The Night Overtook Us Ere We Had Traversed The Moor; There Was,
However, No Haze, To The Great Joy Of My Guide, And A Corner Of The
Moon Partially Illumined Our Steps.
Our situation, however, was
dreary enough:
We were upon the wildest heath of the wildest
province of Spain, ignorant of our way, and directing our course we
scarcely knew whither, for my guide repeatedly declared to me, that
he did not believe that such a place as Finisterra existed, or if
it did exist, it was some bleak mountain pointed out in a map.
When I reflected on the character of this guide, I derived but
little comfort or encouragement: he was at best evidently half
witted, and was by his own confession occasionally seized with
paroxysms which differed from madness in no essential respect; his
wild escapade in the morning of nearly three leagues, without any
apparent cause, and lastly his superstitious and frantic fears of
meeting the souls of the dead upon this heath, in which event he
intended, as he himself said, to desert me and make for the sea,
operated rather powerfully upon my nerves. I likewise considered
that it was quite possible that we might be in the route neither of
Finisterra nor Corcuvion, and I therefore determined to enter the
first cabin at which we should arrive, in preference to running the
risk of breaking our necks by tumbling down some pit or precipice.
No cabin, however, appeared in sight: the moor seemed
interminable, and we wandered on until the moon disappeared, and we
were left in almost total darkness.
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