"Yes, my friend," I replied, "we are going thither."
"Then you are going amongst a flock of drunkards (fato de
barrachos)," he answered. "Take care that they do not play you a
trick."
We passed on, and striking across a sandy peninsula at the back of
the town, soon reached the shore of an immense bay, the north-
westernmost end of which was formed by the far-famed cape of
Finisterra, which we now saw before us stretching far into the sea.
Along a beach of dazzling white sand, we advanced towards the cape,
the bourne of our journey. The sun was shining brightly, and every
object was illumined by his beams. The sea lay before us like a
vast mirror, and the waves which broke upon the shore were so tiny
as scarcely to produce a murmur. On we sped along the deep winding
bay, overhung by gigantic hills and mountains. Strange
recollections began to throng upon my mind. It was upon this beach
that, according to the tradition of all ancient Christendom, Saint
James, the patron saint of Spain, preached the Gospel to the
heathen Spaniards. Upon this beach had once stood an immense
commercial city, the proudest in all Spain. This now desolate bay
had once resounded with the voices of myriads, when the keels and
commerce of all the then known world were wafted to Duyo.
