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. I was in company with
several women, and a thick haze came on, and suddenly a thousand
lights shone above our heads in the haze, and there was a wild cry,
and the women fell to the ground screaming Estadea! Estadea! and I
myself fell to the ground crying out Estadinha! The Estadea are
the spirits of the dead which ride upon the haze, bearing candles
in their hands. I tell you frankly, my master, that if we meet the
assembly of the souls, I shall leave you at once, and then I shall
run and run till I drown myself in the sea, somewhere about Muros.
We shall not reach Corcuvion this night; my only hope is that we
may find some choza upon these moors, where we may hide our heads
from the Estadinha.
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.
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