It was a good six-hours' drive to Vico, and, as we wished to see something of its surroundings, which we were told were very pretty, we started before eight o'clock in the lovely morning sunshine.
The carriage was a small one, for we took little or no baggage, and only two passengers. To No. 1, called away on a promised visit to Italy, we bade a melancholy farewell, and, with the faithful Antonio for charioteer, trotted through the blazing little town, down the dusty Bastia road, and under the handsome aqueduct along the flanks of the western hills, leaving the sea behind us glowing in vivid sapphire tints against the purple hills.
Toiling up the hot, rocky ascent, Monte Nebbio and Monte D'Or mocked us with cool, snow-mantled forms rising in our faces, and the large château on the top of a steep hill termed Monte Lisa, was pointed out to us as a favourite resort to many during the summer heat.
For miles, also, the great purple rock of Monte Gozo towered bleak and majestic before us, rising abruptly from the green plain, and reminding one, as it hung in cool blackness over the far-reaching glare, of a "great shadow in a thirsty land."
Corn-fields waved softly at its foot, the corn rising five feet high; and the village of Appieto nestled in its shade behind green knolls.
Glimpses of the western sea began to greet us as we mounted, and at the summit of the steep Col San Sebastiano, a splendid panorama lay before us, in many a range of blue and purple hills, backed by glittering walls of snow.
Then, descending to Calcatoggio, the magnificent Gulf of Sagona suddenly burst upon us, dazzlingly blue, and stretching far away in its many indented bays, with Carghese, scarcely visible, lying between the two furthest headlands, far out to sea.
Calcatoggio, on the side of a steep hill, backed by woods and facing this glorious bay, has a most perfect position, but enjoys the reputation of being a remarkably dirty village. It boasts, however, a fountain of delicious water at its entrance, where we and our horses by turns regaled ourselves.
A more exquisite day I never saw, and sea and sky were dazzling in their sunny brilliancy as our little carriage ran merrily down the green hill-sides, overlooking the purely green water, and then for miles passing along beside its translucent, sparkling little waves, as they danced upon their sandy floor.
The Gulf of Liamone was too tempting to pass; and, leaving the carriage, we wandered along the fine white sands, seeing every weed and pebble in the wonderfully clear water. No shells, however, were to be found, and the hot sand burnt our feet and hands as we flung ourselves down to rest.