The Sun Was Just Beginning To Show Itself; But The
Morning Was Misty And Dreary, Which, Together With The Aspect Of
Desolation Which The Country Exhibited, Had An Unfavourable Effect
On My Spirits.
I got down and walked, entering into conversation
with the old man.
He seemed to have but one theme, "the robbers,"
and the atrocities they were in the habit of practising in the very
spots we were passing. The tales he told were truly horrible, and
to avoid them I mounted again, and rode on considerably in front.
In about an hour and a half we emerged from the forest, and entered
upon a savage, wild, broken ground, covered with mato, or
brushwood. The mules stopped to drink at a shallow pool, and on
looking to the right I saw a ruined wall. This, the guide informed
me, was the remains of Vendas Velhas, or the Old Inn, formerly the
haunt of the celebrated robber Sabocha. This Sabocha, it seems,
had, some sixteen years ago, a band of about forty ruffians at his
command, who infested these wilds, and supported themselves by
plunder. For a considerable time Sabocha pursued his atrocious
trade unsuspected, and many an unfortunate traveller was murdered
in the dead of night at the solitary inn by the wood-side, which he
kept; indeed, a more fit situation for plunder and murder I never
saw. The gang were in the habit of watering their horses at the
pool, and perhaps of washing therein their hands stained with the
blood of their victims; the lieutenant of the troop was the brother
of Sabocha, a fellow of great strength and ferocity, particularly
famous for the skill he possessed in darting a long knife, with
which he was in the habit of transfixing his opponents.
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