"Stay!"
He turned, and beheld a copper-coloured man of wondrous stature, and savage, yet noble aspect, who held in his right hand a hunting spear, so long, that it was twice the length of any Vasco had ever seen—aye, thrice the length of the lance his grandsire had carried at Aljubarrota—and in his left a reeking skin, which he had just torn from a lion—perhaps one of those that had been feasting on the hapless pilot. His aspect was alike sublime and terrible; his black beard was of majestic length; his bright eyes wore a sad and gloomy expression, and his hair which rose in great curls, like those of the Phidian Jove, resembled the mane of a sable lion. But what is stranger than all, this wild man spoke very good Portuguese.
"In the name of Heaven," said the cavalier, "who and what are you?"
"The spirit of the Cabo dos Tormentos—the demon of the storm which rent your ship asunder, and cast it on yonder shores, dashed to a thousand pieces," replied the form in a deep, but melodious voice.
Vasco—continues the Padre Navarette—doubted the evidence of his senses. This was like one of the adventures with which the history of "Amadis de Gaul" had filled his mind—one for which he longed; but he felt the reality the reverse of pleasant.
"I have ruled these regions since the ark rested on Mount Ararat, and since the land was parted from the waters; but never until now, has the foot of man invaded them; and had my power prevailed in the storm of yesternight, instead of being here, thou too shouldst have found a grave where many other adventurers lie, in yonder rolling sea."
"Terrible spirit," said Dom Vasco, "is the presence of a mere mortal so hateful to you?"
"Yes," replied the demon, shaking his mighty locks with gloom and sadness; "for now my power over these seas, and shores, and clouds, must end where thine begins. Else, wherefore did I bury ship after ship in that tempestuous sea, or split them by the flaming bolts, that all on board might perish? Many have sought to pass my promontory, to reach the golden realms of Prester John, but none have escaped me save thee! I have had the power of assuming what form I please. To-day I am a man, to-morrow I should tower to the skies astride the Table Mountain, or ride the wild blast that comes from the arid desert of Zahara, to bury some barque in the distant sea; but that my power is passing away from me. I tell thee, O most fortunate and valiant cavalier, that from this day the Cabo dos Tormentos shall be a Cape of Storms no more, but one of Good Hope to all the mariners of the earth—for so it was ordained by the hand which placed Adam in Eden and gave such wondrous power unto the Seal of Solomon."
As the spirit concluded, his voice became fainter; his broad and dusky chest heaved as he sighed deeply, and he gradually appeared to dissolve into a thin white vapour, which floated upwards and melted away on the summit of the Table Mountain. But the power of the spirit lingers there still; for over the same spot where he vanished from the eyes of Dom Vasco, a thin white cloud, which rises from the hill, is unto this day the sure forerunner of a storm.*
* In summer, when the S.E. wind blows, a cloud called the Tablecloth appears on the mountain, and always indicates a tempest. This cloud is composed of immense masses of fleecy whiteness.—Arnott.