oach drawn by six mules
with a treasure, a mighty schatz which lies in the church of St. James of
Compostella, in Galicia.'

"'I hope you do not intend to rob the church,' said I. 'If you do,
however, I believe you will be disappointed. Mendizabal and the Liberals
have been beforehand with you. I am informed that at present no other
treasure is to be found in the cathedrals of Spain than a few paltry
ornaments and plated utensils.'

"'My good German Herr,' said Benedict, 'it is no church schatz; and no
person living, save myself, knows of its existence. Nearly thirty years
ago, amongst the sick soldiers who were brought to Madrid, was one of my
comrades of the Walloon Guard, who had accompanied the French to
Portugal; he was very sick, and shortly died. Before, however, he
breathed his last, he sent for me, and upon his death-bed told me that
himself and two other soldiers, both of whom had since been killed, had
buried in a certain church in Compostella a great booty which they had
made in Portugal; it consisted of gold moidores and of a packet of huge
diamonds from the Brazils: the whole was contained in a large copper
kettle. I listened with greedy ears, and from that moment, I may say, I
have known no rest, neither by day nor night, thinking of the schatz. It
is very easy to find, for the dying man was so exact in his description
of the place where it lies, that were I once at Compostella I should have
no difficulty in putting my hand upon it. Several times I have been on
the point of setting out on the journey, but something has always
happened to stop me. When my wife died, I left Minorca with a
determination to go to St. James; but on reaching Madrid, I fell into the
hands of a Basque woman, who persuaded me to live with her, which I have
done for several years. She is a great hax, {184} and says that if I
desert her she will breathe a spell which shall cling to me for ever.
_Dem Got sey dank_, she is now in the hospital, and daily expected to
die. This is my history, Lieber Herr.'"

Notice that Borrow continues:

"I have been the more careful in relating the above conversation, as I
shall have frequent occasion to mention the Swiss in the course of these
journals."

Benedict Mol had the faculty of re-appearance. In the next year at
Compostella the moonlight fell on his grey locks and weatherbeaten face
and Borrow recognised him. "_Och_," said the man, "_mein Gott_, _es ist
der Herr_!" (it is t