayed; even before they reached Catubig, on
their very way, our Lord aided them, as the father himself describes
in the following words: "One night three villages met together,
rejoicing at our arrival, and, thinking that it would be appropriate,
I told them about the things of the other life, the immortality of the
soul, and the existence of God; and of the reward for Christians, and
the torment for those who are not. I am sure, my father, that among
the many people who were there you would not think that there was
one who had not faith, to judge by what they said and the questions
they asked, and the way in which they encouraged one another to
receive baptism. They soon made arrangements to build a large church,
and gave me a list of all the inhabitants, including the children,
of whom there are an infinite number. God knows what my grief was
at seeing them in the arms of their mothers; for they appeared to
me like unto the ripe fruit hanging from the bough, which, if the
gardener neglects it, is either stolen or decays, and thus is lost."

Refreshed by such consolation, the father continued on his
way, crossing the entire island of Ibabao, as far