As we were wandering about among these traces of old times, we
came to a circular pit, penetrating deep into the bosom of the
mountain; which Mateo pointed out as one of the wonders and
mysteries of the place. I supposed it to be a well dug by the
indefatigable Moors, to obtain their favorite element in its
greatest purity. Mateo, however, had a different story, and one much
more to his humor. According to a tradition, in which his father and
grandfather firmly believed, this was an entrance to the
subterranean caverns of the mountain, in which Boabdil and his court
lay bound in magic spell; and whence they sallied forth at night, at
allotted times, to revisit their ancient abodes.
"Ah, senor, this mountain is full of wonders of the kind. In another
place there was a hole somewhat like this, and just within it hung
an iron pot by a chain; nobody knew what was in that pot, for it was
always covered up; but every body supposed it full of Moorish gold.
Many tried to draw it forth, for it seemed just within reach; but
the moment it was touched it would sink far, far down, and not come up
again for some time. At last one who thought it must be enchanted
touched it with the cross, by way of breaking the charm; and faith
he did break it, for the pot sank out of sight and never was seen
any more.
"All this is fact, senor; for my grandfather was an eye-witness."
"What! Mateo; did he see the pot?"
"No, senor, but he saw the hole where the pot had hung.
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