We parted the best of friends with Colonna, regaining his good opinion by a douceur of three francs, which, in addition to the stipulated charge of three francs for man, and seven for mules (including one for the hire of the side-saddle), brought the extra expenses of Valdoniello for two people to the not exorbitant amount of thirteen francs. On the other hand, we calculated that we had walked fifteen miles and ridden on mule-back about nine; and, as we only walked where riding was impossible, it would be as well for those who cannot manage much upon their own feet, to put off going to Valdoniello until summer has melted the snows from off the "grande route."
CHAPTER XI.
PORTO, LA PIANA, AND CARGHESE.
The next day, after our long expedition, we rose late, and with depressed spirits watched the sheets of rain that came driving across the valley, hiding the mountain tops, and pelting against our sitting-room windows. However, at eleven o'clock there were signs of a slight improvement in the weather, and we hastily got under way, and bidding adieu to our polite and smiling mademoiselle, started on the drive to Carghese.
We had been warned against Carghese as the dirtiest place in Corsica; and, after the experiences from which we had suffered, this was no mean warning. But, on the other hand, we had been told that the rocks of Porto and those of La Piana were the noblest sight in the island, and we felt that to return home without seeing them would be unbearable.
And, unless we sat in the empty carriage all night, or encamped out among the rocks, there was no method of seeing this route save by sleeping at Carghese.
The event justified us in our final decision, for Carghese was quite bearable; whereas, to have missed that day's excursion would have been an irreparable loss. I consider those Porto and Piana rocks the most beautiful sight in Corsica. They must be overwhelmingly magnificent on a clear day: even surrounded by mist clouds, and devoid of sunshine, they were wonderful to see.
For the first three or four hours of our drive, the rain kept off; and taking the opposite road to that of yesterday, we struck off to the left towards the coast line, and right among the rocks of Porto.
The road at first was cut out of barren mountain flanks, winding amongst bleak savage scenery, and Scottish-looking trout streams, with very Scotch mists rising from their banks, and veiling the hill-tops; with the village of Marignana on one side, and the desolate red heads of Porto gazing down over intervening hillocks on the other.
Presently came a few wooded hills to break the bare austerity of the scene, with boulder rocks, red and green and orange, beside the roadway; and, hanging right over our heads, the frowning and majestic Capo dei Signori, looming out of the mist in purple shadows.
One or two more windings led us into the narrow gorge, walled in on either side by the Porto rocks.