From This Elevation I Could Distinguish With My
Glass The Wreck Of The Stranded Steamer In The Bay At Volokalida.
We
were camped on the verge of the height that we had ascended by the
precipitous path from the lower valley.
As the country was a mass of dry
fire-wood we collected a large quantity, and piled two heaps, one for
the camel-owners and the servants, and another before the door of our
own tent to make a cheerful blaze at night, which is a luxury of the
bivouac seldom to be enjoyed in other portions of this island. While we
were thus engaged an arrival took place, and several people suddenly
appeared upon the summit of the pass within a few yards of our tent. An
old woman formed one of the party, and a handsome but rather
dirty-looking priest led the way on a remarkably powerful mule. Upon
seeing us he very courteously dismounted, and I at once invited him to
the tent. It appeared that this was the actual head of the monastery and
the lord of all the promontory who was thus unexpectedly introduced.
Cigarettes, coffee, and a little good cognac quickly cheered the good
and dusty priest (who had travelled that day from some place beyond
Rizo-Carpas), and we established a mutual confidence that induced him to
give me all the information of his neighbourhood.
I had observed hundreds of cattle, goats, sheep, and many horses,
donkeys, &c., wandering about the shrub-covered surface during my walk,
and I was now informed that all these animals were the property of the
monastery.
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