"You Are A Catalan, Sir Cavalier, And Are Going To Your Countryman
At Corcuvion," Said The Man In Tolerable Spanish.
"Ah, you are
brave people, you Catalans, and fine establishments you have on the
Gallegan shores; pity that you take all the money out of the
country."
Now, under all circumstances, I had not the slightest objection to
pass for a Catalan; and I rather rejoiced that these wild people
should suppose that I had powerful friends and countrymen in the
neighbourhood who were, perhaps, expecting me. I therefore
favoured their mistake, and began with a harsh Catalan accent to
talk of the fish of Galicia, and the high duties on salt. The eye
of my guide was upon me for an instant, with a singular expression,
half serious, half droll; he however said nothing, but slapped his
thigh as usual, and with a spring nearly touched the roof of the
cabin with his grotesque head. Upon inquiry, I discovered that we
were still two long leagues distant from Corcuvion, and that the
road lay over moor and hill, and was hard to find. Our host now
demanded whether we were hungry, and upon being answered in the
affirmative, produced about a dozen eggs and some bacon. Whilst
our supper was cooking, a long conversation ensued between my guide
and the family, but as it was carried on in Gallegan, I tried in
vain to understand it. I believe, however, that it principally
related to witches and witchcraft, as the Estadea was frequently
mentioned. After supper I demanded where I could rest: whereupon
the host pointed to a trap-door in the roof, saying that above
there was a loft where I could sleep by myself, and have clean
straw. For curiosity's sake, I asked whether there was such a
thing as a bed in the cabin.
"No," replied the man; "nor nearer than Corcuvion. I never entered
one in my life, nor any one of my family: we sleep around the
hearth, or among the straw with the cattle."
I was too old a traveller to complain, but forthwith ascended by a
ladder into a species of loft, tolerably large and nearly empty,
where I placed my cloak beneath my head, and lay down on the
boards, which I preferred to the straw, for more reasons than one.
I heard the people below talking in Gallegan for a considerable
time, and could see the gleams of the fire through the interstices
of the floor. The voices, however, gradually died away, the fire
sank low and could no longer be distinguished. I dozed, started,
dozed again, and dropped finally into a profound sleep, from which
I was only roused by the crowing of the second cock.
CHAPTER XXX
Autumnal Morning - The World's End - Corcuvion - Duyo - The Cape - A
Whale - The Outer Bay - The Arrest - The Fisher-Magistrate - Calros
Rey - Hard of Belief - Where is your Passport? - The Beach - A Mighty
Liberal - The Handmaid - The Grand Baintham - Eccentric Book -
Hospitality.
It was a beautiful autumnal morning when we left the choza and
pursued our way to Corcuvion.
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