So delicious was my ride, that I
almost regretted when we entered the gate of Vigo.
The town occupies the lower part of a lofty hill, which, as it
ascends, becomes extremely steep and precipitous, and the top of
which is crowned with a strong fort or castle. It is a small
compact place, surrounded with low walls, the streets are narrow,
steep, and winding, and in the middle of the town is a small
square.
There is rather an extensive faubourg extending along the shore of
the bay. We found an excellent posada, kept by a man and woman
from the Basque provinces, who were both civil and intelligent.
The town seemed to be crowded, and resounded with noise and
merriment. The people were making a wretched attempt at an
illumination, in consequence of some victory lately gained, or
pretended to have been gained, over the forces of the Pretender.
Military uniforms were glancing about in every direction. To
increase the bustle, a troop of Portuguese players had lately
arrived from Oporto, and their first representation was to take
place this evening. "Is the play to be performed in Spanish?" I
demanded. "No," was the reply; "and on that account every person
is so eager to go; which would not be the case if it were in a
language which they could understand."
On the morning of the next day I was seated at breakfast in a large
apartment which looked out upon the Plaza Mayor, or great square of
the good town of Vigo.
