A Voyage to the Moon | Page 6

called a Mirvoon, who there exercised the chief authority.
This place, named Mozaun, was romantically situated in a fertile valley, that seemed to
be completely shut in by the mountains. A small river, a branch of the Saloon, entered it
from the west, and, after running about four miles in nearly a straight direction, turned
suddenly round a steep hill to the south, and was entirely lost to view. The village was
near a gap in the mountain, through which the river seemed to have forced its way, and
consisted of about forty or fifty huts, built of the bamboo cane and reeds. The house of
my landlord was somewhat larger and better than the rest. It stood on a little knoll that
overlooked the village, the valley, the stream that ran through it, and commanded a
distant view of the country beyond the gap. It was certainly a lovely little spot, as it now
appears to my imagination; but when the landscape was new to me, I was in no humour

to relish its beauties, and when my mind was more in a state to appreciate them, they had
lost their novelty.
My keeper, whose name was Sing Fou, and who, from a long exercise of magisterial
authority, was rough and dictatorial, behaved to me somewhat harshly at first; but my
patient submission so won his confidence and good will, that I soon became a great
favourite; was regarded more as one of his family than as a prisoner, and was allowed by
him every indulgence consistent with my safe custody. But the difficulties in the way of
my escape were so great, that little restraint was imposed on my motions. The narrow
defile in the gap, through which the river rushed like a torrent, was closed with a gate.
The mountains, by which the valley was hemmed in, were utterly impassable, thickly set
as they were with jungle, consisting of tangled brier, thorn and forest trees, of which
those who have never been in a tropical climate can form no adequate idea. In some
places it would be difficult to penetrate more than a mile in the day; during which time
the traveller would be perpetually tormented by noxious insects, and in constant dread of
beasts of prey.
The only outlet from this village was by passing down the valley along the settlements,
and following the course of the stream; so that there was no other injunction laid on me,
than not to extend my rambles far in that direction. Sing Fou's household consisted of his
wife, whom I rarely saw, four small children, and six servants; and here I enjoyed nearly
as great a portion of happiness as in any part of my life.
It had been one of my favourite amusements to ramble towards a part of the western ridge,
which rose in a cone about a mile and a half from the village, and there ascending to
some comparatively level spot, or point projecting from its side, enjoy the beautiful
scenery which lay before me, and the evening breeze, which has such a delicious
freshness in a tropical climate.
Nor was this all. In a deep sequestered nook, formed by two spurs of this mountain, there
lived a venerable Hindoo, whom the people of the village called the Holy Hermit. The
favourable accounts I received of his character, as well as his odd course of life, made me
very desirous of becoming acquainted with him; and, as he was often visited by the
villagers, I found no difficulty in getting a conductor to his cell. His character for sanctity,
together with a venerable beard, might have discouraged advances towards an
acquaintance, if his lively piercing eye, a countenance expressive of great mildness and
kindness of disposition, and his courteous manners, had not yet more strongly invited it.
He was indeed not averse to society, though he had seemed thus to fly from it; and was so
great a favourite with his neighbours, that his cell would have been thronged with visitors,
but for the difficulty of the approach to it. As it was, it was seldom resorted to, except for
the purpose of obtaining his opinion and counsel on all the serious concerns of his
neighbours. He prescribed for the sick, and often provided the medicine they
required--expounded the law--adjusted disputes--made all their little arithmetical
calculations--gave them moral instruction--and, when he could not afford them relief in
their difficulties, he taught them patience, and gave them consolation. He, in short, united,
for the simple people by whom he was surrounded, the functions of lawyer, physician,
schoolmaster, and divine, and richly merited the reverential respect in which they held

him, as well as their little presents of eggs, fruit, and garden stuff.
From the first evening that I