stinate incredulity of
the natives when we declared we meant going there and back in one day.
The double journey was only a little over twenty-six miles, yet it was
declared impossible. Our landlord drew ghastly pictures of the state we
should be in, declaring we did not know what we were doing; he called in
his wife, who lifted up her hands against our rashness and crossed
herself piously when we were unmoved; he summoned the owner of the
horses, who said the thing could not be done. But my friend was not to
be persuaded, declaring that Englishmen could do anything, and that he
would show them. He explained that we were both very much more than
admirable horsemen, and only minimised his own feats in the colonies by
kindly exaggerating mine in America, and finally it was settled gravely
that we were to be at liberty to kill ourselves and ruin the horses for
a lump sum of two pounds ten, provided we found food and wine for the
two men who were to be our guides. In the morning, at six o'clock, we
set out in a heavy shower of rain. Before we had gone up the hill a
thousand feet we were wet through, but a thousand more brought us into
bright sunlight. Below lay Funchal, underneath a white sheet of
rain-cloud; the sea beyond it was darkened here and there; it was at
first difficult to distinguish the outlying Deserta Islands from sombre
fogbanks. But as we still went up and up the day brightened more and
more, and when Funchal was behind and under the first hills the sea
began to glow and glitter. Here and there it shone like watered silk.
The Desertas showed plainly as rocky masses; a distant steamer trailed a
thin ribbon of smoke above the water. Close at hand a few sheep and
goats ran from us; now and again a horse or two stared solemnly at us;
and we all grew cheerful and laughed. For the air was keen and bracing;
we were on the plateau, nearly four thousand feet above the sea, and in
a climate quite other than that which choked the distant low-lying town.
Then we began to go down.

All the main roads of the Ilha da Madeira are paved with close-set
kidney pebbles, to save them from being washed out and destroyed by the
sudden violent semi-tropical rains. Even on this mountain it was so,
and our horses, with their rough-shod feet, rattled down the pass
without faltering. The road zigzagged after the manner of mountain
roads. When we reached the bottom of a deep ravine it seemed impossible
that we could have got there, and