These stories, once set afloat, grew in wonder and magnitude through pure
love of the marvellous or wild expansion of the fanciful tales of the
Indians. Far inland, built on a lofty hill, so the fable ran, was a mighty
city, whose very street watering-troughs were made of solid gold and
silver, while "billets of gold lay about in heaps, as if they were logs of
wood marked out to burn."
In this imperial city dwelt in marvellous magnificence a mighty king. The
legend went that it was a habit of his to cover his body with turpentine
and then roll in gold-dust till he gleamed like a veritable golden image.
Then, entering his barge of state, with a retinue of nobles whose dresses
glittered with gems, they would sail around a beautiful lake, ending their
tour by a bath in the cooling waters.
Where was this city? Who had seen its gold-emblazoned king? Certainly none
of those who went in search of it or its monarch. Of the Spanish
adventurers who sought for that land of treasure, the most persistent was
a bold explorer named Berreo, who landed in New Granada, and set out
thence with a large body of followers--seven hundred horsemen, the story
goes.
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