Having
Crossed The Moor, I Came Rather Abruptly Upon A Convent,
Overhanging A Deep Ravine, At The Bottom Of Which Brawled A Rapid
Stream.
It was a beautiful and picturesque spot:
The sides of the ravine
were thickly clothed with wood, and on the other side a tall, black
hill uplifted itself. The edifice was large, and apparently
deserted. Passing by it, I presently reached a small village, as
deserted, to all appearance, as the convent, for I saw not a single
individual, nor so much as a dog to welcome me with his bark. I
proceeded, however, until I reached a fountain, the waters of which
gushed from a stone pillar into a trough. Seated upon this last,
his arms folded, and his eyes fixed upon the neighbouring mountain,
I beheld a figure which still frequently recurs to my thoughts,
especially when asleep and oppressed by the nightmare. This figure
was my runaway guide.
Myself. - Good day to you, my gentleman. The weather is hot, and
yonder water appears delicious. I am almost tempted to dismount
and regale myself with a slight draught.
Guide. - Your worship can do no better. The day is, as you say,
hot; you can do no better than drink a little of this water. I
have myself just drunk. I would not, however, advise you to give
that pony any, it appears heated and blown.
Myself. - It may well be so. I have been galloping at least two
leagues in pursuit of a fellow who engaged to guide me to
Finisterra, but who deserted me in a most singular manner, so much
so, that I almost believe him to be a thief, and no true man. You
do not happen to have seen him?
Guide. - What kind of a man might he be?
Myself. - A short, thick fellow, very much like yourself, with a
hump upon his back, and, excuse me, of a very ill-favoured
countenance.
Guide. - Ha, ha! I know him. He ran with me to this fountain,
where he has just left me. That man, Sir Cavalier, is no thief.
If he is any thing at all, he is a Nuveiro, - a fellow who rides
upon the clouds, and is occasionally whisked away by a gust of
wind. Should you ever travel with that man again, never allow him
more than one glass of anise at a time, or he will infallibly mount
into the clouds and leave you, and then he will ride and run till
he comes to a water brook, or knocks his head against a fountain -
then one draught, and he is himself again. So you are going to
Finisterra, Sir Cavalier. Now it is singular enough, that a
cavalier much of your appearance engaged me to conduct him there
this morning. I however lost him on the way. So it appears to me
our best plan to travel together until you find your own guide and
I find my own master.
It might be about two o'clock in the afternoon, that we reached a
long and ruinous bridge, seemingly of great antiquity, and which,
as I was informed by my guide, was called the bridge of Don Alonzo.
It crossed a species of creek, or rather frith, for the sea was at
no considerable distance, and the small town of Noyo lay at our
right. "When we have crossed that bridge, captain," said my guide,
"we shall be in an unknown country, for I have never been farther
than Noyo, and as for Finisterra, so far from having been there, I
never heard of such a place; and though I have inquired of two or
three people since we have been upon this expedition, they know as
little about it as I do. Taking all things, however, into
consideration, it appears to me that the best thing we can do is to
push forward to Corcuvion, which is five mad leagues from hence,
and which we may perhaps reach ere nightfall, if we can find the
way or get any one to direct us; for, as I told you before, I know
nothing about it." "To fine hands have I confided myself," said I:
"however, we had best, as you say, push forward to Corcuvion,
where, peradventure, we may hear something of Finisterra, and find
a guide to conduct us." Whereupon, with a hop, skip, and a jump,
he again set forward at a rapid pace, stopping occasionally at a
choza, for the purpose, I suppose, of making inquiries, though I
understood scarcely anything of the jargon in which he addressed
the people, and in which they answered him.
We were soon in an extremely wild and hilly country, scrambling up
and down ravines, wading brooks, and scratching our hands and faces
with brambles, on which grew a plentiful crop of wild mulberries,
to gather some of which we occasionally made a stop. Owing to the
roughness of the way we made no great progress. The pony followed
close at the back of the guide, so near, indeed, that its nose
almost touched his shoulder. The country grew wilder and wilder,
and since we had passed a water mill, we had lost all trace of
human habitation. The mill stood at the bottom of a valley shaded
by large trees, and its wheels were turning with a dismal and
monotonous noise. "Do you think we shall reach Corcuvion to-
night?" said I to the guide, as we emerged from this valley to a
savage moor, which appeared of almost boundless extent.
Guide. - I do not, I do not. We shall in no manner reach Corcuvion
to-night, and I by no means like the appearance of this moor. The
sun is rapidly sinking, and then, if there come on a haze, we shall
meet the Estadea.
Myself. - What do you mean by the Estadea?
Guide. - What do I mean by the Estadea? My master asks me what I
mean by the Estadinha. {17} I have met the Estadinha but once, and
it was upon a moor something like this.
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