From Bastia we started in style, with a roomy carriage and three horses, for which luxurious equipage we paid thirty francs a day; but charges are higher here than at Ajaccio, and, in our other rounds, we obtained an equally good carriage and two horses, with a very superior coachman, for twenty francs a day.
This is the usual charge all over the island, and includes the keep of both driver and horses; but half the return journey is expected to be paid, as well as a douceur of about two francs a day to the man.
In this case, the excuse was the hilly roads and our heavy luggage, necessitating a third horse; but I think our inexperience was the real cause of the difference. It is as well to fix the bargain beforehand, and also to make some inquiries regarding the man to whom you entrust your precious lives and limbs for several days, as, on these roads, a tipsy or inefficient driver would be no joke. For the comfort of timid travellers I may, however, as well remark, that every Corsican seems born to handle the reins, as a South Sea Islander to swim; and, although very furious drivers, they are remarkably safe ones. Also, that their undoubtedly thirsty habits interfere wonderfully little with their duties.
For instance, the drowsiness which is prone to take possession of many Corsican drivers after the midday halt and thenceforth, and which causes them to nod ominously on the box, has no effect apparently upon a sort of sixth sense, which wakes them up by instinct just in time for a sharp turn, a steep descent, or a bad bit of road.
This Bastia coachman of ours—a big, rough, bullet-headed fellow—was not the most sober of mankind; but, although probably the worse for drink every evening when off duty, he took care not to overstep the nodding stage when in its discharge.
More than once, at the approach of some nasty corner or sudden precipice, the point of an umbrella was levelled at the small of his back; but it never had cause to culminate in a prod, for, precisely at the necessary moment, the furry cap adorning the unkempt head, raised itself, and the brown hands tightened their hold upon the loose reins.
The best course, however, is to forget both bad road and sleepy driver in the glorious prospect that seldom is wanting in Corsica; for a system of nervous watchfulness is not conducive to comfort or enjoyment.
It was not an auspicious day on which we started on our tour. After an early breakfast, we left the Hotel de France at eight o'clock in pouring rain, and began mounting the steep ascent to the Col Teghine.
Steep, indeed, was the hill, and very long; and the position of the third horse was no sinecure. Fortune, however, favours the brave; and before an hour was over, the sun came peeping forth through many a dark rift, blue clouds rose up and filled the gaps, and the sunlight glanced sparkling on dewy flower and crystal-covered olive grove. Thenceforth, the day was fine, and showed to advantage one of the most beautiful drives that can well be imagined.
Steep rose the green hills above and below us, with the blue sea at every turn stretching wide before us, and bringing out into clearer prominence its three islands, whilst the opposite shore of Tuscany lay a soft blue line on the horizon. On the lower slope, groups of olive, orange, and lemon trees—the two latter in full fruit—and the sun shining gaily on the many golden balls; above us, banks of cystus, shining arbutus and Mediterranean heath, with foaming cascades pouring down from the rocky hillsides, and rose-coloured cyclamen and golden broom bending lovingly above their banks.