Autumnal Morning - The World's End - Corcuvion - Duyo -The Cape - A Whale - The Outer Bay - The Arrest - The Fisher-Magistrate - Calros Rey - Hard of Belief - Where is your Passport? -The Beach - A Mighty Liberal - The Handmaid - The Grand Baintham -Eccentric Book - Hospitality.
It was a beautiful autumnal morning when we left the choza and pursued our way to Corcuvion.I satisfied our host by presenting him with a couple of pesetas, and he requested as a favour, that if on our return we passed that way, and were overtaken by the night, we would again take up our abode beneath his roof.This I promised, at the same time determining to do my best to guard against the contingency; as sleeping in the loft of a Gallegan hut, though preferable to passing the night on a moor or mountain, is anything but desirable.
So we again started at a rapid pace along rough bridle-ways and footpaths, amidst furze and brushwood.In about an hour we obtained a view of the sea, and directed by a lad, whom we found on the moor employed in tending a few miserable sheep, we bent our course to the north-west, and at length reached the brow of an eminence, where we stopped for some time to survey the prospect which opened before us.
It was not without reason that the Latins gave the name of Finnisterrae to this district.We had arrived exactly at such a place as in my boyhood I had pictured to myself as the termination of the world, beyond which there was a wild sea, or abyss, or chaos.I now saw far before me an immense ocean, and below me a long and irregular line of lofty and precipitous coast.Certainly in the whole world there is no bolder coast than the Gallegan shore, from the debouchement of the Minho to Cape Finisterra.It consists of a granite wall of savage mountains, for the most part serrated at the top, and occasionally broken, where bays and firths like those of Vigo and Pontevedra intervene, running deep into the land.These bays and firths are invariably of an immense depth, and sufficiently capacious to shelter the navies of the proudest maritime nations.
There is an air of stern and savage grandeur in everything around, which strongly captivates the imagination.
This savage coast is the first glimpse of Spain which the voyager from the north catches, or he who has ploughed his way across the wide Atlantic: and well does it seem to realize all his visions of this strange land."Yes," he exclaims, "this is indeed Spain - stern flinty Spain - land emblematic of those spirits to which she has given birth.From what land but that before me could have proceeded those portentous beings, who astounded the Old World and filled the New with horror and blood: Alba and Philip, Cortez and Pizarro: stern colossal spectres looming through the gloom of bygone years, like yonder granite mountains through the haze, upon the eye of the mariner.Yes, yonder is indeed Spain; flinty, indomitable Spain; land emblematic of its sons!"As for myself, when I viewed that wide ocean and its savage shore, I cried, "Such is the grave, and such are its terrific sides; those moors and wilds, over which I have passed, are the rough and dreary journey of life.Cheered with hope, we struggle along through all the difficulties of moor, bog, and mountain, to arrive at - what? The grave and its dreary sides.Oh, may hope not desert us in the last hour:
hope in the Redeemer and in God!"
We descended from the eminence, and again lost sight of the sea amidst ravines and dingles, amongst which patches of pine were occasionally seen.Continuing to descend, we at last came, not to the sea, but to the extremity of a long narrow firth, where stood a village or hamlet; whilst at a small distance, on the Western side of the firth, appeared one considerably larger, which was indeed almost entitled to the appellation of town.This last was Corcuvion; the first, if Iforget not, was called Ria de Silla.We hastened on to Corcuvion, where I bade my guide make inquiries respecting Finisterra.He entered the door of a wine-house, from which proceeded much noise and vociferation, and presently returned, informing me that the village of Finisterra was distant about a league and a half.A man, evidently in a state of intoxication, followed him to the door: "Are you bound for Finisterra, Cavalheiros?" he shouted.
"Yes, my friend," I replied, "we are going thither.""Then you are going amongst a flock of drunkards (FATO DEBARRACHOS)," 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.
"What is the name of this village?" said I to a woman, as we passed by five or six ruinous houses at the bend of the bay, ere we entered upon the peninsula of Finisterra.
"This is no village," said the Gallegan, "this is no village, Sir Cavalier, this is a city, this is Duyo."So much for the glory of the world! These huts were all that the roaring sea and the tooth of time had left of Duyo, the great city! Onward now to Finisterra.
