Not far from Bechisano we passed a great boulder, hanging over the road and supported by two or three tiny ones, reminding one of a huge cromlech. Near to it spread a many-tongued waterfall, spanned by a stone bridge, from under which it poured its heavy volume of water into the gorge beneath.
Ilex and great hedges of Mediterranean heath grew by the roadside; and, as we approached the large village of Olmeto, and the hills opened out a little, a superb panorama of mountains rose behind us.
Olmeto is a gloomy-looking village, perched half-way up the mountain side ascending from before Propriano.
It has something forbidding about its aspect, and gave one a shudder as one passed through. The houses are filthy, and many of them lie in untouched ruins, with here and there a half-broken balcony, and, much more rarely, an unbroken window; and the men who stand and slouch at the street corners have a dark, inhospitable, hang-dog look about them, which is no improvement upon the usual national expression, half contemptuous, half good-natured, of lethargic pride.
Olmeto and the neighbouring village of Olio have both an exceedingly bad reputation.
The men out-Herod Herod in idleness, even for Corsicans; and nearly every man carries his gun and pistol, even to patrol the village street. Two or three murders occur every year in Olmeto alone; and the only wonder is that the number is not greater.
The vendetta is of course very strong at Olmeto; and altogether, it must be an uncomfortable place to live in.
No women at all were visible in the village, either on our passing through it on our way to Propriano or on our return some days later; the presumption being, that the weaker but wiser sex were, Corsican fashion, making up in some degree for the dangerous idleness of their lords by their own household industry.
Coming back to Ajaccio by this same route, our driver pointed out to me, near the Col San Georgio, about half-way between Bechisano and Olmeto, a little maquis-covered hill by the lonely roadside.
There, he said, among the thick shrubs, about a year ago, a man concealed himself to lay wait for a passing gendarme.