The Druids' Stone - The Young Spaniard - Ruffianly Soldiers -Evils of War - Estremoz - The Brawl - Ruined Watch Tower -Glimpse of Spain - Old Times and New.
After proceeding about a league and a half, a blast came booming from the north, rolling before it immense clouds of dust; happily it did not blow in our faces, or it would have been difficult to proceed, so great was its violence.We had left the road in order to take advantage of one of those short cuts, which, though possible for a horse or a mule, are far too rough to permit any species of carriage to travel along them.
We were in the midst of sands, brushwood, and huge pieces of rock, which thickly studded the ground.These are the stones which form the sierras of Spain and Portugal; those singular mountains which rise in naked horridness, like the ribs of some mighty carcass from which the flesh has been torn.Many of these stones, or rocks, grew out of the earth, and many lay on its surface unattached, perhaps wrested from their bed by the waters of the deluge.Whilst toiling along these wild wastes, I observed, a little way to my left, a pile of stones of rather a singular appearance, and rode up to it.It was a druidical altar, and the most perfect and beautiful one of the kind which I had ever seen.It was circular, and consisted of stones immensely large and heavy at the bottom, which towards the top became thinner and thinner, having been fashioned by the hand of art to something of the shape of scollop shells.These were surmounted by a very large flat stone, which slanted down towards the south, where was a door.Three or four individuals might have taken shelter within the interior, in which was growing a small thorn tree.
I gazed with reverence and awe upon the pile where the first colonies of Europe offered their worship to the unknown God.The temples of the mighty and skilful Roman, comparatively of modern date, have crumbled to dust in its neighbourhood.The churches of the Arian Goth, his successor in power, have sunk beneath the earth, and are not to be found;and the mosques of the Moor, the conqueror of the Goth, where and what are they? Upon the rock, masses of hoary and vanishing ruin.Not so the Druids' stone; there it stands on the hill of winds, as strong and as freshly new as the day, perhaps thirty centuries back, when it was first raised, by means which are a mystery.Earthquakes have heaved it, but its copestone has not fallen; rain floods have deluged it, but failed to sweep it from its station; the burning sun has flashed upon it, but neither split nor crumbled it; and time, stern old time, has rubbed it with his iron tooth, and with what effect let those who view it declare.There it stands, and he who wishes to study the literature, the learning, and the history of the ancient Celt and Cymbrian, may gaze on its broad covering, and glean from that blank stone the whole known amount.The Roman has left behind him his deathless writings, his history, and his songs; the Goth his liturgy, his traditions, and the germs of noble institutions; the Moor his chivalry, his discoveries in medicine, and the foundations of modern commerce; and where is the memorial of the Druidic races? Yonder: that pile of eternal stone!
We arrived at Arroyolos about seven at night.I took possession of a large two-bedded room, and, as I was preparing to sit down to supper, the hostess came to inquire whether Ihad any objection to receive a young Spaniard for the night.
She said he had just arrived with a train of muleteers, and that she had no other room in which she could lodge him.Ireplied that I was willing, and in about half an hour he made his appearance, having first supped with his companions.He was a very gentlemanly, good-looking lad of seventeen.He addressed me in his native language, and, finding that Iunderstood him, he commenced talking with astonishing volubility.In the space of five minutes he informed me that, having a desire to see the world, he had run away from his friends, who were people of opulence at Madrid, and that he did not intend to return until he had travelled through various countries.I told him that if what he said was true, he had done a very wicked and foolish action; wicked, because he must have overwhelmed those with grief whom he was bound to honour and love, and foolish, inasmuch as he was going to expose himself to inconceivable miseries and hardships, which would shortly cause him to rue the step he had taken; that he would be only welcome in foreign countries so long as he had money to spend, and when he had none, he would be repulsed as a vagabond, and would perhaps be allowed to perish of hunger.He replied that he had a considerable sum of money with him, no less than a hundred dollars, which would last him a long time, and that when it was spent he should perhaps be able to obtain more."Your hundred dollars," said I, "will scarcely last you three months in the country in which you are, even if it be not stolen from you; and you may as well hope to gather money on the tops of the mountains as expect to procure more by honourable means." But he had not yet sufficiently drank of the cup of experience to attend much to what I said, and I soon after changed the subject.About five next morning he came to my bedside to take leave, as his muleteers were preparing to depart.I gave him the usual Spanish valediction (VAYA USTEDCON DIOS), and saw no more of him.
At nine, after having paid a most exorbitant sum for slight accommodation, I started from Arroyolos, which is a town or large village situated on very elevated ground, and discernible afar off.It can boast of the remains of a large ancient and seemingly Moorish castle, which stands on a hill on the left as you take the road to Estremoz.
