This I soon found, and continued my way for a considerable time.The path lay over a moor, patched heath and furze, and here and there strewn with large stones, or rather rocks.The sun had risen high in the firmament, and burned fiercely.I passed several people, men and women, who gazed at me with surprise, wondering, probably, what a person of my appearance could be about without a guide in so strange a place.I inquired of two females whom I met whether they had seen my guide; but they either did not or would not understand me, and exchanging a few words with each other, in one of the hundred dialects of the Gallegan, passed on.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 Ireached 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 Ifind 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 Iconfided 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?
