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Updated: June 20, 2025
I knew not whither we were going, but the dumb creatures were acquainted with the way, and soon brought us to Vendas Novas, where we were rejoined by our companions. I thought this man was a coward, but I did him injustice, for during the day he was as brave as a lion, and feared no one.
For myself, I confess I am not a person of extraordinary resolution, but the dangers of the night daunt me no more than those of midday. The man in question was a farmer from Evora, and a person of considerable wealth. I found the inn at Vendas Novas thronged with people, and had some difficulty in obtaining accommodation and refreshment.
At sunrise, they again assemble, are once more counted, and, after prayers and breakfast, go to work. I had an opportunity of convincing myself in this, as well as in many other fazendas, vendas, and private houses, that the slaves are by far not so harshly treated as we Europeans imagine. They are not overworked, perform all their duties very leisurely, and are well kept.
I passed the night with great comfort in a clean bed, remote from all those noises so rife in a Portuguese inn, and the next morning at six we again set out on our journey, which we hoped to terminate before sunset, as Evora is but ten leagues from Vendas Novas.
We reached a slight eminence, on the top of which grew three stately pines: about half a league farther on was another similar one: these two eminences commanded a view of the road from Pegoens and Vendas Novas, so that all people going and coming could be descried, whilst yet at a distance. My friend told me that these heights were favourite stations of robbers.
He inquired if I intended to pass the night at Vendas Novas, and on my replying in the affirmative, he said that he would avail himself of our company. He now looked towards the sun, whose disk was rapidly sinking beneath the horizon, and entreated us to spur on and make the most of its light, for that the moor was a horrible place in the dusk.
In one of the vendas at the foot of the mountain we fortified ourselves with some excellent pan-cakes, laid in a stock of sugar- canes, the juice of which is excessively refreshing in the great heat, and then proceeded to scale the Serra, 3,400 feet high. The road was execrable; full of holes, pits, and puddles, in which our poor beasts often sank above their knees.
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