The Bible in Spain: Or, the Journeys, Adventures, and Imprisonments of an Englishman, in an Attempt to Circulate the Scriptures in the PeninsulaBorrow, George
Religion
The Bible in Spain: Or, the Journeys, Adventures, and Imprisonments of an Englishman, in an Attempt to Circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula
Borrow, George
Borrow, George, 1803-1881 -- Travel -- Spain; Spain -- Description and travel; Spain -- History -- 19th century
_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 I find 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 I confided 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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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