We all embarked in the barge and crossed over the firth, which is in this place nearly a mile broad, to Castro Pol, { 59} the first town in the Asturias. I now mounted the factious mare, whilst Antonio followed on my own horse. Martin led the way, exchanging jests with every person whom he met on the road, and occasionally enlivening the way with an extemporaneous song.
We were now in the Asturias, and about noon we reached Navias, a small fishing-town, situate on a _ria_ or firth: in the neighbourhood are ragged mountains called the Sierra de Buron, which stand in the shape of a semicircle. We saw a small vessel in the harbour, which we subsequently learned was from the Basque provinces, come for a cargo of cider or _sagadua_, the beverage so dearly loved by the Basques. As we passed along the narrow street, Antonio was hailed with an “_Ola_!” from a species of shop in which three men, apparently shoemakers, were seated. He stopped for some time to converse with them, and when he joined us at the _posada_ where we halted, I asked him who they were: “_Mon maître_,” said he, “_ce sont des messieurs de ma connoissance_. I have been fellow-servant at different times with all three; and I tell you beforehand, that we shall scarcely pass through a village in this country where I shall not find an acquaintance. All the Asturians, at some period of their lives, make a journey to Madrid, where, if they can obtain a situation, they remain until they have scraped up sufficient to turn to advantage in their own country; and as I have served in all the great houses in Madrid, I am acquainted with the greatest part of them. I have nothing to say against the Asturians, save that they are close and penurious whilst at service; but they are not thieves, neither at home nor abroad, and though we must have our wits about us in their country, I have heard we may travel from one end of it to the other without the slightest fear of being either robbed or ill-treated, which is not the case in Galicia, where we were always in danger of having our throats cut.”
Leaving Navias, we proceeded through a wild desolate country, till we reached the pass of Baralla, which lies up the side of a huge wall of rocks, which at a distance appear of a light green colour, though perfectly bare of herbage or plants of any description.