As we rested, at length, on the summit of the hill, an elderly Corsican gentleman joined us, also waiting for the diligence. He seemed very much amused at the independence of English ladies, but said it was perfectly safe in Corsica, where no native would act otherwise than courteously to a stranger; and that he wished it was the fashion for his countrywomen to move about a little more. He had never been out of his own land himself, but was extremely curious about English manners and customs, and thought he must come some day to England. He inquired about the expenses of travelling in England, as he had heard that they were excessive.
What seemed to horrify him most was the price of horses in our country. He said he could buy a capital horse in Corsica for three hundred francs (£12); and he could scarcely credit the fact when we told him that one thousand francs (£40) would purchase but a poor beast in England. He did not think much of the French rule in his island, and hoped for but one benefit from the fusion of the two races, viz., the rousing of his own people from the lethargy regarding domestic pursuits, with which centuries of warfare had impregnated them. Our friend was a most polite and agreeable companion, and it was interesting to converse with him, for he represented the older Corsican type, before the native character and sentiments had been obliterated by French education, and mimicry of French thought—as is the case now with most of the younger and more travelled Corsican gentlemen.
At last the diligence lumbered up, and up every one climbed—soldiers, gendarmes, sportsmen, fat women, and ourselves—to our perches, to descend the long white dusty road still skirting the river side, and occasionally passing little groups of women and girls down by its brink, engaged in gathering into baskets the hard grey pebbles, which they then placed in heaps beside the path for its mending.
The long flat road to Bastia continued monotonously for ten or twelve miles; but about seven or eight miles from the town a sudden turn brought before us the most extensive and magnificent view. For miles on every side extended a vast unbroken plain, and the east coast lay before us spread out in sweeps of pale green marshy land, bright blue sea, and intersecting salt lakes. A little further on, Bastia herself came into view, standing white and picturesque against her brown rocks, and over her sunny sea, on which lay many a white-sailed vessel, unmoved by breath of wind or sway of tide in the hot calm of the June day, whilst the large village of Furriano, on an adjacent hill, looked greyly down from its cool green nest of foliage.
For the last few miles before reaching Bastia, the banks by the wayside were hedged with the most splendid pointed-leaved cactus in the island, growing eight or ten feet high, and varied by sheets of rich blossomed flowers.
The road was gay with holiday makers, in carts, on mules, and on foot—chiefly men, with a few women; and we noticed, as we neared this side of the country, the increasing brightness of the costumes of both men and women, and the relief from the universal black of the interior.
The men wore gay sashes and coloured caps, and even the women ventured on a striped headkerchief.
Between three and four o'clock we entered Bastia, having deposited most of our holiday passengers at the entrance to the town; and were not sorry to jump down from our stifling banquette on to the blazing road before the diligence office. Here we said good-bye to our elderly friend, who introduced a nice-looking boy whom he had just embraced, as his son; and finding two strong-armed women to carry our boxes down the street, once more entered the Hôtel de France, and greeted our friends, including the gentlemanly old proprietor, his son, and the conceited little waiter, who, with his three or four companions, seemed genuinely pleased to welcome us again.
A stroll up the shady side of the streets filled up the time till table d'hôte, when we again found ourselves the only ladies amongst a lively party of twenty or thirty French and Corsicans.
The Leghorn boat was to leave at 10 p.m., and at 9.30 we started for the dock side, kindly escorted by M. Valéry himself, the head of the shipping firm. It was a good boat, with a deck saloon and upper deck—in every way very superior to the one in which we had arrived.